MORROW Audrey Gonzalez, Vegetables, Digital Media. younger brother had uncovered a box of them under the assortment of coconut and cherry turnovers. Lounging face down in the cage of our cart, I consider them worthy of a fairer display. The man says he’s interested in my look (whatever that is) and adds that he’s a photographer with a studio on South Beach. I count the miles in proportion to where we are here and now. South Beach is about fifty-five minutes away. But besides that, he looks greasy.
“Sixteen.” “And uh, your name is?” “Marlenuhleen,” I mumble in a low, low voice, trying to conjure a secret identity in a moment’s notice. “Melanie?” “Yes, exactly,” my mother swoops down, placing a protective hand on my shoulder.
“How old are you, my dear?” Mission Accomplished.
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