Taming of the Shoe by Sarah Darer Littman

Author:Sarah Darer Littman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

Chapter Eight

AUNT MARGAUX TEXTS ME TO tell me she’s around the corner in a black sedan, because the police are diverting traffic away from the Hotel Z. I want to hop around the corner so I don’t step in any other gross things with my bare foot, but Trudy Neal flats weren’t made for hopping. So I end up limping to the corner with my eyes on the ground to avoid disgusting street stuff.

There are like twenty black sedans lined up on Sixth Avenue and I wonder how I’m supposed to figure out which one contains my aunt, when I hear Margaux bellowing, “MINTY! OVER HERE!” and I see her standing by a car all the way down the block.

I’m so busy looking at her that I forget to look at the ground, and I step in something squishy.

Omigod, please don’t let it be poop!

Spoiler alert: It is.

My Worst Day Ever just got even worse.

Tears start welling in my eyes as I run to Aunt Margaux and throw myself in her bony arms.

“Aunt Margaux, I’m so glad you’re here!” I sniff into her faux-leopard coat.

She sniffs too, but for a different reason. “What is that disgusting smell?” she says, looking down at my feet. “And why are you only wearing one shoe?”

“I stepped in dog poop,” I say. “Pee, too. I’ll tell you the rest in the car.”

“You’re not getting into this car with that poopy foot,” she says. “Where’s my knife? I’ll have to cut it off.”

“WHAT?” I exclaim, getting reading to run for my life.

“Joke,” she says with a grin. She reaches into the back of the sedan and rummages in her purse. I hear her asking the driver if he has tissues. Then she tells me to sit on the back seat “but keep that stinky foot outside or I will cut it off.”

She pours half a bottle of hand sanitizer on my foot and then uses a big handful of tissues to wipe off the offending substances. I still plan to use some Crud Crusher™ on my foot when I get home, but at least I feel slightly less gross in the meantime.

Aunt Margaux walks to the trash can on the corner to throw out the disgusting tissues and uses the rest of the sanitizer to clean her hands; then we both slide into the back seat of the car. “Back home now,” she tells the driver, and then, turning to me, she says, “Okay, Minty—spill. Right now. What mischief have you been up to?”

I tell her about my favorite band’s sold-out concerts, and the contest I just missed the deadline for, and Eva’s plan to meet Theo Downey to get my contest entries in front of him so I would have a chance to win tickets.

What I don’t tell her is that the contest involved designing shoes, because despite this complete disaster of a day, I still have a tiny grain of hope that someday I might be known for something I do myself, not just because I’m Mom and Dad’s daughter or the aunties’ niece.

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