Before I could say anything, Stacey blurted, “she’s in the third grade, and she’s in the fifth grade,” pointing to Janelle, and I’m in the seventh grade, now having her finger on her chest. Stacey had extended her neck and it was wobbling from side to side and she had what Mom called “a tone” while telling the woman our grades. Now my eyes are locked on both women, and, as if they had rehearsed dance moves, they both raised their eyebrows and pulled on the collar of their clothes as if a draft had come their way, then they each took a step back and looked at one another. “How many kids do you think she has?” The other woman said. The woman who asked me the question looked towards Stacey and said….