"I know. We could make some fudge."

"You kidding? With Mama in there fussing? When she starts fussing at the walls, you know she's gonna be at it all day. She wouldn't even let us."

"Well, let's go over to the Greek hotel and listen to them cuss."

"Oh, who wants to do that? Besides, they say the same old words all the time." My supply of ideas exhausted, I began to concentrate on the white spots on my fingernails. The total signified the number of boyfriends I would have. Seven. Mama's soliloquy slid into the silence "… Bible say feed the hungry. That's fine.

That's all right. But I ain't feeding no elephants… Anybody need three quarts of milk to live need to get out of here. They in the wrong place. What is this? Some kind of dairy farm?"

Suddenly Pecola bolted straight up, her eyes wide with terror. A whinnying sound came from her mouth. "What's the matter with you?" Frieda stood up too. Then we both looked where Pecola was staring. Blood was running down her legs. Some drops were on the steps. I leaped up. "Hey. You cut yourself? Look. It's all over your dress." A brownish-red stain discolored the back of her dress. She kept whinnying, standing with her legs far apart.

Frieda said, "Oh. Lordy! I know. I know what that is!"

"What?"

Pecola's fingers went to her mouth. "That's ministratin'."

"What's that?"

"You know."

"Am I going to die?" she asked.

"Noooo. You won't die. It just means you can have a baby!"

"What?"

"How do you know?" I was sick and tired of Frieda knowing everything. "Mildred told me, and Mama too."

"I don't believe it."

"You don't have to, dummy. Look. Wait here.

Sit down, Pecola. Right here." Frieda was all authority and zest.

"And you," she said to me, "you go get some water."

"Water?"

"Yes, stupid. Water. And be quiet, or Mama will hear you." Pecola sat down again, a little less fear in her eyes. I went into the kitchen. "What you want, girl?" Mama was rinsing curtains in the sink. "Some water, ma'am."