Paper DollNancy makes perfect folds with perfect creases, though the paper is tattered and stained. She cuts along her dotted-line roadmap with a cautious hand; she wants to be perfect, too. The tip of her tongue is just visible, held between lips pursed in careful concentration. Her shoulders hover up around her ears, until the final snip, when she lets out the breath she’s been holding. A flick of her wrist and, like magic, a perfect family appears. They hold hands, these perfect people. She draws brown hair and eyes on the middle one. Brown hair and eyes like her own. From downstairs, Nancy's foster mother shouts for her. “Girl! You better not have my sewing scissors again. I warned you before, that’ll earn you a beating.” Nancy tucks her new family beneath her shirt for protection and with the scissors held like a sword, she turns toward the stairs.
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