Hound Dog True by Linda Urban Page A

on with it," Uncle Tommy says.
    Uncle Potluck holds the corn up high, studies it up and down and around. "I see," he says, and "Very interesting" and "Well, now, how about that?" and, finally, "And there you go."
    "Where do I go?" Mama asks.
    Uncle Potluck raises his knife, points it at the base of the cob. "See how these large bottom kernels are nibbled clean off? That indicates a person who is taking root. While these here"—he points to the tip of the ear, where the tiny kernels are bit off willy-nilly—"show hope."
    Mattie steals a look at Quincy. She looks bored, Mattie thinks. Everyone else is leaning in, listening. Especially Mama.
    "Yes, indeed," says Uncle Potluck. "This is a sign of good fortune. The beginning of a new and satisfying adventure for anyone willing to stand firm and face it."
    Uncle Potluck sets the cob down on the plate. Everyone claps, including Principal Bonnet. Uncle Potluck's ears red up.
    "Thank you, Potluck," Mama says.
    Uncle Potluck shrugs. "Thank the corn."
    Uncle Tommy pushes his plate across the table. There are three cobs on it, clean picked, not a kernel in sight. "What am I beginning?" he asks.
    "Indigestion," says Uncle Potluck. "The corn predicts Alka-Seltzer. Who's next?"
    Me,
Mattie thinks.
Pick me. Tell me what kind of person I am. Tell me what I am beginning.
    She thinks it tight and loud inside her head,
me me me,
knowing Uncle Potluck will hear it. But he does not.
    What he hears, what Mattie hears, what everyone hears, is matter-of-fact Quincy Sweet plunking, "Me."

CHAPTER THIRTY
    Q UINCY NUDGES HER PLATE toward Uncle Potluck, but before he can touch it, Miss Sweet snaps up Quincy's cob.
    "Let me. She's my niece, after all." She holds Quincy's corn up like Uncle Potluck did. Says
mm-hmm
and
aha,
like he did.
    "Okay," Miss Sweet says. "Okay, I have it. Okay, so all these rows are totally straight, see? That says Quincy's future is all mapped out perfectly. Quincy's going to be super-popular. And she'll have lots of awesome boyfriends, and next thing you know she'll be Prom Queen, like I was."
    It is the best fortune Miss Sweet can think of, Mattie can tell. She's trying to be nice, but Quincy just watches her dinner plate.
    It doesn't move, the dinner plate. Neither does Quincy.
    Miss Sweet turns to Mama. "You can just tell she's going to have a lovely figure. She's already in a B-cup."
    Mattie crosses her arms over her chest. Sees Quincy do the same.
    Miss Sweet doesn't see. She's turned her look on Uncle Potluck. "I was totally flat until I was fourteen," she says. "But girls today mature so much faster. I read it in
People.
They call them 'tweens' now, too."
    And then Miss Sweet starts in talking about how tweens wear lip gloss and tweens do texting and how all tweens want is to be grown-up and all they think about is boys. Mattie watches Quincy's face, knowing that all she is thinking about is stabbing her aunt with a fork.
    "It's all true," Miss Sweet says. "There have been studies."
    "Nobody studied me," says Quincy. It doesn't sound one bit plunky, either.
    Miss Sweet starts to say something else, but then Quincy grabs the corncob. Chomps three big bites.
    There.
    There.
    There.
    "Study that," Quincy says, and before her cob hits the plate, the porch door is slamming shut and Quincy is stomping out through the garden dusk.
    "They're prone to drama, too," says Miss Sweet.
    Â 
    For a minute, the room is quiet. Feels like anything could happen.
    Mattie waits.
    Waits for Miss Sweet to stand up and go after Quincy. Or Mama to. Or Uncle Potluck to pick up somebody else's cob, maybe even Mattie's cob, and go on with the fortunetelling. Mattie could stay here and listen about her future and never have to go out and talk to the moon at all.
    Except none of that happens.
    What happens is that Mattie Breen does a small brave thing.
    She stands up.
    Stands up, everyone looking, and goes outside.
    Out into the half-dark, past the bean tepees and tomato cages and the stone