The Lost Gate by Orson Scott Card

internet and from books he knew about money; he had even learned the denominations and knew what they looked like. But knowledge didn’t put money into his pocket.
    Soon enough he’d need money even to eat and drink. But there was no chance anyone would hire him to do anything while he was wearing homemade clothes that, to tell the truth, didn’t fit all that well and were tattered and grubby-looking. Nor was he qualified to do any kind of work, even if it were legal for people to hire a thirteen-year-old.
    Clothes first. He ran into the first problem as he was coming into the store. An old man was greeting people at the north entrance. He took one look at Danny, pointed at his feet, and said, “Shoes.”
    â€œI’m not wearing any,” said Danny.
    â€œNo shirt, no shoes, no service.”
    â€œBut I have a shirt on,” said Danny.
    â€œNo shirt or no shoes, no service.”
    Danny stood there flummoxed, and nearly turned around to go back out. Then he saw a mother carrying a two-year-old who was wearing flip-flops on her feet.
    â€œWhat about flip-flops?”
    â€œFlip-flops count as shoes,” said the old man. “Except that you’re not wearing flip-flops.”
    â€œBecause my little brother stole them. You saw him come in, didn’t you? He was running and carrying my flip-flops. Do I have to wait out in the cold because my brother stole my flip-flops?”
    â€œI didn’t see anybody like that,” said the old man.
    â€œCome on,” said Danny. “You aren’t that old.”
    The man bristled, but then Danny grinned. “Come on, let me find my brother, then I’ll have my flip-flops, he’ll have an Indian burn on his arm, and everybody’s happy.”
    â€œExcept your brother,” said the man, a little bit amused now.
    â€œOh, he’ll tell you, stealing my flip-flops and almost getting me kicked out of the store was worth it.”
    â€œYou’re completely full of b.s.,” said the old man. “Just don’t tell anybody you came in through this door.”
    Danny knew what he needed to get, and without anything on his feet, he knew he had to get it fast and get out. But he couldn’t help wandering around Wal-Mart for a while just looking at things. The whole place was a fantasy of Christmas. Everything had holly or Santa faces or elves on it; everything was red and green. Christmas lights, phony-looking plastic trees, pre-stuffed stockings. Christmas was apparently an even bigger deal to the drowthers than it looked like on TV or the internet.
    Even ignoring the Christmas stuff, Danny was in awe. So many things that the Family had never provided for the cousins. Foods that didn’t look edible, but plenty that did. Drinks whose flavor he had no idea of. Labels that meant nothing to him. Implements whose purpose he couldn’t guess.
    But flip-flops he knew. Even in the winter, they had some. He walked up to them, pulled them off a rod without even pausing, dodged around a corner and again into the next aisle, and by then they were apart and he was wearing them.
    By now, though, there was a man following him around. Wherever Danny stopped to look at something, there was the man nearby, pretending to look at something else.
    Danny knew everybody in the Family, but not the drowther spies that Thor worked with. Still, Danny imagined that Thor’s informants would be a little more subtle. A pedophile? Danny had read about them, but he didn’t think he was young enough, and even if he was, the guy would be chatting him up, making friends.
    Store detective, that’s what he was. And now that Danny thought about it, he was probably acting like a shoplifter—looking around at stuff, seeming to have no purpose.
    Well, my purpose is to get clothes that fit me and then get out of the store with them, without spending money. That means you’ve tagged the right kid to watch.
    Danny stopped looking