‘We do want you, sweetie, but your grandparents will fight us.’ Beverly had promised that on the day of Amy’s death. ‘I know it won’t be tom...rrow,’ Annie admitted, her slender shoulders slumping. She stopped then, bending to pluck a fluffy dandelion stem from a sidewalk crack. Face solemn, she said, ‘But you want me.’ She blew the seeds free of the stem, watched them float a moment before reiterating, ‘You want me.’ Kendall watched this little girl, a girl who had far more in common with her. A troll like that could bring her average tips down below what we all call the ‘H’ line. It didn’t matter how many tips you got in total, just what your average was. There was a magic number that would have the boss smiling at the end of the day and dispensing his ‘heckuva job, Cherry,’ and ‘heckuva job, Al.’ The smiles vanished any time you ended up with an average below the H line. Trolls always tipped poorly, on purpose, and they always went to considerable pains to let you know why. ‘Did. More

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