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since they didn’t work as hard as he did. It was best to stay out of his way and let him cook dinner by himself, only I was worried about my pad supply.
    â€œDaddy,” I said, as he set down his briefcase, “I need to talk to you about something.”
    â€œNot now,” he said, untying his shoes. Then he headed for the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge.
    I went in the bathroom to check my pad, which was beginning to fill up. Plus, my stomach hurt. Not my real stomach, but the part below it. It felt like someone was reaching a hand inside of me and squeezing something they shouldn’t. I went back out in the kitchen and said, “Daddy?”
    He was unwrapping a piece of steak and listening to a small radio on the counter. He probably heard me, even though he didn’t say anything. I stood there for a while, waiting for his news report to end, then said, “Daddy?” again.
    He sighed. “What is it, Jasira?”
    â€œI have to talk to you about something.”
    â€œJust say it, would you?” he said. “I don’t need all the introductions.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I got my period.”
    â€œYour period?” he said. Finally he looked at me. “You’re too young to get your period.”
    â€œI’m thirteen,” I said.
    He shook his head. “My God.”
    â€œI called Mom. She said to tell you.”
    â€œWell,” he said, “what do you need? Do you need to go to the store?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œRight now?”
    â€œI think so.”
    He took off his apron and went to put his shoes back on. In the car, he said, “You can’t wear tampons until you’re married. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I did.
    â€œTampons are for married ladies,” he said.
    We passed the pool, which stayed lit from underwater at night. It always seemed sad to me that it was closed when it looked the prettiest.
    I had hoped that he would give me money at the drugstore and let me go in by myself, but he turned the car off and got out. In the feminine hygiene aisle, he said, “Let’s see,” and started pulling down all different kinds of pads. Finally he turned to me and said, “Would you describe your situation as light, medium, or heavy?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don’t know?”
    â€œCan’t I pick them out, Daddy?”
    â€œWhy?” he said. “What’s the problem?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou’re not going to wear tampons, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    â€œI don’t want to wear tampons.”
    â€œWhen you’re married, you can buy all the tampons you want. Right now, you’ll wear pads.”
    A thin, older saleslady came over to see if we needed any help. “We’re fine, thank you,” Daddy said.
    I looked at her, and she smiled at me. “These for you?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œWell,” she said, reaching for a green box, “this is the kind my daughter likes.”
    I took the box from her and started reading the side panel.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with these?” Daddy asked, showing the lady his box.
    â€œThey’re just a little thicker. Not as comfortable.”
    He looked like he didn’t believe her.
    â€œCan I get these?” I asked, holding out my box.
    Daddy took them from me and said, “How come they’re so expensive?”
    The lady put on a pair of glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck. “Well,” she said, looking at the price sticker, “that’s probably the comfort issue I was referring to earlier.”
    â€œWhat a rip-off,” Daddy said.
    â€œYou getting cramps?” the lady asked me, and I nodded again. “Here,” she said, handing Daddy a box of Motrin. “Give her these.”
    â€œWe