"How can you possibly expect to have any money to pay for Dalia's college if you keep blowing everything you have on shoes and jeans and cell phones?"
Rachel snorted. "Mom, with what I make at work, do you think I could even save up enough to pay for one semester of school? Even if Dalia and I spent the next four years eating Ramen and picking through the thrift store for our whole wardrobe, I doubt I could get enough to pay the book bill. They've got scholarships for girls like Dalia."
"Well, I can see you have all the answers," Dalia's grandmother said, clenching her fists in frustration. "I just hope you know how mortifying it is for your father and me to see Dalia strolling into church in those $150 tennis shoes, when everyone in the congregation knows that you all are on welfare."
"Anyone who judges us ought to spend some more time reading the Bible. I'm pretty sure there's a thing or two in there about leaving the judging of others to God and thinking on your own sins. Anyway, I'm not gonna talk about this anymore. I don't want Dalia overhearing us."
Of course Dalia, being in the next room, had overheard the entire conversation. She loved her Nana Paxton, but she couldn't help but feel that the old woman ought to mind her own business.