Alan was the oldest of the brothers, and that meant that he was the one who blazed all the new trails in the family.He met a girl in the seventh grade. Her name was Marci, and she had just transferred in from Scotland. Her father was a mining engineer, and she’d led a gypsy life that put her in stark contrast to the third-generation homebodies that made up most of the rest of their class.She had red hair and blue eyes and a way of holding her face in repose that made her look cunning at all times. No one understood her accent, but there was a wiry ferocity in her movement that warned off any kid who thought about teasing her about it.Alan liked to play in a marshy corner of the woods that bordered the playground after school, crawling around in the weeds, catching toads and letting them go again, spying on the crickets and the secret lives of the larvae that grubbed in the milkweed. He was hunkered down on his haunches one afternoon when Marci came crunching through the tall grass. He ducked down lower, then peered out from his hiding spot as she crouched down and he heard the unmistakable patter of urine as she peed in the rushes.His jaw dropped. He’d never seen a girl pee before, had no idea what the squatting business was all about. The wet ground sucked at his sneaker and he tipped back on his ass with a yelp. Marci straightened abruptly and crashed over to him, kicking him hard in the ribs when she reached him, leaving a muddy toeprint on his fall windbreaker.She wound up for another kick and he hollered something wordless and scurried back, smearing marsh mud across his jeans and jacket.“You pervert!” she said, pronouncing it Yuh peervurrt!“I am not!” he said, still scooting back.“Watching from the bushes!” she said.“I wasn’t—I was already here, and you—I mean, what wereyoudoing? I was just minding my own business and you came by, I just didn’t want to be bothered, this ismyplace!”“You don’t own it,” she said, but she sounded slightly chastened. “Don’t tell anyone I had a piss here, all right?”“I won’t,” he said.She sat down beside him, unmindful of the mud on her denim skirt. “Promise,” she said. “It’s so embarrassing.”“I promise,” he said.“Swear,” she said, and poked him in the ribs with a bony finger.He clutched his hands to his ribs. “Look,” he said, “I swear. I’m good at secrets.”Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, aye? And I suppose you’ve lots of secrets, then?”He said nothing, and worked at keeping the smile off the corners of his mouth.She poked him in the ribs, then got him in the stomach as he moved to protect his chest. “Secrets, huh?”He shook his head and clamped his lips shut. She jabbed a flurry of pokes and prods at him while he scooted back on his butt, then dug her clawed hands into his tummy and tickled him viciously. He giggled, then laughed, then started to hiccup uncontrollably. He shoved her away roughly and got up on his knees, gagging.“Oh, I like you,” she said, “just look at that. A wee tickle and you’re ready to toss your lunch.” She tenderly stroked his hair until the hiccups subsided, then clawed at his belly again, sending him rolling through the mud.Once he’d struggled to his feet, he looked at her, panting. “Why are you doing this?”“You’re not serious! It’s the most fun I’ve had since we moved to this terrible place.”“You’re a sadist!” He’d learned the word from a book he’d bought from the ten-cent pile out front of the used bookstore. It had a clipped-out recipe for liver cutlets between the pages and lots of squishy grown-up sex things that seemed improbable if not laughable. He’d looked “sadist” up in the class dictionary.“Aye,” she said. “I’m that.” She made claws of her hands and advanced on him slowly. He giggled uncontrollably as he backed away from her. “C’mere, you, you’ve more torture comin’ to ye before I’m satisfied that you can keep a secret.”He held his arms before him like a movie zombie and walked toward her. “Yes, mathter,” he said in a monotone. Just as he was about to reach her, he dodged to one side, then took off.She chased him, laughing, halfway back to the mountain, then cried off. He stopped a hundred yards up the road from her, she doubled over with her hands planted on her thighs, face red, chest heaving. “You go on, then,” she called. “But it’s more torture for you at school tomorrow, and don’t you forget it!”“Only if you catch me!” he called back.“Oh, I’ll catch you, have no fear.”
Alan was the oldest of the brothers, and that meant that he was the one who blazed all the new trails in the family.
He met a girl in the seventh grade. Her name was Marci, and she had just transferred in from Scotland. Her father was a mining engineer, and she’d led a gypsy life that put her in stark contrast to the third-generation homebodies that made up most of the rest of their class.
She had red hair and blue eyes and a way of holding her face in repose that made her look cunning at all times. No one understood her accent, but there was a wiry ferocity in her movement that warned off any kid who thought about teasing her about it.
Alan liked to play in a marshy corner of the woods that bordered the playground after school, crawling around in the weeds, catching toads and letting them go again, spying on the crickets and the secret lives of the larvae that grubbed in the milkweed. He was hunkered down on his haunches one afternoon when Marci came crunching through the tall grass. He ducked down lower, then peered out from his hiding spot as she crouched down and he heard the unmistakable patter of urine as she peed in the rushes.
His jaw dropped. He’d never seen a girl pee before, had no idea what the squatting business was all about. The wet ground sucked at his sneaker and he tipped back on his ass with a yelp. Marci straightened abruptly and crashed over to him, kicking him hard in the ribs when she reached him, leaving a muddy toeprint on his fall windbreaker.
She wound up for another kick and he hollered something wordless and scurried back, smearing marsh mud across his jeans and jacket.
“You pervert!” she said, pronouncing it Yuh peervurrt!
“I am not!” he said, still scooting back.
“Watching from the bushes!” she said.
“I wasn’t—I was already here, and you—I mean, what wereyoudoing? I was just minding my own business and you came by, I just didn’t want to be bothered, this ismyplace!”
“You don’t own it,” she said, but she sounded slightly chastened. “Don’t tell anyone I had a piss here, all right?”
“I won’t,” he said.
She sat down beside him, unmindful of the mud on her denim skirt. “Promise,” she said. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“I promise,” he said.
“Swear,” she said, and poked him in the ribs with a bony finger.
He clutched his hands to his ribs. “Look,” he said, “I swear. I’m good at secrets.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, aye? And I suppose you’ve lots of secrets, then?”
He said nothing, and worked at keeping the smile off the corners of his mouth.
She poked him in the ribs, then got him in the stomach as he moved to protect his chest. “Secrets, huh?”
He shook his head and clamped his lips shut. She jabbed a flurry of pokes and prods at him while he scooted back on his butt, then dug her clawed hands into his tummy and tickled him viciously. He giggled, then laughed, then started to hiccup uncontrollably. He shoved her away roughly and got up on his knees, gagging.
“Oh, I like you,” she said, “just look at that. A wee tickle and you’re ready to toss your lunch.” She tenderly stroked his hair until the hiccups subsided, then clawed at his belly again, sending him rolling through the mud.
Once he’d struggled to his feet, he looked at her, panting. “Why are you doing this?”
“You’re not serious! It’s the most fun I’ve had since we moved to this terrible place.”
“You’re a sadist!” He’d learned the word from a book he’d bought from the ten-cent pile out front of the used bookstore. It had a clipped-out recipe for liver cutlets between the pages and lots of squishy grown-up sex things that seemed improbable if not laughable. He’d looked “sadist” up in the class dictionary.
“Aye,” she said. “I’m that.” She made claws of her hands and advanced on him slowly. He giggled uncontrollably as he backed away from her. “C’mere, you, you’ve more torture comin’ to ye before I’m satisfied that you can keep a secret.”
He held his arms before him like a movie zombie and walked toward her. “Yes, mathter,” he said in a monotone. Just as he was about to reach her, he dodged to one side, then took off.
She chased him, laughing, halfway back to the mountain, then cried off. He stopped a hundred yards up the road from her, she doubled over with her hands planted on her thighs, face red, chest heaving. “You go on, then,” she called. “But it’s more torture for you at school tomorrow, and don’t you forget it!”
“Only if you catch me!” he called back.
“Oh, I’ll catch you, have no fear.”