Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

He looked stricken. “Oh Jesus. Ox, not like that. You have your finals next week.”

“I know.”

“And you know part of the deal with your ma is that your grades don’t suffer or else you can’t work here.”

“I know.” I was annoyed and it showed.

“I don’t want… just….” He groaned and sat back in the chair. “I suck at this.”

“What?”

He motioned between the two of us. “This whole thing.”

“You do okay,” I said quietly. This thing. My brother or father. We didn’t say it. We didn’t have to. We both knew what it was. It was just easier to be awkward about it. Because we were men.

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How are the grades?”

“Bs. One C.”

“History?”

“Yeah. Fucking Stonewall Jackson.”

He laughed, long and loud. Gordo always did laugh big, rare as it was. “Don’t let your ma hear you say that.”

“Never in your life.”

“Full-time this summer?”

I grinned at him. I couldn’t wait for the long days. “Yeah. Sure, Gordo.”

“I’m gonna work your ass off, Ox.” The lines on his forehead smoothed out.

“Can I… can I still stop by next week?” I asked. “I won’t… I just….” Words. Words were my enemy. How to say that here was where I felt the safest. Here was where I felt most at home. Here was where I wouldn’t be judged. I wasn’t a fucking retard here. I wasn’t a waste of space or time. I wanted to say so much, too much, and found I couldn’t really say anything at all.

But it was Gordo, so I didn’t have to. He looked relieved, though he kept his voice stern for appearances. “No working in the shop. You come in here and you study. No dicking around. I mean it, Ox. Chris or Tanner can help you with fucking Stonewall Jackson. They know that shit better than me. Don’t ask Rico. You won’t get anything done.”

The tightness loosened in my chest. “Thanks, Gordo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Get out of here. You have work to do.”

I saluted him, which I knew he hated.

And since I was in such a good mood, I pretended not to hear him when he muttered, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Later I’d remember I forgot to tell him about the Bennetts.

I WALKED home. The sunlight filtered through the trees, little shadows of leaves on my skin. I wondered how old the forest here was. I thought it ancient.

Joe was waiting for me at the dirt road where he’d been the day before. His eyes were wide as he fidgeted. His hands were hidden behind his back. “I knew it was you!” he said. His voice was pitched high and triumphant. “I’m getting better at—” He cut himself off with a cough. “Uh. At. Doing stuff. Like… knowing… you are… there.”

“That’s good,” I told him. “Getting better is always good.”

His smile was dazzling. “I’m always getting better. I’ll be the leader, one day.”