Runt

by Nora Raleigh Baskin

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What happens to the horses?” The rain was steadily pelting the windows. Every so often the wind would pick up and it was like someone had thrown a bucket of water at the house.

  “What horses, sweetie?”

  “The wild horses. The ones that live on the beach. The ones that swam ashore when the Spanish boat sank in 1587.”

  Where did Benjamin learn all that? Ethan opened his eyes wide to take in any light and turned his head away from his pillow to hear better.

  “They’ll be fine, Benjamin,” his mother said.

  How does she know? Ethan thought.

  “How do you know?” Benjamin asked his mother. “This is a hurricane. And they are an endangered species. There’s only a hundred of them left. That sounds like a lot, but it’s not.”

  Jeez.

  “I’m sure they are used to this weather if they’ve been here for five hundred years.”

  “Not each horse. Each horse hasn’t been here for five hundred years. Just the herd.”

  “Then they’re pretty strong and they’ll be fine.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “It’s survival of the fittest, sweetie. It’s nature’s way.”

  Ethan heard her kiss him. She said good night to the rest of them, the light from the bathroom momentarily cutting her body in two when she stood up, then she slipped out the door.

  Ethan fell asleep thinking about the horses, as the rain pounded the house all night.

  NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE

  * * *

  Freida knew Maggie wouldn’t vote for her poetry anthology cover and that Maggie would somehow be able to get the whole class to vote for someone she wanted to have win. That someone would, of course, be Larissa Peterson.

  She knew it, even as she sat at her dining room table at home and worked on her design. Lots of people can draw really well, Maggie thought. Even Larissa. The key to being an artist is to be different, do something in a new way, with an original voice. Like they were always saying on American Idol: Make it your own.

  Freida had a drawer in the kitchen that held all her art supplies, scissors, tape, fimo clay, paper, glue, ribbons, glitter, paints and brushes, stapler, hole punch, rubber stamps, markers, colored pencils, charcoal pencils, gesso board, an X-Acto knife that her mother didn’t know was there. And on the outside of the drawer she had taped a sign: DO NOT OPEN.

  It was open now and all the found objects Freida had been collecting were spread out on the table. Something to represent everyone in the class. A blue feather for Elizabeth’s blue eyes. Half of an old lace from a basketball sneaker for Matthew. The torn cover of a fashion magazine for Zoe.

  She carefully took apart one of her dad’s old watches and separated the tiniest metal pieces on the board to represent time, the time they had spent together, in light and in dark. She had the wrapper to Kyle’s favorite candy bar, a piece of the Nigerian flag because Assumpta’s mother had been an African princess. For Ethan she found an actual strip of used film since he was so into photography now.

  Only for Maggie she drew. It took most of the evening. She drew what Aristophanes described as the first humans, combined as one powerful being that spun on four legs like a wheel. Then she carefully glued all the other pieces over it, so only if you looked very carefully could you see what lay underneath.

  “Oh my goodness, that’s incredible.” Freida’s mother walked into the dining room. “I wondered what you were doing in here so long.”

  Freida held it up. The name of the anthology—when the class chose it—would go right in the center. She left a space so that nothing would be completely covered, but nothing would stand out more than anything else.

  “Freida, it’s lovely. When you stand back”—her mother took a few steps back—“it just looks like one colorful piece, but up close you see all the details. Is it for a special project?”

  Freida looked at the board, her design, the work she put into it. It would be too hard to duplicate anyway. They would have to photograph it at a high resolution and reproduce it in three, if not four, colors. It would be too expensive. And besides, Larissa would win. Maggie would make sure of that.

  “No,” Freida answered. “I just made it for me.”

  “It’s great you have that freedom, Freida,” her mother said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Sometimes it was better to get out of the game altogether instead of worrying if you were winning or losing.

  COINCIDENCE|kō'-in(t)-s-den(t)s|

  * * *

  noun

  1 a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection : it’s no coincidence that this new burst of innovation has occurred in the free nations | they met by coincidence.

  2 correspondence in nature or in time of occurrence : the coincidence of interest between the mining companies and certain politicians.

  3 Physics the presence of ionizing particles or other objects in two or more detectors simultaneously, or of two or more signals simultaneously in a circuit.

  And the funny part was that she wasn’t going to have to change her name.

  Only Elizabeth didn’t think there was anything funny about any of it. Miss Robinson told the class she was getting married. She made it into one of her word games. Elizabeth didn’t write down one word (even though coincidence was such an easy one). She just sat there wondering how she was going to get by for the two weeks Miss Robinson—who would henceforth be known as Mrs. Robinson—was away on her honeymoon.

  coin

  den

  nice

  need

  Sometimes Elizabeth dreamed about Miss Robinson. She dreamed Miss Robinson was her mother and they went on picnics together. It must have been something she had seen in a TV commercial, with a red checkered blanket and a wicker basket, because on the picnic, in the dream, she spilled ketchup on her shirt and Miss Robinson cleaned it up right away with some special laundry detergent and she didn’t get mad at all.

  Miss Robinson never got mad. She taught language arts and social studies. She had her own library in the back of the room and kids were allowed to borrow books without signing them out or being told to be quiet while finding one. She called it the honor system. She expected you to return the book. If you lost it, she expected you to replace it with some other (appropriate) book, but she didn’t get mad.

  It’s not that Elizabeth didn’t love her own mother. She did.

  It was just a dream.

  ice

  dice

  no

  in

  none

  Regina Rashad won this time. She got to pick her prize from the drawer. Then Miss Robinson told everyone to take out their notebooks. It was time for language arts.

  “I’d like to ask everyone what their parents thought of our anthology.”

  “The Answering Voice,” Ethan called out.

  “The Answering Voice,” Miss Robinson agreed. “So let’s go around the room. I’d love to hear.”

  Even the desks in Miss Robinson’s room were arranged in a special way, like a giant horseshoe, two horseshoes—one smaller one inside the bigger one, everyone facing the back of the room, where Miss Robinson sat directly in front of all her books. She started at the far left, outer horseshoe.

  “My mom and dad loved it.”

  “Very creative and wonderful.”

  And then once somebody had used a word, it seemed it was the only word the next five people could remember.

  “Just like a real book. The poems were all so creative.”

  “Really creative.”

  “All the poems were really creative.”

  “Wonderful and creative.”

  “My mom said it was really creative. She loved it.”

  Elizabeth counted the number of kids till Miss Robinson got to her and asked what her parents thought of The Answering Voice. Only her mother hadn’t seen the book of poetry. Her mother didn’t even know about it, and Elizabeth hadn’t
talked to her father in three years—which was actually a very good thing, according to Elizabeth’s mom.

  So what would Elizabeth say? She had had all weekend to show her mom. She had Friday night and all day Saturday and all day Sunday. Friday was the vet and then there was Saturday.

  “Not now, Lizzybeth,” her mother said. “Just let me sleep a little bit.” And somehow the day got away from them. Her mother got up by lunch. The dogs needed to be fed. The kitty litter changed. There were two rabbits now, still outside in their hutch. At night her mother had her favorite shows on TV.

  And then Sunday, after church. They stopped at the A&P for one of those already-cooked chickens. To be fair, Elizabeth probably forgot about it for a while on Sunday and then by nightfall, who knows?

  “Elizabeth?”

  She loved Miss Robinson. Miss Robinson thought she was smart. She liked Elizabeth’s writing, her stories. Elizabeth always got a hundred on the vocabulary quizzes. Her best skill was using the vocabulary word in a sentence. But not just any sentence, like Maggie did when the word was “anticipate.”

  “I like to anticipate the new year,” Maggie said, and Miss Robinson said that was good.

  Elizabeth raised her hand. “They failed to anticipate the rain and so everyone at the picnic got wet because they didn’t bring umbrellas.”

  “Perfect, Elizabeth,” Miss Robinson said. “That so perfectly illustrates the meaning of the word.”

  “Did your mother like the poetry book?” Miss Robinson was asking.

  She didn’t know how to answer, but Elizabeth started talking anyway, hoping maybe, she could find that feeling again, that so-good feeling she got when Miss Robinson was happy with her.

  “My mother thought mine was better than everyone else’s.” And once she had begun she just kept going. “I mean, the others were cute, like about snow and sunshine and everything. But my mother said mine was different. It was more meaningful.” There was no stopping her. “And my dad said mine was the best too. Rhyming poems are silly, he said. He liked mine the best because it didn’t rhyme. And it was about something. Meaningful, you know?”

  The whole room was suddenly very quiet and very very hot. Elizabeth knew there probably wasn’t a laundry detergent in the whole world that could get this stain out.

  MASS HYSTERIA

  * * *

  Zoe: Ugg.. I haaaate goin to the orthodontist

  Maggie: no fun.. but mayb u will c sum cute boyz in the w8ting room ;)

  Zoe: we r l8 as usual

  Zoe: of course my mom is blabbin on her cell && speeding.. smaarrrt

  Maggie: wut? she tlkng crap bout sumbody?

  Zoe: ya.. shocking

  Maggie: wuts she tlkng bout now?

  Zoe: wellll.. I guess she saw Larissas mom wearin a fake Louis

  Maggie: lame.. tell her 2 get a life

  Zoe: so annoying.. she won’t stop tlkng bout it >:o

  Zoe: least shes not comin in w/ me

  Zoe: Hello?

  Zoe: u still thr?

  Zoe: ugg! its packed in here.. gunna take 4ever!

  Maggie: read a magazine?

  Zoe: no gud 1s they r all old

  Zoe: Oh snap.. qt alert!!!!

  Maggie: o ya!?!

  Zoe: ya just checkin out my competition haha

  Maggie: lol u r funny.. lyke WE have competition

  Maggie: soooo.. nething gud??

  Zoe: HAH! O man.. freckle-face miiiight have a chance lolol!

  Zoe: Maggie u shud c this grl!! She prob has lyke 1002429834 freckles all over her skinny body.. yuck!

  Maggie: pretty skinny or throw up skinny?

  Zoe: Pretty skinny but UGLY jeans haha

  Maggie: wut wud u rank her?

  Zoe : hmm on a scale from 1 – 10 . . .

  Zoe: 5.5.. 2 below me n 3 below u lolol

  Maggie: k next!

  Zoe: uh oh.. i c sum possible competition.

  Zoe: Perf hair.. perf skin.. u kno 1 of those grls

  Maggie: pretends she doesn’t kno shes pretty type?

  Zoe: ya exactly! Shes a little chubby tho.. bet she will get fat in high school haha

  Maggie: lol

  Zoe: OMG! OMG! OMG!

  Maggie: wut!?!

  Zoe: major HOTTIE just wlkd in!!!

  Maggie: How hott!?!

  Zoe: outta 10?? ummm def 11!!

  Maggie: ow! ow! go tlk 2 him grl!

  Maggie: hello?

  Maggie: r u tlkng 2 him!?!

  Zoe: Im here n noooo I cant!

  Maggie: wut? y not?

  Zoe: b/cuz of this gigantic pimple taking over my face!

  Maggie: OMG grl stop! I bet u cant even c it!

  Zoe: OMG Mag! Yes u can!! u r the 1 who pointed it out 2 me, member???

  Maggie: Zoe I was jk!

  Maggie: Now stop bein a big baby n go tlk 2 him!!!

  Zoe: Nope. Not happening. I luk like Natasha!!

  Maggie: who the heck is Natasha?

  Zoe: u kno.. Freida’s sister.. wutshername?

  Maggie: OOoh Nadine hahaha ya dum dum!

  Maggie: haha jk

  Zoe: ya w/e Nadine Natasha..

  Zoe: u kno how she tries 2 cover it all up w/ makeup but by the end of the day her face just looks lyke a melting pizza hahaha gross!

  Maggie: hahaha ya def a cake face lol

  Maggie: hey I g2g grl! Luvs u! xoxo

  Zoe: kk my name just got called newayz

  Zoe: t2ul grl, <3 ya 2! xoxo

  TRASH

  * * *

  I told my mom what Elizabeth Moon said in Lan guage Arts today and she said that trash is always trash. She said money can’t buy you class. And I said, But Elizabeth Moon doesn’t have money, she’s poor, her mom takes dogs into their house for a job. And my mother said, Well see, that’s exactly what I mean, and she then told Angelica to make me chicken nuggets for dinner and she went in to her office to prepare for her conference call to China.

  Except that it wasn’t really what Elizabeth said about her own poem being better than everyone else’s that was bothering me, it was what happened in the cafeteria right afterward. And anyway, Stewart thought it was funny. And Zoe. So did Ethan, and Matthew and everyone else except for you, which you would have, if you had any sense of humor left. Anyway, we were just kidding.

  “Miss Maggie?”

  My bedroom door was shut. Remember when you used to sleep over all the time, like every weekend? And we would stay up and draw under the covers in our sketch pads with that huge flashlight? And we made up that name to call ourselves, “Magda”, because “Freiggie” just didn’t sound right.

  “You food is ready.”

  See, even Angelica can’t call it dinner.

  “Did my dad call?” I shouted back at the door.

  “Not yet, Miss Maggie. Now hurry and can come down to eat. The nuggens—”

  “Nuggets.”

  “The nuggets are not good when they are cold.”

  They’re not so good hot either, but I didn’t say that. Instead I asked Angelica if I could eat in my room. She said that was okay, probably because that way she doesn’t have to look at me and feel bad about herself for being just a housekeeper and having no life.

  Seriously, nobody likes you the way you are now. You used to be a lot more fun.

  Remember, Freida? Remember we were both walkers in fourth grade before middle school and remember how we got to swing on the swings when everybody had already left to catch their bus? And even with all those empty swings we both sat together in the same seat?

  “We are like those human beings in social studies class,” you said.

  We pumped our legs up and stretched them up into the air until the toes of our sneakers were visible against the blue of the sky.

  “Oh, yeah!” I shouted. “Before the head God-guy got mad and split them apart.”

  “Jealous,” you told me. “He was jealous because the humans were so powerful.”

  “Zeus.” I remembered his name. We were having
a test on Greek mythology the next day.

  “Humans had four legs and four arms and ran across the ground like a wheel faster than the gods could run.”

  We each held on to one side of the swing and wrapped our other arms around each other, leaning forward into the backswing and back against the rushing wind and up into the sky again.

  “But we found each other,” I said. “And now nothing can stop us.”

  “We are so powerful.”

  The dirt under the swing, where countless feet had run before us, was dug into a narrow groove, with tufts of grass on either side. The ground sped into a blur of green and brown the higher and faster we got. Four legs, four arms, four feet, four hands, two heads, two bellies, two laughing girls.

  There was no one else in the world but us.

  Just last week, my mom asked me why we weren’t friends anymore and I had to tell her something, so I said it was because you had turned in a major traitor in middle school, which is kind of true if you think about it.

  SCHOOL SPIRIT

  * * *

  I don’t like like her that way, but Maggie is really pretty and she practically begged me to help her. She wanted me to take a picture of Elizabeth Moon. I can’t imagine Maggie has honorable intentions, but like I said, she practically begged me. And she’s really pretty.

  The truth is I may even want to be a photographer one day.

  This is already my second digital camera, but over the summer I took black and white photography at the Arts Center in town. It was completely different. You have no idea what your picture is going to look like until you get into the darkroom, and even then you can mess the whole thing up in the developing process. But when you are in the little room, in the dark, and an image starts to appear on this blank piece of paper in the chemicals, and you think, Wow, that’s a great shot, it’s really cool.

  “You working on the paper, Ethan?”

  We don’t even have a school paper. You would think the assistant principal would know that.

  “Uh, yes sir, I am,” I said. I lowered my camera and waited until he walked away.