A Sliver of Sun

by Dianna Dorisi Winget

  “So, then,” Mrs. Holloway said, “let’s start with the attendance. Please say ‘here’ when I call your name. Brian Adams … . Kinsey Bane … Piper Lee DeLuna?”

  “Here,” I said.

  Mrs. Holloway smiled at me. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at our school before, are you new here?”

  “She’s my step sister,” Ginger said.

  My face flushed. At least she said step-sister.

  “Well, how wonderful,” Mrs. Holloway beamed. “We’re delighted to have you, Piper Lee.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled.

  “How come everybody around here says that?”

  We all looked toward the girl who’d asked the question. She was big, with black hair as short as a boy’s, and wore a neon green shirt with a peace symbol painted on it.

  “How come everyone says what, dear?” Mrs. Holloway asked. “And I don’t believe I recognize you either. Please tell us your name.”

  The girl seemed pleased by the sudden attention. “Angela Eversol. And why does everybody say ‘yes, ma’am, and no, sir,’ and that sort of weird stuff?”

  Mrs. Holloway’s eyebrows peaked. “Why, because Angela, those are terms of respect. It’s the proper way to address someone older than you.”

  Angela gave the tiniest smirk. “Oh, it’s another one of those Southern things.”

  Our teacher’s mouth stayed turned up in a smile, but the rest of her face took on more of a no-nonsense look. “You must not be from around this area.”

  “I’m from Phoenix, Arizona,” Angela said.

  Eyebrows shot up, and a chirp passed through the classroom. I wondered if all Arizonians were as clueless as Angela. Ramsay gave me a half smile, like he could read what I was thinking.

  “I see,” Mrs. Holloway said. “Well, we’re glad to have you. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to pick up on our Southern charms.” She finished taking attendance and then handed each of us a packet of papers to take home and have signed by our parents. Then she said, “All right, now let’s try to get to know each other just a bit. I’d like for each of you to say your name again, along with what you’d like to be when you grow up.” She gestured to Ramsay. “Would you like to start us off?”

  He gave his head a little shake to flip his bangs from his eyes, but they fell back right away again. “Uh, my name’s Ramsay, and uh, I’d like to … fix cars.”

  “Wonderful,” our teacher said. “We can always use more good mechanics.” She pointed to me.

  “Piper Lee,” I said. “And I’m gonna be a pilot just like my daddy.”

  “How exciting,” Mrs. Holloway said. “Is he a commercial pilot?”

  “No, ma’am. He worked for the Georgia Board of Tourism taking aerial photographs. But before that he was in the Air Force.”

  “I see. Is he still working for the state of Georgia now?”

  I swallowed. I couldn’t blame her for asking, on account of the way I’d worded things, but it still caught me off guard. “No, ma’am,” I said. “He was killed when I was six. His plane went down in a storm.”

  Mrs. Holloway’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. I am so sorry to hear that, Piper Lee. I didn’t realize.”

  I gave a stiff nod, and she did me the great favor of moving on to the next kid. I let out a quiet breath and forced myself to listen to the rest of the answers. Nobody said anything especially interesting. Marcus wanted to be a fireman, Susannah wanted to be a landscaper, and Avery thought he might like to be a doctor. But then the teacher pointed to Angela, and the whole room seemed to perk up, like maybe it was about to hear something out of the ordinary.

  Angela sat up a bit straighter and paused until she had everyone’s attention. “I would like to be a rodeo clown. The kind that keeps the bull rider from being gored.”

  There was a half second of silence and then everybody started to hoot. Our teacher looked speechless. “A … rodeo clown. You don’t say?”

  Angela stared straight back at her. “Yes,” she said. “I do say.”

  I tried to picture what Mama’s face might look like if I used that smarty-ass tone with her. And the image that came to mind made me laugh all the harder.

  Mrs. Holloway cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, “that’s a very interesting … and dangerous career choice.”

  And right then I knew that Mrs. Holloway liked Angela about as much as Mowgli liked his leash.

  Chapter Seven

  Ginger hogged the whole conversation that night at supper. Ben asked one simple question, “How did the first day go for you girls?” and Ginger was off like a Kentucky racehorse.

  I chomped on my barbecued chicken and fretted over the fact that Mama was drinking milk, plus eating salad besides. But Ginger was too busy babbling ’bout everything she loved to even notice. She loved Mrs. Holloway. She loved sitting only a desk away from Rowdy. She loved how Angela wanted to be a rodeo clown. And she loved the short haircuts a lot of the girls wore.

  “Can I Daddy?” she asked.

  Ben’s eyes had started to glaze over a bit, so he seemed a little surprised by the question. “Can you what?”

  “Get my hair cut short?”

  The spark came back to his eyes right quick. “No.”

  “Why not? A lot of the girls have really cute, short hair.”

  “Cause I like your hair long. It’s real pretty.”

  I looked at Ginger, and my heart squeezed with jealousy. Her hair was pretty, with the way it tumbled in a big, soft wave halfway down her back. But it wasn’t her hair that made me jealous—it was Ben saying she couldn’t get it cut. He was proud of her, he thought she was pretty. And I wanted him to feel that way about me too. I wanted him to tell me I couldn’t get my hair cut either, though it wasn’t half as long as Ginger’s.

  Ginger brushed his answer off with a quick wave of her hand and went right back to jabbering about school. Then finally, when I figured she’d never shut up, she took a big breath, and said, “Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot, Piper Lee’s got a boyfriend all ready.”

  My teeth were sunk into a cob of corn right then, and I couldn’t get them out fast enough. “You shut up,” I said, spraying corn kernels. “What in the world are you shootin’ your mouth off about?”

  Mama and Ben gave each other silly grins, and heat rushed to my face.

  Ginger broke into a fit of giggles. “I’m talking about Ramsay Tate. The kid that looks like a sheepdog.”

  “He doesn’t look like a sheepdog. He’s just got long bangs is all.”

  Ginger poked her finger at me with a look of triumph. “See, see, you must like him back. You’re stickin’ up for him.”

  If not for Mama and Ben, I would’ve beaten Ginger to a pulp right on the spot. I didn’t like any boy, ‘specially not one who dressed sloppy and was begging for a haircut. “I am not stickin’ up for him,” I sputtered. “What in the world makes you think he’s my boyfriend?”

  “Didn’t you see the way he kept lookin’ at you?”

  “He did not.”

  “Did so. From the time you picked up his pencil, he kept lookin’ at you like you were some cute little pup or somethin.”

  I made my best guess where her leg would be under the table and kicked out hard. My foot made contact with a solid object and Ginger yelped and dropped her fork. “OW! She just kicked me.”

  “Piper Lee,” Mama said, “you apologize right now.”

  I wasn’t the least bit sorry and wasn’t about to pretend I was. “She deserved it.”

  “All right,” Ben said, “both of you can apologize.”

  Ginger jerked her head back. “Me? What’d I do?”

  “You’re the one that got Piper Lee all riled up to begin with. Say you’re sorry.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Piper Lee,” Mama said.

  I would’ve rather bitten my tongue in half, and if it had been only Mama, I might’ve dragged things out awhile, but I didn’t have that kin
d of courage around Ben. “Sorry.”

  “All right,” Ben said. “Now both of you hush and finish your supper.”

  I glared at my plate. Why did I have to hush? I’d barely got to say ten words all evening.

  Mama must’ve understood, because she gave me a look of sympathy and said, “So, Piper Lee, you never told us what you think of Mrs. Holloway.”

  “That’s ’cause I never had a chance,” I said. “But she’s fine.”

  “Does that mean you like her?”

  “She’s fine.”

  Mama sighed and dabbed at a spot of barbecue sauce on her chin. “Well, if you girls don’t have anything more to share, I’ve got some news of my own. I have an appointment for an ultrasound tomorrow afternoon.”

  I tried to remember exactly what an ultrasound was. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “No, no, it’s just routine, to make sure the baby’s developing how it should. They like to do one at about sixteen weeks, and then sometimes another one later on.”

  Ginger drew in a sharp breath. “And it tells whether it’s a boy or a girl, don’t it?”

  Mama winked. “That it does, but your Daddy and I have decided not to find out.”

  Ben laughed. “We? You’re the one who decided Heather.”

  A weird jumble of feelings washed over me as I studied Mama. “You don’t wanna know?”

  “Well, sure I do. But y’all seem to want a boy so bad, what if it’s a girl? I don’t want everybody walking around disappointed for several months.” Her voice wavered the tiniest bit on that last word, and Ben reached across to pat her hand.

  “Aw, now, Heather. You know we’re gonna love it no matter what it is.”

  Mama gave him a cross look. “I know that.”

  I was surprised how fast Mama’s mood seemed to change. Ben seemed a bit caught off guard himself. He raised an eyebrow at his plate and scooped up the last of his salad.

  Mama’s talk about the ultrasound had been a brief distraction, but as soon as supper was over and Ginger and I were alone with the dishes, we picked up right where we left off. “You ever call Ramsay my boyfriend again, and I’ll twist you into a pretzel.”

  Ginger smirked. “I was only teasing. Besides, lots of girls our age have boyfriends.”

  “Not me. Boys are dumb.”

  “Thought you wanted Mama to have a boy.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t reckon she will. Did you see what she was eatin’ tonight?”

  Ginger looked a little startled. “What?”

  I sniffed. “You never shut up long enough to notice, did ya? Dairy and salad greens both.”

  “Oh.” Ginger slapped at a mound of bubbles. “Well, we knew we couldn’t watch her much anymore once school started. Wonder what they’ll name it, whichever it is?”

  That shut me up, on account of it being such an interesting question. I thought about it for awhile. “Maybe Zeus Thaddeus,” I said.

  Ginger’s eyes got real big, and she busted out laughing. “What!”

  “It was some Greek artist our teacher told us about last year.”

  “Yeah? Well, ‘member that guy from the prison Daddy told us about, Pedro Woolley?”

  I giggled. “Oh, yeah. I love that name. How ’bout Pedro Woolley Hutchings?”

  “Yeah, or how ’bout Ichabod Crane?”

  “Maybe he’ll be headless.”

  “That’s nasty, Piper Lee.”

  “Your daddy might want his name in there someplace if it’s a boy. How ’bout Ichabod Benjamin Woolley Hutchings?”

  Ginger squealed. “Okay, now a girl name, just in case. How about Gertrude Josephina?”

  “Or Cruella Deville?”

  “No, no I’ve got it—Cruella Gertrude Hutchings.”

  We kept it up until we were both crying with laughter, and I worried I might pee my pants if we didn’t stop. I lifted the last plate from the rinse water and gave it a shake. “You wanna hear something weird,” I said, “the kid will just be starting kindergarten when you and me go to tenth grade.”

  “Criminy,” Ginger said, “that sounds real old.”

  “It is real old. It’s almost grown up.”

  Mama waltzed into the kitchen. “I had to come see what all the commotion’s about. Sounds like a pack of hyenas in here.”

  Ginger giggled. “We were just playing around with goofy baby names.”

  Mama’s eyes lit up. “Were you now? I’ve been thinking about that very thing myself.”

  “Goofy baby names?” I asked.

  “No, Piper Lee, fitting baby names.”

  “Have you and Daddy got any ideas?” Ginger asked.

  Mama pursed her lips. “Well, we haven’t talked too much about it yet, but I’m thinking maybe Dillon Shane for a boy. What do you think of that?”

  Ginger gave it a few seconds of thought before she shrugged. “That don’t sound too bad.”

  Mama glanced at me, but I looked away. I had no idea what to say. Making up pretend names with Ginger was one thing, but hearing Mama talk about names for real, well, that was just plain creepy.

  “Got any girl names?” Ginger asked.

  “Well, I’ve always liked the name Vanessa. In fact,” she paused long enough to smile at me, “if your daddy hadn’t been so hell bent on naming you after his favorite airplane, you would’ve been my little Vanessa Rose.”

  All I could do was stare at her. I couldn’t believe she’d never told me that before. It was like she’d just sprung some big secret on me … in front of Ginger, no less.

  Ginger took a breath. “Vanessa Rose,” she echoed. “I love that name. It’s so pretty. Does Daddy like it?”

  “I don’t rightly know. I haven’t asked him yet.”

  I pulled the plug on the rinse water and stared down at the little whirlpool that formed. I couldn’t imagine being named anything other than Piper Lee, and especially not something all poofy and girly like Vanessa Rose.

  “Honey?” Mama asked gently. “What do you think?”

  I rolled my eyes at the sink. “I don’t much care what you name it,” I said. “That’s up to you and Ben.” Then I threw my towel on the counter and stalked outside.

  Ben was tinkering on his Mustang again, and I brushed past him and climbed up on the trampoline. I started to bounce as high and as hard as I could. And it helped me stop thinking about dumb names and even dumber babies and how things used to be—at least until Ginger showed up.

  I quit jumping and scowled at her. “Quit following me everywhere.”

  “I’m not following you. It’s my trampoline. Just ’cause you’ve lived here a few weeks don’t mean everything’s yours.” She kicked off her shoes and climbed up beside me.

  I dropped down on the mat and wiped sweaty bangs from my forehead. “Okay, you don’t need to give me a five minute lecture.”

  “Well, somebody ought to.”

  I glared at her.

  “Well, it’s true. All Mama asked was if you liked a name and you went storming out like you were all mad.”

  “Mind your own business, Ginger.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. I’m just sayin’ you shouldn’t be mean to your mama. You don’t know what it’s like not to have one.”

  Guilt stabbed me like a pitchfork, and I felt an overwhelming need to defend myself. “I wasn’t tryin’ to be mean, I just don’t have any opinion about names is all. Besides, you’re plenty mean yourself.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “You’re the one who kicked me under the table.”

  “You earned it.”

  “Get off my trampoline, Piper Lee.”

  “No. And don’t boss me around.”

  “Get off!”

  “Make me.”

  Usually it took a while for Ginger to get riled up enough to fight back, so it caught me off guard when she reached out and yanked my hair. The pain raced across my scalp and it was all I could do not to holler. I grabbed her wrist and d
ug my fingernails in hard as I could. She let go of my hair and screamed like a wounded Tom cat.

  “Hey!” Ben shouted. He tossed his wrench aside and strode over to us. “What is wrong with you two?”

  Ginger held out her arm, limp at the wrist like it was broken. “Look what she did to me, Daddy.”

  Hot anger pumped through me as I rubbed my head. “You pulled my hair first.”

  Ben put his hands on his hips and glared back and forth between us. “Why’d you pull her hair, Ginger?”

  Ginger screwed up her face, and I could see her mind racing to make up a whopper of an excuse.

  “She told me to get off her trampoline,” I added helpfully, “and I wouldn’t do it.”

  “That’s not why, Piper Lee. It’s ’cause you were bein so bratty to Mama about the baby names.”

  Ben turned his eyes back my way, and panic shot me like a jolt of electricity. “I wasn’t,” I mumbled.

  “Were too,” Ginger said. “And all I did was tell you not to be mean to her like that, and then you got all put out and started …”

  Ben held up one of his big hands like a stop sign. “Okay. Hush. You’ve both been acting like two year-olds since supper. And all this kicking and scratching and hair pulling is gonna stop right now, you hear me?”

  My face prickled with shame. “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Ginger gave a tight-lipped nod.

  I hoped that might be the end of it, but I could tell it wasn’t, on account of the way Ben was still eyeing us. “Y’know what happens to the guys at the prison when they start attacking each other?”

  His question hung in the air like a big, heavy cloud of doom, while all kinds of craziness filled my head. What did happen to them? Did they get hung up by their toes? Beat with a wet noodle? Put in a straight jacket?

  “They go to solitary,” Ben finally said, solving the mystery. He pointed Ginger to the nearest pecan tree. “Get over there and face that tree.” He gestured me to an oak about twenty feet away. “And you go face that one, and I don’t wanna hear a peep from either of you.”

  “For how long?” Ginger asked.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Ginger shoved her feet in her flip flops and sulked off like she’d been given a life sentence. But I headed for my tree feeling relieved. Relieved Ben hadn’t doled out a worse punishment, and that he hadn’t demanded more explanation about Mama and the baby names.