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Authors: Simmone Howell
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said. Another bad apple . She clapped her hands together. “Who’s next?”
Apart from outing Sarita’s spin ability, Roslyn’s game held few surprises. Fleur’s personal possession was a “friendship ring” given to her by “someone special” (she went all doe-eyed when she said it, but her toes were pointing straight at Craig); Lisa and Laura shared the same personal possession, a signed photograph of Del Sebastian, Christian soul superstar ( To two special girls, PeaceLoveJesus, Del Sebastian ); I felt sure Bird would say his binoculars, but he picked his sneakers. He said he liked the lights because they made him feel calm; Richard’s personal possession was a science fiction paperback called The Mansions of Space (“It’s about the hunt for the Shroud of Turin in the twenty-fourth century.”); and Ethan’s was a Swiss Army knife, which Roslyn promptly confiscated.
Craig went last. He took off his Youth Leader vest and shook his head a few times, looking at it with pride, and then he went into this unexpurgated ramble about him and Dylan and the good old days.
And I couldn’t imagine them.
Craig ended with: “It’s so cool, looking over and seeing that Dylan has the vest, too. I’m stoked. When we were twelve, we started this book where we wrote down all the Youth Leaders. Remember, D? We used to write their names, and everything about them—their attributes, what we could learn from them. Like, Mark Monroe could spot a bed wetter at fifty paces, but at the same time if you had a problem you could tell him and he wouldn’t laugh at you, he’d just be straight up. And Dylan used to write their fatal flaws. You know, room for improvement.”
At this Ethan interrupted him. “What’s your fatal flaw?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
Craig stopped short. “Shit. I don’t know.”
“Language!” Roslyn interjected.
Then Bird spoke up—and Bird never spoke up. “What’s his?” He nodded to Dylan but wouldn’t look at him.
Dylan smiled a sad, flat smile and pointed to his legs.
The Word ended with “meditation.” Roslyn had us all hold hands while she read from a little green book.
“This is just something to go away with:
‘A firemist and a planet;
A crystal and a cell;
A jellyfish and a saurian,
And caves where cavemen dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
A face turned from the clod—
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.’ ”
The bell rang, and we all let go and wiped our hands. Roslyn said, “God is behind everything. Behind the trees and the earth and the sea. That’s pretty awesome, isn’t it? I want you to think about this for tomorrow’s discussion.”
I put my hand up. “Roslyn?”
“Yes, Riley.”
“I call it evolution.”
“Save it, Riley.”
Roslyn closed her little green book.
The Honeyeaters walked as a group to the mess hall for lunch. My silver belt gave Sarita a new swagger. I wondered what Dylan would make of it. She wasn’t doing her usual head-down, stumble-bum wander, she was sailing . I was smiling at this when Richard and Ethan fell into step beside me. Ethan elbowed me in the side. “You’re going to hell,” he said. Richard jabbed me in the other side. “Slut.” They stormed off ahead. I was too stunned to respond. I stopped walking. I felt a tightness growing in my chest. I knew that feeling. It’s the start of tears that never come. The first time I felt it was at Mom’s funeral, when I couldn’t cry. That was all hands on deck—everyone rubbing my back and going, “I know, I know,” and “It’s okay,” and “Let it out, love,” but no tears ever came. Call me Concrete Girl.
“Riley—are you okay?”
I looked up. Dylan was looking at me like I was a case.
“Fuck off.” I said it without thinking. He stared at me, then jammed his hands down on his wheels and shot off ahead.
17
Field Recordings
After lunch, the Honeyeaters were told to assemble outside the rec room. I waited with Sarita. We leaned on the
Apart from outing Sarita’s spin ability, Roslyn’s game held few surprises. Fleur’s personal possession was a “friendship ring” given to her by “someone special” (she went all doe-eyed when she said it, but her toes were pointing straight at Craig); Lisa and Laura shared the same personal possession, a signed photograph of Del Sebastian, Christian soul superstar ( To two special girls, PeaceLoveJesus, Del Sebastian ); I felt sure Bird would say his binoculars, but he picked his sneakers. He said he liked the lights because they made him feel calm; Richard’s personal possession was a science fiction paperback called The Mansions of Space (“It’s about the hunt for the Shroud of Turin in the twenty-fourth century.”); and Ethan’s was a Swiss Army knife, which Roslyn promptly confiscated.
Craig went last. He took off his Youth Leader vest and shook his head a few times, looking at it with pride, and then he went into this unexpurgated ramble about him and Dylan and the good old days.
And I couldn’t imagine them.
Craig ended with: “It’s so cool, looking over and seeing that Dylan has the vest, too. I’m stoked. When we were twelve, we started this book where we wrote down all the Youth Leaders. Remember, D? We used to write their names, and everything about them—their attributes, what we could learn from them. Like, Mark Monroe could spot a bed wetter at fifty paces, but at the same time if you had a problem you could tell him and he wouldn’t laugh at you, he’d just be straight up. And Dylan used to write their fatal flaws. You know, room for improvement.”
At this Ethan interrupted him. “What’s your fatal flaw?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
Craig stopped short. “Shit. I don’t know.”
“Language!” Roslyn interjected.
Then Bird spoke up—and Bird never spoke up. “What’s his?” He nodded to Dylan but wouldn’t look at him.
Dylan smiled a sad, flat smile and pointed to his legs.
The Word ended with “meditation.” Roslyn had us all hold hands while she read from a little green book.
“This is just something to go away with:
‘A firemist and a planet;
A crystal and a cell;
A jellyfish and a saurian,
And caves where cavemen dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
A face turned from the clod—
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.’ ”
The bell rang, and we all let go and wiped our hands. Roslyn said, “God is behind everything. Behind the trees and the earth and the sea. That’s pretty awesome, isn’t it? I want you to think about this for tomorrow’s discussion.”
I put my hand up. “Roslyn?”
“Yes, Riley.”
“I call it evolution.”
“Save it, Riley.”
Roslyn closed her little green book.
The Honeyeaters walked as a group to the mess hall for lunch. My silver belt gave Sarita a new swagger. I wondered what Dylan would make of it. She wasn’t doing her usual head-down, stumble-bum wander, she was sailing . I was smiling at this when Richard and Ethan fell into step beside me. Ethan elbowed me in the side. “You’re going to hell,” he said. Richard jabbed me in the other side. “Slut.” They stormed off ahead. I was too stunned to respond. I stopped walking. I felt a tightness growing in my chest. I knew that feeling. It’s the start of tears that never come. The first time I felt it was at Mom’s funeral, when I couldn’t cry. That was all hands on deck—everyone rubbing my back and going, “I know, I know,” and “It’s okay,” and “Let it out, love,” but no tears ever came. Call me Concrete Girl.
“Riley—are you okay?”
I looked up. Dylan was looking at me like I was a case.
“Fuck off.” I said it without thinking. He stared at me, then jammed his hands down on his wheels and shot off ahead.
17
Field Recordings
After lunch, the Honeyeaters were told to assemble outside the rec room. I waited with Sarita. We leaned on the
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