catchers?”
Mac finished his pie before answering. The others waited. “I don’t know. I wasn’t raised with the traditions. I have no idea.”
“Let’s try it out,” said Mike. He rose and removed a picture from the wall by the head of the bed. Margaret handed him the dream catcher and he slipped the string over the nail. It twisted slightly, changing colors as it captured and reflected the light from the fire.
“Tomorrow I’ll screw in a plant hook,” said Mike. “Then it can spin freely.”
“Thank you, Mac,” said Margaret. “I just love it.”
“And it’s time to let it work,” said Mike. “You two kids can go talk in the basement, but it’s lights-out for the patient.”
“I have a physics test tomorrow,” said Mac, “and I need to study more. I wanted to come out tonight because I’m going to Milwaukee after school to visit my brother.”
Cory walked him to the back door where she retrieved his coat from the closet. “It’s the middle of the week. Why go see him now?”
“He’s checking out of the treatment center and wanted me along when he moves into the halfway house.”
“Just a visit, right?”
He smiled. “I’m coming back.”
“Thanks for her present. It was the sweetest thing,” she whispered.
“Sweet?”
“Yes, sweet. Was it your idea or Barb’s?”
He looked offended. “Totally mine. Although,” he said as he snapped up his coat, “Barb told me I could have it for less than cost.”
Cory laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She did like saying good night to someone. Mom’s absolutely wrong, she thought as he kissed the top of her head. Five eight is tall.
7
As Cory walked down the hallway with Mac and Tony, she looked ahead and saw a white triangle of paper sticking out of her locker. While the boys debated the merits of a movie they had rented the previous weekend, she pulled the paper out and unfolded it. The words slashed:
Only whores do it with injuns.
She swore softly, slapped her locker, and crumpled the paper.
“What’s that?” asked Mac.
“A piece of junk.” She dropped it in her bag and opened her locker. Mac fished in her bag and pulled out the paper. “Don’t read it, Mac.”
Tony looked over his shoulder. “Jerk,” Tony finally muttered. Mac smiled.
“How can you laugh?” Cory demanded.
“I’m not laughing. It’s just so…so wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Yeah. ‘Only whores do it with injuns.’ Well, you’re not, you don’t, and ‘injuns’ is pathetic name-calling. This guy should have asked me what word to use. I’ve heard some good ones.”
“I don’t like being called a whore.”
“When I find the guy I’ll beat him up.”
“Very funny, Mac.” She pulled two books from her locker and slammed it shut. She started to walk away. Mac grabbed her arm.
“Cory, I think the note is awful. But I’ve heard crap like that my whole life, and you can’t let it get to you. Then they win.”
“You should be angry.”
“Who the hell says I’m not?” They froze as their words slammed into each other. People passing in the hall turned and looked at them.
Tony whistled. “You two sound like Sash and me. Must be love.”
The warning bell rang and Cory and Mac resumed breathing. “See you at lunch?” she asked.
“No. I have to start an extra-credit project in English. After the last test I’m desperate.”
“Which means,” said Tony, “he has slipped to a B-minus.”
“I’m leaving after fifth period. I’ll call you from my brother’s, okay?”
“If you want to.”
Tony tugged on Mac’s arm. “Say good-bye and let’s get to lab.”
Cory turned the other direction. Mac stopped her.
“Please don’t get mad at me because you’re hating someone else. They win that way, too. Promise?”
His glasses had slipped. Cory tapped her own nose to signal, and he pushed them up. “I promise,” she said.
The next morning another white triangle was jammed into the door frame of her
John O'Riley
Jill Gregory
Celya Bowers
Aria Cunningham
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Christopher George
Learning to Kill: Stories
Brenda Sinclair
Karl Iagnemma
C. J. Cherryh