Read Online The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys by Chris Fuhrman - Free Book Online Page A

wild,” he said, “because we feed them and they’re used to seeing people. But they aren’t pets. Some may eventually be released into the wild. They can be dangerous, okay? Now who’s got a question?” He set his hands on his hips.
    Eric Johnson, who was going to be a doctor like his father, raised his hand up stiff.
    “Yessir,” Paul said.
    “What are the animals here used for?”
    Paul pinched his beard and stroked it. “Nothing. They’re not much use to us in our technological world. On the other hand,we’re not much use to them either.” His eyes crinkled at Eric, and his voice mellowed. “That was a good question, man. This island is just sort of an ark, I guess.”
    Ascension beamed. “It’s our duty to preserve and protect God’s creatures.” Paul nodded.
    Tim grabbed Rusty’s shoulder and stood on tiptoe. “Do these animals of yours have souls? We’re taught that they don’t. Do you believe that?”
    Sister Rosaria turned. She had on her harlequin glasses now. Her beakish nose pointed at Tim.
    The man rolled his head and showed his bristly throat and chuckled in polite embarrassment. “I can’t answer that one. Depends on your point of view. A Native American would say they have souls. I do know they’re incapable of sin. Even when an animal kills, it’s in innocence. Maybe they don’t need souls.” His eyes slid towards the teachers. He grinned. They smiled back, relaxed and charmed, except for Rosaria, who had reddened. She was coming our way.
    “He’s one of us,” Tim said.
    Rosaria pinched Tim’s earlobe from behind, yanking it down so hard Tim smacked to his knees, and I wondered if she’d seen our awful comic book. The nun’s teeth clenched, coffee-stained.
    “Mr. Sullivan,” she said, “you just stay beside me today. Any more cleverness and you will not graduate. Do you understand?” She jerked the earlobe for emphasis.
    Tim stood up but kept his head cocked to ease the pull. He looked at Mrs. Barnes. She opposed physical punishment. Mrs. Barnes diverted her glance to Rusty’s mother, who was frowning at us.
    “You’re a very small boy,” said Rosaria, who was very small herself. She released the ear with a tug. “You’ll probably be tiny all your life. You should compensate with intelligence and generosity, not rebellion and clownishness.”
    Tim hated himself for being small. He hung from the monkeybars for fifteen minutes every day, to stretch himself. Even a friendly mention of his height made him rabid. I knew he would get himself suspended now. I waited for the fireball of four-letter words. It was conceivable that he’d slap her face. But he only said, “Yes, Sister, I’m sorry. I was showing off.” He swallowed hard.
    She said something only he could hear and smirked kindly. Tim was even smaller now, a drooping of the shoulders, downcast eyes. As we walked along, he gradually drifted away from her, and Rosaria fell in with the teachers at the back. Tim was quiet beside me.
    Paul guided us into the trees. Dead branches laid end to end marked the sides of the trail. We passed a pool of water, the surface solid with mulchy leaves and a dusting of new pollen. Frogs chirped and plunked in before we saw them. Melissa Anderson tightened a bow in her hair and asked if there were any snakes around.
    Charles Sapp, our class reptile expert, sneered, “No, snakes only live in storybooks, Melissa.”
    Therese Parker, the girl with the pet raccoon, smiled adoringly.
    Paul said, “Yes, please don’t bother the snakes, girls.”
    Twigs and leaves crunched underfoot. I imagined I was an Indian and tried to walk silently, but couldn’t. The trail ran under pines and mossy oaks and magnolias. Several of the boys found sticks to carry. The teachers kept telling us to stay on the trail. The girls clumped together in the center and pretended to be frightened, except for Therese Parker, who kept squatting at the edges to cluck at squirrels.
    Birds squawked down at us or