Page 171 of Lessons in Cruelty

I guess I tie them too tight sometimes. But if I make the ropes loose enough for her to escape, she complains.

Girls are weird. Especially the ones at my middle school who whisper about my torn jeans and the bruises on my arms.

They always laugh when I look at them.

So I’ve stopped looking.

Haven doesn’t laugh at me. Only when I fall and bust up my knee or something. Or when I fart. Or, lately, when my voice suddenly becomes just as squeaky as hers.

I put my hands on my hips, staring her down. “You can’t play.”

“Why?” Frustrated tears sparkled on her lashes.

The first rains came and went last night. The ground is still muddy, the trees still dripping, but the sky is clear. Late afternoon sunlight spears through the leaves and makes patches of shadow and light on Haven’s face.

I glance at the rushing water. “It’s going too fast.” I scrunch up my face. “You’ll die.”

She pouts. “Maybe I want to die. You don’t know.”

“Oh, gawd,” I drawl, dragging my hand down my face. “Not this again.”

“My foot’s numb.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Don’t want your foot falling off.” I huff as I drag my weapon out of my underpants to cut her free. It’s less cutting and more jamming the knife into the knots to loosen them, though.

I really got to get my hands on a sharper knife. I keep asking Haven, but she gets this look in her eyes, and says she throws away all the knives at her house so no one gets hurt.

Runs in the family, I guess.

Only nine but already talking about dying like it’s normal. That’s messed up.

Haven giggles when the last rope is free and shoves me as she runs past, straight to the creek. “Fooled ya!”

“Filthy liar!” I yell, running after her.

She hesitates at the edge of the creek, wobbling as she balances on one of the big, flat rocks scattered about.

I stop beside her, waving at the water. “Go on.”

“It is going fast, isn’t it?” she whispers.

“Yeah, ‘cos I’m not a filthy liar like you.” I give her a little shove. “Go on.”

She looks down at herself. “What about my new shirt?”

I look at the grubby white t-shirt she’s got on. “Is not new.”

“Is too!”

I poke my finger through a small tear at the back of one sleeve. “Got a hole in it.”

“Yeah, fine,” she mutters, so quiet I can barely hear her over the thundering creek.

Her eyes are glazed as she stares at the foamy water. “Will I really die if I go in?”

“Probably.” I shrug, and jump in. The water rushes around my feet, almost tipping me over. “But heaven’s gotta be better than this dump, right?”

“No such thing as heaven,” she says firmly.