Page 3 of The Difference Between

His little brow furrows.

“That’s who Davy Crockett was, right? At least according to the song?”

“Yeah,” is all he says.

He has sandy hair, freckles, and good eyelashes. My mom always says kids get the best lashes, and up close, I see what she means. It’s pretty unfair.

I look over his head at Amanda and she mouths, You have Greg’s brother.

The handful, how nice.

“I’m Miss Reese.” I swallow my gag at the required title. “I know your brother. I’d let you call me Reese, but it’s the rule. You’re a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he argues. “I’m seven.”

At this, I laugh. “Well, you look like a kid.” I sniff. “And you smell like a kid.”

When he shouts, “Well I’m not!” I rear back. He might be a demon.

“You’re kind of feisty for a guy who lost it all at the Alamo,” I tell him.

This simultaneously confuses and silences him.

Around us, the other mentors begin enthusiastic reads of their picture books, and I wonder how the hell they know how to do that. I’m the middle sister of three girls, but Remy is only a year younger than me. There are no surprise babies in my house. I was a kid the last time I was around one.

I clear my throat. “We’re supposed to be reading.” I gesture at him with my magazine that is in no way age appropriate. “Wanna look for words you know or something?” Amanda’s reading a book with large letters on the cover. “Or say the alphabet?”

He crosses his little arms over his little chest. “I hate reading.”

“I hate small spaces,” I offer. “But I still go in the walk-in cooler at the diner when I work.”

“So?”

“So, just because you hate something doesn’t mean you get to skip it.”

He scowls at me. “Why not?”

“Because if you don’t read, you won’t make it very far.” I tap the magazine. “And sometimes you have to do things you don’t want so you can get the things you do.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” I wag a finger between us. “I have other things I’d rather be doing, and you don’t like reading, but I’m doing my part.”

“So.”

“So?” Now I straighten. “So you aren’t, and I need you to if this is going to work.”

Again, he says, “So.”

“So I need you to do what you’re supposed to.” My voice is clipped. “And I’m older than you so you have to listen.”

He shakes his head, and my need for his compliance rattles me. I don’t know what I expected out of this, but it wasn’t to be paired up with a defiant little asshole.

I let out a sharp breath and pivot. “What’s your favorite color?”

Silence.

“What’s your favorite food?”