Page 30 of Darling

Omi stared at her blankly, clearly not kidding at all.

“How much does she know?” Omi asked Tinkerbelle, her brown eyes not leaving Wendy’s face.

“Nothing important,” Tinkerbelle replied. “Enough to follow instructions.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Omi said, and it sounded like a promise.

She reached a hand over to Wendy. “I’m Ominotago; only Tinkerbelle is allowed to call me Omi.”

Wendy shook her hand lightly.

Ominotago pointed over at the boy who looked like her. “This is Waatese, my little brother. He’s a sophomore.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wendy said. Waatese buried his face deeper into his arms until Wendy could only see tufts of his hair.

“Fyodor is the one pretending he’s not scared,” Ominotago said, pointing at the boy with the Russian accent.

Fyodor raised a hand in a combination of a wave and a dismissal. “Your hair,” he said to Wendy, with a smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Beautiful.”

Wendy thought about the fried curly mess, which, after all this running, must be sticking straight out from her head. “Uh. Thanks,” she said, not believing him at all.

“He flirts with everyone; don’t pay attention to him,” Ominotago said tersely.

“I’m Minsu,” the slightly shaken Asian American boy said from across the bus, giving Wendy a peace sign with the hand currently wrapped around his crying friend. “And this is Charles. Give him a minute.”

Charles covered his face with both hands and continued crying.

Ominotago gazed at him fondly. “He’s one of our linebackers.”

Curly reached across the seats and smacked Charles comfortingly on the back.

“Yo, don’t hit him. He doesn’t like to be hit,” Minsu said sternly.

Curly immediately shifted to a firm squeeze before leaning back into his seat. Wendy stared out the front of the bus window blankly for nearly a mile. Curly typed into an old phone while Tinkerbelle and Ominotago sweetly whispered to each other. The rest of the boys sat in complete silence, like they were riding home after an extremely tense day of school.

Wendy looked over at Curly and thought about what Prentis had said. She wondered which of these people Curly had a crush on. He wasn’t acting sheepish like he’d been at the dinner table, so it was extremely hard to tell.

Wendy glanced over at the blond, Fyodor. He could be an option if Wendy stretched her imagination a bit. Ominotago had said Fyodor was a flirt, but she didn’t say it was just with girls.

Waatese, Ominotago’s brother, seemed a bit young for Curly, but Wendy wasn’t sure how old Curly was, either, so that wasn’t a guarantee.

Minsu, who was still comforting Charles, was a maybe. But he had just snapped at Curly, and Curly didn’t react at all the way someone would if their crush snapped at them. He’d hardly reacted at all.

Charles was adorable, and so far he was Wendy’s best guess. Charles was clearly emotional, but probably the most physically impressive of the entire group. She was surprised he hadn’t just ripped the zip ties off with sheer force. He looked like he could give Nibs some tips, and Nibs was no slouch in the biceps department.

“So,” Wendy said to Curly, getting ready to start fishing for hints, “how did you all meet?”

Curly didn’t even look up from his phone. “Ominotago and Waatese are my cousins.”

Ominotago perked up at the sound of her name and Tinkerbelle turned to Wendy, but Wendy was busy staring at Curly. He looked absolutely nothing like Ominotago and Waatese. The only feature they shared was dark hair, but Ominotago’s and Waatese’s were jet black and straight, and Curly’s was very dark brown and, well, curly.

“My mom was Irish, but my dad was Ojibwe,” he said, continuing to type.

“He’s what?” Wendy asked.

“Chippewa,” Ominotago clarified. She scowled when Wendy’s face still didn’t dawn with comprehension.

“American Indian,” Fyodor explained from far away, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.