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My brothers didn’t see it that way.
Quent pulled alongside the sidewalk and I tried to hide behind him because this was so embarrassing. He put the truck in park and got out.
Noble’s hands went up for the second time that day. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”
“Yeah, how’s that working out for you?” Quent said.
“Come on, Quent,” I hollered. “We’ve got chores!”
Quent held up a hand meant to silence me, and I rolled my eyes.
“This is so stupid,” I groaned.
Noble sighed and lowered his hands. “Uh, not great.”
“Heard it was really not great for Chet Cline,” Quent said.
From the bed of the truck, my brother Boone called out, “That’s the fat tub a’ lard you knocked on his—”
“Boone!” Quent cut him off.
“What? He is fat,” Boone said under his breath while my other brothers fist bumped him.
Noble shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t great for him.”
I got out of the truck and stood next to Quent. “You’re Noble.”
He nodded.
I stuck a hand out toward him. He looked at it, then wrapped his hand around mine. I stared at our two hands clasped together and something inside me shifted. Not a lightning bolt or anything.
Just a shift. Small, but noticeable.
“I’m Hattie.” I motioned toward Quent with my head and pulled my hand back. “This is my brother, Quent. And—” I looked at the truck—“That’s the rest of us—West, Boone, Hudson, Hunter, Finn.” They each waved when I said their name, except Boone, who did double finger guns.
“Dang, there are seven of you?” Noble asked. “Your parents bored, or what?”
At that my brothers all howled with laughter.
Boone slapped Hunter and said, “He did not just say that!”
Hunter winced. “Gross.”
“Eight,” I said. “Our sister’s still in elementary.”
“Eight,” he said. “Wow.”
“You got any siblings?” Quent asked.
“Uh, no,” he said. “It’s just me.”
Quent clapped a hand on Noble’s shoulder. “Well, you do now.” He started back toward the truck. “Get in, we’re bringing you home for dinner.”
Noble looked at him then looked at me.
“Told you you were dumb,” I said.
He frowned. “Why?”
