Justin Kramon Read Free Page B

their lined eyes, with serious, arrogant expressions, like the women in fur coats with big leather purses whom Finny had seen on Madison Avenue when she’d gone to New York. She spotted one of their feathers—a blue and silver one—on the grass beside the pond, and picked it up, put it in her pocket.
    She walked up a steep hill that was covered in onion grass so it smelled like cooking. When she got near the top, where it flattened out, she saw a pasture on the other side of another split-rail fence. But this fence was in bad shape, bending under Finny’s weight when she tried to climb it. She was almost over when one of the boards cracked beneath her foot, and she let out a little scream and fell back.
    Only she didn’t fall. Something stopped her. Held her. Eased her down onto the grass.
    “Thanks,” Finny said, before she even saw who had saved her.
    “It’s okay,” the voice said back, and when she turned around, she saw that it belonged to a boy. He was shorter than she was, and a little chubby in the face. His body was like none Finny had ever seen. It looked like a man’s, with broad shoulders and strong arms—but smaller, and with shorter legs. Like the kind of pictures you can mix and match—a man’s top half on a child’s legs.
    “I just saw you coming towards that fence,” he said, “and I know it’s bad. I got hurt on it once. I was going to say something, but you were already on it.” He had a high voice, a slightly embarrassed way of speaking, that didn’t go with his man’s body at all. She noticed his cheeks got a little color when he talked to her.
    “Thanks,” Finny said again, not knowing what else to say. She wasn’t sure if he was fishing for compliments.
    But he just said, “Come on. I’ll show you the easiest way to get up there.”
    They walked along the fence a little, and he showed her a place where two boards had cracked, so that all they had to do was duck a little to get under the top one.
    “Easier to go under than over,” the boy said.
    “Especially for you,” Finny said, not knowing why she’d said it. The words had just popped out—it was the way she liked to challenge people, to press a little and see if they pressed back. It seemed mean, though, and she wanted to say she was sorry. After all, he’d saved her life.
    But he just laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I can fit in tight places.”
    She still wanted to apologize, but he just walked on to the middle of the pasture, as if he’d forgotten what she’d said.
    The middle of the pasture was also the top of a hill that overlooked the valley. The sun was almost down behind the trees now, and the sky was a crystal gray-blue color. They sat down without saying anything. The valley looked like a giant checkerboard of cornfields, forests, and fields. The land was spotted with barns and farmhouses, sectioned by dirt paths and meandering roads. Finny heard the distant shout of a farmer calling in his horses from the fields, and also some birds tweeting and the buzzing of insects.
    “How do you know about this?” she asked the boy.
    “I come up here a lot,” he said. “When my dad’s giving lessons. He teaches piano. We live down there.” He pointed at a little brown house, which looked from where they sat to be hardly bigger than Finny’s living room. “It’s kind of small,” the boy said, “so I like getting out if he has people.”
    “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
    “No. Just my dad.”
    “No mom?” Finny said.
    “No,” the boy said, and left it at that.
    “My name is Finny.”
    “I’m Earl.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, Earl,” Finny said, and held out her hand to shake. It was an imitation of the jokey, flirtatious way her mother sometimes introduced herself to men. But it was all she had.
    He took her hand, though, and shook firmly. She noticed his palm was slick. And his round cheeks were still flushed.
    “How old are you?” Finny asked.
    “Fifteen,” Earl said. “I just