Lost in the River of Grass Read Free Page B

the mosquitoes are biting through my T-shirt. I untie Dad’s shirt and put it on, which doesn’t protect my bare legs. The whining around my face makes me feel panicky. They’re even biting my eyelids.
    The bell-cow holds a low branch aside for the other Amanda and Brittany. Brittany takes it and holds it for Courtney, who holds it for me. Fool that I am, I move faster to catch up and say thanks at the instant she smiles and lets it go. It hits me in the forehead and across my left eye, which stings and begins to tear.
    â€œOops. Sorry,” Courtney says. The AABs laugh and pat her back when she catches up with them.
    I’m not sure which is worse, the mosquitoes or the AABCs. I cover my stinging, watering eye with my hand, turn, and retrace the path until I’m out on the road again but still engulfed in a swirling cloud of insects. I start to run, but the mosquitoes follow me across the yard and up the cabin steps. I’m nearly in tears by the time I burst through the screen door and start to rip through my duffel bag, looking for my can of Deep Woods Off. I spray my face, hair, arms and legs. It’s bitter on my lips and stings where the branch hit me across the face—just the excuse I need to sit down heavily on a lower bunk and cry so hard I start to hiccup.
    I lie down and try to sleep, but it’s too hot inside the cabin and the thought that the AABCs could be back at any minute drives me outside again. There was a red squirrel in the yard when we drove in, much prettier than the scrawny gray ones we have in Miami, so I take the Leica with me.
    From the direction of the shed I hear a whirring, then the sputter of the airboat engine. I hang the camera around my neck and drift that direction, looking up into the branches of the oaks for the squirrel. Just past the last cabin, I spot it jamming acorns into its cheeks. I bring the camera to my eye and start to focus the lens.
    â€œThey’re tame enough to take peanuts from your hand.”
    I whirl around.
    â€œSorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
    The boy’s wiping his hands on a dirty towel.
    â€œYou didn’t.” I’m tempted to say he’d have to get in line if he wants to be one of the things I’m scared of out here, but I don’t want him to think I’m a wimp. “You just startled me, that’s all.”
    â€œGood. You’re one in a million then. Most people get real jumpy when they’re in the Everglades, thinking there’s something deadly behind every blade of grass.”
    â€œIsn’t there?” I wait a second for his reaction, then smile.
    He laughs.
    It’s a great laugh.
    â€œThere’s nothing to be afraid of if you just watch where you’re walking and don’t turn nothing over with your bare hands.”
    I’m so used to Mom correcting my grammar I almost say, “
anything
over.” Instead I look at his filthy feet. “You’re not even wearing shoes.”
    â€œâ€™Cause I watch where I’m walking.” He comes forward and sticks out his hand. “Name’s Andy.”
    In spite of how black with oil his hand is, I take it. “I’m Sarah. Sarah Emerson.”
    It’s silly, but for a moment, I have to fight the urge to say thank you. For the first time since I got on the bus this morning, someone besides Mr. Vickers is being nice to me.
    â€œPretty name.”
    â€œI guess. It was my grandmother’s.”
    â€œMine’s really Andrew Johnson Malone. Dad’s a Civil War nut.” He nods toward the Confederate flag hanging on the back wall of the shed.
    I’d noticed it earlier from the bus, but I didn’t want to assume anything. “That’s not a bad name,” I say. “Maybe you’re lucky he favored the South. You could be named Tecumseh Sherman Malone.”
    He laughs, and I feel myself blush. I’m not used to having people think I’m funny. “Do you