Shine

Shine Read Free Page A

Book: Shine Read Free
Author: Lauren Myracle
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction
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add up, like my brother talking urgently to Beef, only to go dead silent when I approached. Like Bailee-Ann sitting by herself at the sandwich shop, her expression troubled as she chewed on a strand of her hair. Like cocky Tommy Lawson straddling his piss yellow motorcycle at the intersection of Main Street and Shields, thinking so hard on something that he didn’t notice the light turn green. Normally, he’d acceleratehard and fast, showing off the power of his BMW’s engine, but on that day, an old lady had to tap the horn of her Buick to rouse him from his trance.
    I closed the crawl space door. I got to my feet and brushed myself off. My chest was tight, but I looked at the blue sky, clear and pale above the tree line, and said out loud, “Fine, I’ll do it.”
I
would speak for Patrick. I’d look straight into the ugliness and find out who hurt him, and when I did, I’d yell it from the mountaintop.
    “Do you hear that, God?” I said. “Do you see me now?”
    A moment passed. Sweat trickled down the base of my spine. Then, out of nowhere, a breeze lifted my hair and jangled Mama Sweetie’s wind chimes, which she’d made by hanging mismatched forks and spoons from the lid of a tin can.
    It scared me, to tell the truth. It also fanned the flames of my rage.
    I lifted my chin and said, “Good.”

 
    IF YOU LIVED IN BLACK CREEK AND YOU WERE a good girl, like me, you put on your best skirt and blouse and went to church on Sunday mornings, and sometimes on Wednesday evenings, too. Daddy didn’t come, and neither did my brother—so much for Christian being a Christian—but they weren’t girls, so they could get away with it.
    Last Sunday, Aunt Tildy let me stay home because I was such a wreck after hearing about Patrick. But this Sunday, I rode my bike from Patrick’s house to the Holiness Church of God in time for the “moment of silence,” which kicked off every service. That and the singing were the parts I liked best.
    I’d always liked singing, and in the days of hanging out with Patrick and Mama Sweetie, the three of us would beltout songs for no reason. Mama Sweetie said you didn’t
need
a reason to sing. She said if everyone started off the day singing, just think how happy they’d be. We’d sing hymns from church and songs we’d learned at Vacation Bible School and silly songs Mama Sweetie knew from teaching preschoolers, including a goofy one about a wee-wee tot sitting on his wee-wee pot. Another of our favorites was “This Little Light of Mine,” because of how catchy it was. Often, even after biking home from Patrick’s, I’d find myself singing it under my breath, until Christian would grab my shoulders and say, “Could you
please
stop singing that dang song! I’m
begging
you!”
    Now I just sang in church. After today’s service, I filed into the fellowship hall with Aunt Tildy. Then we went our separate ways. She had a Bible study to attend, while I planned on doing some good old-fashioned eavesdropping.
    I went to the refreshment table and got myself a doughnut. I even took a nibble or two, so that anyone looking would think,
Oh, there’s Cat, eating a doughnut and keeping to herself like always
. Hopefully, no one would try to talk to me, as I had nothing to say. I just hovered on the fringes and listened. In Black Creek, church was as much about gossip as worship, and Patrick’s attack was the juiciest thing going.
    “I heard from Eunice that he’s bound to have brain damage, bless his heart,” a church lady named Tammy said to her friend. “Eunice’s cousin’s a nurse in the pediatric wing, you know.”
    “They put him in the pediatric unit?” the friend said. “Ain’the too old to be with those kids?” She lowered her voice. “What if he . . .
you know
?”
    The flame inside me wanted to burn her up.
What if he turned those kids into faggots
? That was what she meant. Forget that he was in a coma. Forget that his body was beaten to a pulp. Forget that he might

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