Something to Hold Read Free

about to start, fire season should be winding down."
    I wish she wouldn't talk about school. Those mean kids will not be happy to see us there.
    "What does
Báshtan
mean?" I ask.
    Mom sets down the spoon. I should have kept my mouth shut.
    "Where'd you hear that?" she asks.
    "Somebody said it."
    "Who?"
    "A girl." I know that won't be enough, so I take a breath and give up the rest. "Out on Shitike Road, by the swimming hole."
    Mom frowns at Bill. "There
is
more to the ankle story, isn't there?"
    He nods slowly.
    "Why don't you tell me what really happened," she says.
    And he does.
    I wait for the storm. But Mom says only, "How come you didn't say that in the first place?"
    He opens his mouth and the truth pops out. "'Cause we thought you'd never let us go there by ourselves again."
    "So you decided to
lie
to me?" Mom shakes her head and gets up to clear the table.
    Bill is grounded. His pitching season is over before it even starts. I feel kind of sorry for him, but Joe has "paid in full" smeared all over his face like butter from popcorn.
    I finish up the dishes while Mom helps Joe look for his glove. I don't know why he needs it; he just sits on the bench. She comes back into the kitchen as I swipe the sponge across the table, scooping crumbs into my hand.
    "I didn't answer your question," she says.
    "Yeah.
Báshtan
"
    "It means 'white person.' Not in a nice way."
    The room is now shadowed by evening. "Why did she yell at us?" I ask. "We just wanted to cool off in the water."
    Mom holds up the wastebasket so I can shake off the crumbs. "I know, honey." She is quiet for a moment. "So that's why you want to go to school in Madras," she says. "You'd feel comfortable there, with more white kids?"
    I nod, relieved that she said it, not me.
    Mom doesn't look mad, just thoughtful. "You know your dad's work is very important," she says, "to him and to the tribes. That's why we've chosen to live here. I know it's hard being new, but people are kind and generous here. If you give that girl a chance to know you, you'll see."
    I work hard to keep the tears out of my voice. "I don't want to be here," I say. "I want to go home."
    Mom puts her warm hand on my shoulder. "Kiddo," she says gently, "we
are
home. And someday soon it's going to feel like it."
    Maybe she does understand a little bit.
    She gives me a hug. "You know how to make friends," she says to the top of my head.
    Joe clomps back up the stairs, his glove in hand. "We gotta go."
    Mom looks at his sneakers. "Tie those things before you break something," she says. "Then Kitty will take you to the game."
    "
What?
" I stare at her. "I can't go by myself."
    "I have to stay here in case Dad calls in," Mom says. "And Joe will be with you. It will be fine."
    That's what you think.
    ***
    The game is all the way down at the ball fields on the other side of Shitike Creek. We hurry down the alley past the jail, where a tribal policeman is pulling something out of the trunk of his patrol car. He slams the lid and calls out to Joe, "Hey there, squirt."
    "Hi, Mr. Wewa!"
    "You boys play hard tonight. That team from Crooked River is tough."
    Joe waves his glove, and Mr. Wewa takes his gear into the building.
    "How do you know
him?
" I ask. Joe's quick to make friends, I know, but this guy is a grownup—and a policeman.
    Joe shrugs his shoulders like it's obvious. "This is the way we go to baseball. He always asks me how I'm doing. He's nice."
    Joe leads me to the trail that winds down the hill to the baseball field. When we get close to the backstop, he sprints ahead, and I'm on my own.
    I don't know anybody in the stands. And it seems like everybody is staring at me. I climb to a spot at the edge of the bleachers, close to home plate. From here, I can look around without feeling quite so awkward.
    Our side of the bleachers, along the third-base line, is filling up. So is the visitors' side, between home and first. The team we're playing is from a little town off the reservation. Over