LaRose(111)

Above or beneath, he gotta wear a sheath, said Josette.

If he’s spoutin’ crude, he gotta cap his dude!

If you’re gonna rock, make him wear a sock!

Snow and Josette were becoming hysterical.

Oh my god, you guys! Stop!

Maggie put a pillow over her head and rolled away from them. After a moment, Josette stopped laughing and tugged away the pillow.

That’s not all either.

Maggie groaned and threw herself on her stomach.

Come on, trust us, said Snow. Do you know what to do?

Course, said Maggie.

Theoretically or in reality?

What do you mean?

I’m talking doctors, methods, ways, you know, contraception and all. Do you know how to get it?

Course not.

Aww, honey.

Snow and Josette held each other’s gazes.

First off, said Josette, me and Snow are having a little talk with Waylon.

No!

Just a heart-to-heart. He’s got to know we don’t let him mess around with our little sister unless he knows what to use. Then he’s gotta wait and we’ll figure out where to go—I mean, you probably can get in at IHS. There’s this one doctor who just lives to fix you up with the right method. She doesn’t want this high school momma shit happening. Besides, do you know how risky it is—what did she say—for a young girl to have a baby in a rural health care delivering system? Yeah, that’s what she said. We went to her. Well, Snow did when she was with Shane. Not me. I’m not in a mature relationship, right? But this doctor, she’s here on and off. We know how to get you in. You’ve got your future to think about, Maggie. You hear?

He had a whole bunch of sex before you, said Snow. You have to make him get tested, too.

He said only three times!

Okay, well, can you see me rolling my eyes to the heavens?

Maggie turned over and gave up.

Can I get the shot?

If you wanna gain thirty pounds.

How about the yoood?

What are you talking about?

The iiiiyooood.

The iiiiyoooodeeee?

Maggie nodded.

Wow, said Josette. We’re starting ground level.

Matchless convenience, said Josette. But mostly they give it to grown-up ladies.

How about pills?

Are you good at taking pills?

Yes, said Maggie. But I don’t want my mom to find them. What about that cuppy thing?

Technically, a diaphragm. Not a hundred percent. And you want to be batting a thousand against Waylon. His brothers and uncles . . .

No blanks, said Snow. I’m thinking maybe the pill. You can use my prescription for now. Just be sneaky—plus the condom? Always the condom.

That’s, like, over a hundred percent coverage.

I’d go with that, said Snow.



HOLLIS SET OUT chairs, put away random lawn equipment, plastic bats, things that did not belong. He moved along swift and light, doing anything they wanted. The party, for him! He raced around. Taking directions. A graduation party. He still didn’t know how to feel. His morose dark vibe was definitely compromised. He caught himself smiling. His party was the weekend before school graduation. Everyone was having their parties then, or the week after, and everyone was also making the rounds. Hollis’s party was on Sunday in the late afternoon—just the right time to catch everyone all partied out from the night before, needing hangover soup and more food, but not the kind of crowd that would stay all night. The photos of the graduating seniors had been published in the newspaper. Everybody knew whose houses were having parties. They would have endless guests and guests of guests. You never knew how many people. So far they had borrowed ten Crock-Pots, and Emmaline had scored a case of Famous Dave’s BBQ sauce, sell-by date elapsed.

Barbecue sauce never goes bad, right?

Never!

Famous Dave was a cultural hero, a successful barbecue entrepreneur Ojibwe guy with chain outlets.

Emmaline had plugged the slow cookers into every kitchen outlet, laid the big pieces of beef chuck inside, covered them with sauce, and set them on low overnight. On party day everybody woke smelling the overpowering barbecue smell. It wasn’t, somehow, a wake-up smell. They opened the windows. Landreaux separated the barbecue meat with two forks and kept the cookers on. By the afternoon, it would be perfect. Emmaline had already made the meatball soup and frozen it. There would be a meat soup, which the old people preferred.

The weeds, constantly mowed, now resembled grass, and there was even grass, quack grass, an unkillable type of grass. The yard was bounded by plastic fold-out tables, borrowed from Emmaline’s school. There were lawn chairs, powwow chairs, folding chairs. Over on the side of the yard, they placed a pop-up arbor that Emmaline said was an investment. There would be four more graduation parties, after all, in the coming years. Josette spread Coochy’s worn Power Rangers sheet on the food table, then took the sheet off, refolded it.

Not festive.

Emmaline said they could use her flowered queen bedsheet.

Josette was extremely touched.

But Mom. People will spill stuff. Your best sheet will get ruined.

I’ll soak it after.

No, I’ll use your sheet for the card and gift table.

Josette folded and refolded her parents’ bedsheet, smoothed it onto the folding card table. She draped her own plain purple-red sheet on the long rectangular fold-out food table. Barbecue sauce would hardly show. They used the Power Rangers sheet wrong side out for the salad table. Josette stood back, cocked her head to the side. The tables had a gracious effect, standing there, legs hidden. She imagined where the food would go. Crock-Pots on the purple table, extension cords plugged into extension cords, running into the windows of the house, keeping the meats on low. Bread would go beside the meat in the big aluminum bowls, buns still in their plastic bags so they’d stay soft. She’d bought the sesame seeded ones. A little extra. There were also regular salads, macaroni, lettuce, and her own semifamous potato salad.