LaRose(76)

It’s all good, Landreaux muttered.

He was not all good, would never be; yet there were slender threads of okay.

Landreaux watched LaRose run up the steps. Maggie was at the door jumping up and down. LaRose bounced straight in. Neither Maggie nor Nola had ever waved at or acknowledged Landreaux. It was necessary to be invisible to them, but not to his son. At the last moment LaRose stuck his head out the door and waved good-bye.

The little things that get you. Choked-up smile from Landreaux.

He will be okay, he muttered, pulling out and driving away. This was a phrase he repeated like a mantra when things were not okay. After a while it made him feel better and after a time it worked.

MAGGIE HELD THE stack of new school notebooks in her lap. She was in the passenger’s seat. LaRose was in the backseat. Nola was driving them to school because they weren’t on the bus route. Last year they could have walked over to the Irons’ house, just over the reservation boundary, and taken the bus with them. But the bus no longer stopped there because Hollis drove. Maggie hoped that Hollis would get a bigger car so she and LaRose could ride along. She was tense. Sitting beside her mother going sixty-five miles per hour, she tried not to hyperventilate. Maggie held her breath every time a car swished by in the other lane. Let it out when the danger was over. She had developed propulsive convictions since finding her mother in the barn—like if she held her breath when cars came, her mother would not swerve and kill them all. Or if Maggie held her breath even longer, Nola might swerve but she and LaRose would miraculously survive the crash. Right now, with all the school supplies in the car, and her mother so pleased about having bought new fine-point markers, packages of notebook paper, labels, even a magnetic mirror for the inside of her locker door, Maggie felt the danger of a murder-suicide was pretty low, still she held her breath.

Maggie was dizzy by the time they stopped at the school entry. The doors swished open, the kids were talking. LaRose went one way, she went another. Josette and Snow had flipped a coin to see who got to be her First Day Mentor. Only kids with a top average could get that honor. You got an automatic late pass to your own classes, because you showed the new student around, went to each class to make sure they found the room.

Snow had won. She was standing tall and serene in the entry, wearing a hot-pink tank top layered over a slinky purple T-shirt, waiting with a class schedule and a lock for Maggie’s locker.

Don’t sweat it, she said. Maggie thought she might look nervous, so she tossed her head and grinned.

Hey, Cheeks, said Snow to a stagey-looking boy with earrings and tattoos, meet my little sis.

Hey, Sean, said Snow to a boy with floppy pants, sagging jacket, and wildly inappropriate Hooters T-shirt, meet my sis. Sean, you’re gonna get kicked out for that T-shirt.

I know, said Sean.

Hey, Waylon, said Snow to a scary massive dude with heavy eyebrows, plush lips, football linebacker vibe, meet my little sis. You guys are in the same class.

He put out his hand to shake, formal.

Ever so pleased, he said.

A girl behind him laughed. Get away from her, Waylon! She was tall like Snow, her eyelids hot blue, hair to her waist, balloony blouse, tight jeans.

This is Diamond. The three girls walked to Maggie’s first class. It was Physical Science taught by Mr. Hossel, a painfully thin young man with scarred red hands.

We think maybe he blew himself up, whispered Diamond, in a chemistry accident. Nobody knows.

He’s enigmatic, said Snow.

They left Maggie alone; she went in and sat down. Eyes rested on Maggie, she could feel them, and it felt wonderful. Nobody knew her. Nobody hated her yet. Light, she felt light. Shed of an insufferable responsibility. Nola off her hands for the whole day. Nothing she could do. No way to stop her mother. No way to know. And LaRose safe also in his own classroom so he wouldn’t find Nola dead and be scarred for life. Maggie smiled when she told her name to the class and smiled when they muttered. It wasn’t a mean mutter, just an information-exchange mutter. She smiled when the teacher introduced himself to her and smiled when the class shifted their feet. She smiled down at her new notebook as he went over the day’s assignment and reminded them that his rules included no makeup application during class. Two girls lowered their mascara wands. Maggie dreamily smiled at Mr. Hossel as he told her what she needed to bring to class. Startled, he caught her smile, and thought she might be a little odd, or high. But the class began to murmur, so he went on trying to interest them in the laws of motion.


The Powers

TRYOUTS FOR THE team were that Saturday.

C’mon, Josette yelled from the pickup. Snow was driving. Maggie got into the jump seat just behind. They drove to the school and parked by the gym entrance. The gym was huge and there were three courts with nets rolled up in the steel rafters so that there could be several different games played at the same time.

The eighteen girls trying out for the team wore ponytails centered high on the back of their heads, and wide stretchy headbands of every color. Some looked Indian, some looked maybe Indian, some looked white. Diamond grinned at Maggie. Six feet tall and in full makeup, she danced around, excited, snapping gum. Another girl’s ponytail, even tightened up high, hung nearly to her waist. She was powwow royalty. Regina Sailor was her name. Snow was five ten and her ponytail was also long—halfway down her back. Maggie decided to grow her hair out. Diamond was powerfully muscled and the powwow princess had extremely springy crow-hop legs. Maggie decided to work out more. The coach was small, round, smiley, maybe a white Indian. He wore a bead choker. His thin hair was scraped into a grizzled ponytail. He was Mr. Duke.