The Brave by Robert Lipsyte Page A

us.”
    â€œI am a member of the Moscondaga Nation. I answer only to the Clan Mothers and the Chiefs.” He enjoyed the sudden flare of old X’s nostrils. He wasn’t used to being talked to like this.
    â€œIn Whitmore,” snapped X-One, “you answer to posse X.”
    The four X-Men behind him snapped into a martial-arts ready position. The monsterchuckled and flexed. Fire the hook, Sonny, make X an ex.
    Maybe you just can’t go through life popping the hook, then letting whatever happens to you happen to you. Maybe you got to make a plan.
    The plan is, Mash the dude.
    â€œPosse sounds like a bunch of white men riding after my people.”
    My people. You want it both ways, white and red. Why not? I got stuck with it both ways.
    â€œI understand,” said X-One. “As a Indian, you don’t trust nobody, which is cool. But the black and the red peoples is united here.” His voice echoed against the white latrine walls. “X-Men are your brothers.”
    â€œMy brothers are the warriors of the Moscondaga. You’re buffalo chips to me.”
    Sonny watched the X-Men shift, glance at one another. X-One was thrown off stride, he looked confused.
    Makes two of us, thought Sonny.
    Brooks said I was predictable. He had me figured. Figured I’d mule for Stick, figured I’d punch out Deeks. Now what?
    Did he figure the big dumb Indian wouldjoin X-Men and narc for him, or did he figure I’d wipe these boxheads out?
    Maybe I’m not going to do either one. Figure that, Brooks.
    X-One scowled. “What’s funny?”
    Sonny turned and walked away. His bare feet slapped on the tile floor. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled.
    â€œYou don’t got no choice.” X-One’s voice was shrill. “You don’t dis X-Men.”
    He thought he was going to make it. He was almost at the latrine door when they hit him, two on his back like wolves on a deer. He smashed one of them up against the wall, then stiffened with a sharp pain in his back. Another sharp pain in his side. Something heavy hit the back of his head.
    He fell. He felt the Styrofoam birthday card crunch under his chest. The cool tiles soothed his hot cheek. Before his eyes dimmed out, he saw his blood spill across the white floor. The color of Doll’s dress.

10
    S ONNY DREAMS he is walking the wind.
    Below him, beneath the clouds, are the purple-green hills of Moscondaga.
    A man moves swiftly up a trail, along a ridge, down a hill. He is a courier for the Nation. A Running Brave. He disappears around a switchback, reappears. Jake Stump. His face is scarred by his years, but his body is young and limber. He is carrying a message. “’S okay, boy, you gonna be okay.” His voice, soft and steady, is brought to Sonny on the wings of a hawk.
    There are two runners on the trail now, matching strides along the valley floor. The sun glints off the gun tucked against the small of Al Brooks’ back. “Young gentleman, you’re going to be fine.”
    â€œCan’t make him stay on the Res,” said Jake.
    â€œHe’s dead meat loose in this city,” said Brooks.
    Plastic bags swayed above Sonny. Tubes snaked out of them into his arms.
    â€œFind his mother,” said Jake. “Maybe she’ll sign now.”
    â€œWon’t matter. Army won’t touch him till his indictment’s dropped.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œWho knows? Courts are jammed.”
    The voices drift away.
    He follows them out to The Deuce where Doll is waiting. She wears beaded white buckskin. “Where’ve you been, Sonny boy?” Behind her, in the Grotto, Mo throws pizza dough.
    Sonny reaches for Doll, but up close the face is his mother’s. “Where’ve you been?”
    â€œGetting something going for us, Sonny. Mo really likes my rings and earrings—he’s going to sell them in his arcade.” Mom’s bird eyes peck at him.