Whisper by Chris Struyk-Bonn Page A

felt the first acorn hit the back of my neck. If Jeremia had taken out his slingshot and pelted me, I would have slipped away, run on silent feet through the woods, sneaked up behind him and thrown a handful of nuts at him, bombarding him with multiples in return for his individual missiles. I glanced at the man behind my brother and understood that if I slipped away, he would come and find me and perhaps return to the camp to take out his anger on Jeremia or old Nathanael.
    As I continued to walk, I felt heat from my chest creep up my neck and into my face. The helplessness of fear and anger stung my eyes. I would not give in to this feeling.
    Zing! An acorn flew by me.
    Zing! Another hit me on the back of the head.
    The littlest brother giggled, and the man behind me started to laugh. The brother in front of me looked around, as if trying to understand what was so funny.
    I slowed down just a bit. Littlest brother sneaked closer, became braver and hit me on the cheek. It stung, but I said nothing. Try it again, little brother, try it again .
    Zing! Another hit the back of my neck.
    He was very close, and as we crept along, prey and aggressor, I thought of my mother’s description of Mateo: loving but mischievous. This little boy was about as sweet as an unripe lemon.
    Celso’s laughter encouraged him, and he became braver. He stepped up right behind me, and I felt how close he was by the sharp sting on my shoulder blade. When the acorn hit the violin case, Mateo laughed at the hollow sound it made and then forgot to watch where he was going.
    I stopped, whirled around and snatched the slingshot out of his hand before he’d noticed how close we were.
    â€œHey,” he said, “give that back.”
    â€œStop hitting me or I’ll snap this in half.” I held the slingshot over his head.
    â€œDad and Uncle Celso will make you give it back. You can’t feel those hits—look at you. You’re a monster.”
    I weighed that comment, considered taking offense and then laughed. I was still laughing when his face contorted, and his eyes stretched wide as he screamed. He screamed again and again, backing away from me, his hands in front of him. Belen ran back, pushed past me through the thick leaves of the trees and held Mateo against him.
    â€œWhat did she do to you, son?” He kneeled at Mateo’s side, his arm around him. “Did she hurt you?”
    I no longer laughed. I lowered the slingshot and held it at my side.
    â€œShe made a face at me. She snarled at me. Sh…Sh…She was going to hurt me.”
    And then I remembered Nathanael’s warning. Never smile , he had said. Never laugh or grin at someone who isn’t used to your face. When you smile, your teeth are bared, your face splits open, and you become an animal, with teeth and gums exposed. I was careful not to smile as my father looked at me. His face became a burnt red color, the underside of a cardinal’s wing, and he spoke low, his lips tight.
    â€œIf you ever threaten this boy again, I will finish the job I began when you were born.”
    I clenched my jaw. When I felt a tug, I looked down and saw my other brother, David, pulling the slingshot out of my hand. Even though he looked like the other two, his eyes were gentler, more searching, more willing to crinkle and laugh. He held the slingshot up for his father to see.
    â€œMateo shot seeds at her.”
    Belen yanked the slingshot out of David’s hand and gave it back to Mateo.
    â€œHe may do what he likes to her. She’s not like us.”
    David narrowed his eyes. Mateo gloated and fit another acorn into his slingshot, but rather than walking behind me, he joined his father and the two marched on, leading the way.
    David walked between me and his father as we continued our passage through the woods. I pushed fern leaves aside, felt the scratch of thorny branches against my legs, tugged my feet through vines. As we walked, I wrapped