In the car, when Mom said, Because that’s the flight path we’re on, Luke said, Flight path? We’re not in an airplane, you know. He drew for hours and hours: contorted heroes leaping and jumping and vaporizing bizarre enemies with gaping mouths and sharp talons and horns and complicated towns with alleys and bridges and dungeons. Luke was drawing with a black marker in the yellow notebook that was nearly always with him. He was full of questions and energy and opinions except when you wanted him to have any of those things. Sometimes he acted as if he were two, and sometimes twelve. I was sitting in the backseat with my brother, Luke, a seven-year-old complexity. Is that what you see yourself doing ten years from now? So, my mother said, do you still like reporting? We were on our way to drop my father off at another job interview. My parents had recently lost their jobs when the newspaper they worked for went out of business. On a day that was hotter than hotter than HOT Then one day, when we were stuck in traffic I am Reena, twelve years and two months old, formerly of a big city, a city of monuments, and people of many colors, a harlequin city The truth is, she was ornery and stubborn, wouldn’t listen to a n y b o d y, and selfish beyond selfish, and filthy, caked with mud and dust, and moody: you’d better watch it or she’d knock you flat.
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