I was standing right where Kyle said to meet him that morning, by the fence. The field behind me smelled wet and sharp, like something green getting crushed.

Kyle walked down the road toward me, but the smile I’d started for him drooped when I saw he wasn’t alone. Trailing behind him, like a hulking shadow, was Brandon.

I didn’t even know Brandon was out of juvie.

A pale haze from dust rose around their feet. I had a sudden impulse to duck through the fence and run. It was dumb. But I longed to be somewhere else.

“Hey,” Kyle said, when they reached me. He dug his fists into jeans pockets, shoulders bunching around his ears for a moment.

“Whatcha doing?”

Brandon was carrying a can of beer. He held it out at arm’s length and popped it open. He winked at me and took a sip. I looked away.

“Bailey,” Brandon said. “Aren’t you gonna say hi? How you been, anyway?”

I reached down and scratched at a mosquito bite on the back of my leg, just below my skirt. I didn’t know what to say, in case I said something that made him hit me.

“Not talking? Huh, Bailey? You didn’t want to be alone with Kyle, did you?” He laughed. “Want some beer?”

“I’m okay,” I said.

“You look better ’n okay to me.”

I yanked at the weeds growing along the fence. Brandon’s jean jacket was dirty at the elbows, and his hair was greasy. He was starting to get a shadow on his face, dark stubble. His eyes were rimmed in red. He looked a lot older than Kyle.

I thought about the way my mom shook her head at me when I left this morning. She’d been rolling out dough for a pie, and I’d swiped a pinch. “Don’t go too far today,” she’d said. “I want to be able to keep my eye on you.”

I’d stuck the sweet, soft dough into my mouth. “You never say that to Joe. He can go anywhere.”

“I don’t have to watch your brother,” she’d said. “He’s a boy.”

“Double standard. That’s not fair.”

She’d shrugged, like she was too tired to explain.

Now Brandon’s lips stretched across his teeth, and he nudged Kyle.

“Yeah, okay,” Kyle said. He looked at me. “Come on. We want to show you something.”

“What?” I lifted one foot and scratched beneath my sock.

Kyle tugged my elbow. “Just come on, Bailey,” he said. “You’ll see when we get there.”

We trudged along for a while. I dug my nails into the mosquito bites on my arms, but the burning sensation only got worse. Brandon made a couple jokes about scratching my itches for me. I ignored his brays of laughter.

We got to the footbridge and Kyle and I picked up stones and started throwing them into the stream. Brandon tossed in his empty beer can. The water shimmered as the can floated toward us and disappeared beneath our feet.

Each stone I threw made a tiny splash and if I watched, I could see where it lay along the streambed. The water was that cold and clear.

Kyle picked up a good-sized rock and hurled it toward the far bank. It fell short, landing in the creek with a huge sploosh.

“You pussy,” Brandon said. His voice was loud. “You throw just like a girl.”

Kyle shrugged and wouldn’t look at me. I realized, suddenly, that Kyle was as afraid of Brandon as I was. He wasn’t going to help me. I was on my own.

“Come on,” Brandon said. He was talking to me. “Let’s go to the shed.”

“What?” I asked.

Brandon grinned at Kyle, then grabbed my arm. “I want to show you something in the shed, Bailey.”

Kyle was staring at the spot in the creek where his rock had disappeared.

“Don’t look so fucking scared,” Brandon said. “You’re going to like it.”

Didn’t matter if it wasn’t fair, I realized. I was a girl.

I ran, the smooth bottoms of my sneakers slipping on the wood planks of the bridge, then crunching on the dry sandy road towards home.

§ § §

Pam Mosher's fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Pindeldyboz, Summerset Review, Wilmington Blues, and other publications...

This piece was first published in Special Edition INK POT - 2004, a literary journal.