Free Little Blackbird by Jennifer Moorman

applied it with a paintbrush.
    Kate had seen Martha’s red and white polka dot dress in a shop window on Main Street a few weeks ago, and she’d wanted so badly to ask her daddy if he’d buy it for her. But Kate’s mama made most of her clothes, and they were sensible, or so her mama told her again and again. Kate doubted Martha’s parents ever told her she couldn’t have a dress because it wasn’t practical. Why did clothing have to make sense? Why couldn’t it simply help someone look better, prettier, more like the rest of the world?
    “Have you eaten yet?” Martha asked in a voice that seemed to flow from her nose, pinched and slightly whiny. “We packed hors d’oeuvres and drinks.”
    “I’m starving ,” Betsy said.
    Martha pursed her lips. “You’re always hungry, Betsy. You might want to go easy.”
    Betsy’s gaze fell into her lap, and she smoothed her thick fingers down the fabric of her skirt. Betsy was shaped like an upside-down mushroom, wider and thicker than the other girls, with arms and legs that were smooth, pale, and doughy. Her full face reminded Kate of a cherub, rosy-cheeked and kind. Her small, upturned nose was nearly lost in the plumpness of her cheeks, but her round, hazel eyes—bright and twinkling—were the highlight of her face.
    Charlotte cleared her throat and sent Betsy a small smile. She opened the basket nearest her. “We’ve brought fruit and crackers and cheese and what else?”
    “I made pimento cheese sandwiches. It’s my grandma’s recipe, the one that wins first prize every year at the fair,” Martha said, smiling at the boys.
    “Mama baked cookies this morning, so I packed a few dozen of those,” Sally said. “And Betsy’s mama made cucumber sandwiches, didn’t she?”
    Betsy nodded and tossed a shy glance toward Kate, making eye contact for a second before staring down at her hands again.
    “Enough girl talk, can we eat?” Ted asked from the other quilt. “Geoffrey made us wait long enough for the—for Kate.”
    Ted averted his gaze when Kate looked at him. Kate didn’t know much about Ted other than he was a year ahead of her in school, he liked to hear himself talk, and he played football about as well as she did. He played ball because that was what all of his friends did, but Ted’s fingers might as well have been slathered in lard when he was on the field. He was built like a brick wall—solid, square, and red-faced—and although he should have been a heavy-hitting linebacker, he was better suited for the debate team.
    Ted leaned his head back and blew cigarette smoke toward the stretching sky. John and Mikey sat to his left, and they were graduated seniors, like Geoffrey, and the same two boys Kate had seen Geoffrey play with his entire life. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have lifelong, childhood friends.
    John resembled a thousand other young men his age, common and average-looking with short-cropped sandy brown hair. Kate knew he excelled at chemistry and calculus, but he still managed to be a part of the popular crowd. She assumed if someone snuck into the in-crowd as a kid, it was difficult to be weeded out when everyone discovered he was a genius and loved turning hardwood into charcoal in a backyard barrel. John pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and reached for Ted’s lighter that lay between them on the quilt. He wedged the cigarette between his lips and cupped his hands around the lighter as he brought it to his mouth. When he lowered his hands, Kate watched the tip spark like a miniature fire.
    Mikey was one of the most attractive boys in school. His blonde hair swept across his forehead, a little too long to be deemed completely acceptable, a little too hip for Mystic Water, but Mikey didn’t seem to care. His dark blue eyes studied everything, and his smile was slow and genuine. Kate knew he was kind. Mikey was the sort of boy who always opened doors for women, who stopped and helped people who dropped