Free The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter by Kia Corthron

have to play catch-up.
    The five of us ignite the first round, which we all find satisfying, if over way too soon. Then Deb Ellen slips off into the woods to pee, and with only boys left the conversation naturally turns to sex.
    â€œWho you doin?” asks Buppie.
    â€œMargaret Laherty.” The first girl who came to mind. Well, after Lucille, but they all surely saw her picture in the paper with me for the debates, and I am not setting myself up for the rest of the evening or the rest of my life filled with Randall-and-Fatty jokes. The only other girl I thought of was Lily who I’ve always had a cousin crush on, but I’m sure not going to mention that to her brothers. As if they don’t already know. I pray they don’t remember Margaret Laherty from elementary. None of the boys are in school anymore except Chris-Joe the baby, couple years behind Margaret and me. The others all stopped after sixth, working odd jobs around town. Ty had got on at the sawmill when he was twelve, and by a very close call nearly wound up with a three-finger hand like Mr. Wright. After that Aunt Pearlie put her foot down to Uncle Harry, none of them goes into the mill till they’re sixteen.
    â€œOh yeah?” Buppie wears a pleased smirk in response to my choice in women, and I am thus relieved in my certainty that he has no idea who Margaret Laherty is or he would have most assuredly let out a big laugh over my imagining she would ever give me the time of day.
    As Deb Ellen returns, lightning bugs start blinking. “Hey!” She dashes back to our picnic table. Artie Ray lights a cigarette and doesn’t share it.
    â€œWell,” he says, “we sure were glad your pa didn’t come. Otherwise we’d have to hide the booze.” They all crack up. A reference to the embarrassment last Christmas when my father’s behavior incited the mass exodus of extended family before dinner. Deb Ellen returns with a big jar, grass in the bottom and holes in the lid. She begins running around, collecting fireflies.
    â€œYou excited about high school?” Chris-Joe asks me.
    I shrug. “Guess so.” They apparently haven’t heard from Aunt Pearlie that Pa’s of a dissenting opinion on the matter.
    â€œHe thinks he’s goin to high school.” Buppie smirking at his little brother.
    â€œMa said I can!” Chris-Joe says.
    â€œNo Jones ever went past the sixt,” Buppie remarks.
    â€œTy didn’t go past third, and Pa didn’t go at all,” says Artie Ray. “Pa signed on at the mill when he was ten. Ty didn’t till he was twelve so Pa used to call him ‘the princess.’” Buppie snickers.
    â€œBenja’s in the tenth?” Chris-Joe.
    â€œEleventh.”
    â€œAll of em!” Chris-Joe in a bitter pout, stomping off a few yards away. “All of Aunt Bobbie’s kids goin to twelfth!” I never before thought of my family as so erudite.
    â€œNot B.J.,” Artie Ray reminds him.
    â€œHe doesn’t count!” Chris-Joe throws a stone, barely missing Artie Ray. Artie Ray stands, a warning. “Hey boy.”
    â€œLily was engaged at sixteen,” says Buppie, “married at seventeen, a ma at eighteen. Now she’s a ma twice over goin on three.”
    â€œI’m a uncle!” says Chris-Joe, suddenly over his angry spell and coming back to our throng.
    â€œI’m a aunt,” says Deb Ellen, “but I sure ain’t gonna be no ma. Yaw can have all the kids ya want.”
    â€œYou keep up your tomboy ways,” says Artie Ray, “ain’t no man gonna wantcha.”
    â€œThen I sure will keep up my tomboy ways.”
    â€œI want another sparkler,” says Chris-Joe.
    â€œIn a while,” says Buppie.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œCuz we’re savin em! Savorin em! You use it up now, then cryin the blues cuz they’re gone already.” Chris-Joe starts bawling. “Oh you definitely