Free The Republic of Nothing by Lesley Choyce Page B

luck,” Mr. Piggot said.
    â€œYep,” I answered. “I guess I am.” Somewhere in the world, probably at that very minute, a fifty megaton bomb went off. I had known that kids were supposed to go to school, but my parents had been very sure that there was nothing worth learning in a mainland school. And I was convinced by my father’s insistence that we were indeed an independent country of some sort, that the laws of Canada or Nova Scotia couldn’t touch us.
    The Angel of Death, Mr. Piggot and their observer went on to visit every house on the island, finally locating Gwendolyn and my little sister, but not before they were harassed by Lambert, Eager and even Hants Buckler who claimed he had never seen any children on the island in his entire lifetime. Mr. Kirk, concerned for the welfare of us island kids, offered The Angel of Death and Mr. Piggot a small parcel of land in exchange for the freedom of Gwendolyn, Casey and me, but they considered him a lunatic. He considered them to be more “ugly Canadians!” Burnet McCully, Sr. made no argument at all and just said that they could do “whatever the hell they wanted” with his son.
    My mother would have loved to have held us back from the world longer — especially poor little Casey who had not quite turned six at the time — but she knew it would only bring grief to the island. My mom wondered what her hero, Edgar Cayce, would do under these circumstances and realized that he would let the world interfere if need be, that itwould strengthen a soul, not hinder it — if one kept the right perspective and metaphysical attitude about the mundane.
    And so, September the fifth rolled around. A school bus was dispatched to us but would go no farther than the main-land side of the bridge to the island. I held Casey’s hand as we walked across the bridge and off the island for what seemed then like the last time in our lives. Gwendolyn was stoic as she fell in behind us. Burnet stood alone on the far side of the bridge with that familiar sneer on his face. He was not looking at us, however, but at the bus approaching. As the great, yellow beast neared us, Burnet let fly a jagged piece of granite that made direct contact with a headlight and splashed glass all over the gravel road. Inside the bus, the kids cheered.
    What was going on? Burnet must have wondered. After years of being simply despised or at best ignored by islanders, here he had already found a warm reception for his bad disposition with the mainland kids on the bus. He smiled and held his fisted hands up as the bus driver, enraged by the incident, stormed out of the bus towards us. I hauled Casey and Gwendolyn out of his path. We watched as the man lunged for Burnet. The bus driver, a bearded man in a logging shirt, picked up Burnet by the scruff of his thick neck and slammed him down hard on the hood of the sickly orange-yellow bus. “Fish turd!” I heard him call Burnet, then lifting him high off the hood, he gave him a solid kick in the ass and shoved him towards the door. Burnet got in without resistance. However, once inside the strange hallway on wheels he was facing a smiling crowd of mainland kids who applauded him wildly. A legend had been born.
    The bus driver turned to Casey, Gwendolyn and me, dipped his hat, smiled what was almost a polite smile and then, through his teeth, said, “Nothin’ but island trash. Now get in, the rest of yous, before I kick your butts.” We got in.
    Maybe I was trying to protect my little sister or maybe I was just too fidgety in the new situation, but I felt my world crumbling. When I saw Gwendolyn sit down beside Burnet in the seat and then give him a soft, sad look — I suddenly got scared. Exactly what I was afraid of, I didn’t know, but I immediately felt a warm hot bead of liquid run down my leg and straight into my shoe and I knew it was going to be a very bad day. Even though it was the last