Free Rainy Season by Adele Griffin

can’t digest anything and so you starve to death, right?” Dan asks.
    “Something like that. I don’t really know, but the reason they called it yellow fever was because of the Chinese people being yellow-skinned,” Ted says.
    “No, the reason they called it yellow fever was because they thought the sickness came from the sun,” I tell him. “I read that last year in social studies or somewhere.”
    “Both you guys are wrong. Yellow is what you call someone if they’re a coward.” Charlie sighs, as if he’s bored having to explain something so obvious. “Cowboys used to say like—you’re yellow, and then that was a total insult. So yellow fever is, uh—different from regular fever, because you know you’re going to die, and so you’re really scared, like a coward. Yellow fever—see?”
    We’re all quiet a moment, turning over this strange new information, and then Charlie adds, “The only thing is, though, I know if I had yellow fever, I would probably be pretty scared to die, but I’m no coward.” A vicious expression fixes on his face, like he’s daring anyone to call him a coward. “Pass me the water, too.”
    “Coward fever?” Rat says, looking at Steph. “I never heard that.” Steph nods like she heard of it.
    “Well, there’s a lot of kind of yellowish-skinned Chinese still living here, and they’re descendants of the Canal diggers.” Ted hangs on to his point.
    “Chinese people here don’t have pure yellow skin.” Rat shakes his head. “It’s more of a goldish-brown colored.”
    “I think Lane’s right, anyway.” Mary Jane nods. “Once I got sunburned real bad? And all these hives and bumps were just trifling my whole entire skin? And Doc Perkins says, better get this gal some kammymeal lotion, for this here could turn into a bad spell of sun-yellow fever!”
    Steph gives Mary Jane the slit-eye. I can tell that she’s fueling up for another attack on Mary Jane’s inability to tell the truth.
    “Hey, what was that song Mrs. Ellerson taught us about the mule and the canal last year in music?” I ask Steph. “Do you remember?” Steph doesn’t even see me; she won’t look away from Mary Jane.
    “Mary Jane Harris,” she fumes. “You did not once ever get yellow fever, okay? Because before you came down here you got a bunch of shots, remember? And one of them, if you recall, was called a yellow-fever shot? And no—I repeat no—doctor’s going to look at a little bit of sun poisoning and be dumb enough to think it’s a symptom of yellow fever, unless he happens to be a cowpoke relative of yours or something. You’ll say anything for attention, I swear.” Steph’s eyes are hard as bullets.
    “I know what song you’re talking about.” Rat turns to me. “‘Erie Canal,’ it’s called. About the mule.” Softly, he starts to sing, “I got a mule, her name is Sal—”
    “Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.” I join in. My voice sounds too high pitched and girly, which is sort of embarrassing. “She’s a good old worker and a good old pal.”
    “Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal!” Charlie bawls, totally off-key but very confident.
    “Just one more stop and back we’ll go, through the rain and sleet and snow! ’Cause we know every inch of the way, from Al-ban-ee to the Buh-fu-lo—Oh!” Soon everyone’s singing, except Ted, who didn’t learn “Erie Canal” in Escuela Balboa. We sing-shout it through a couple times, then Rat starts off with “Don Gato,” another music class song, and this time Ted knows it.
    I pull up more weeds, finding fresh energy with the singing. It’s rewarding, anyway, tugging at a weed until I feel its witch-fingered roots detangling from the dirt. I keep count of how many Mary Jane tosses in the pile so that I always stay one or two weeds ahead of her. Little private games like that always keep me working longer and faster than normal.
    “The fort’s looking good!” Dan exclaims. “Check it out.” He stands and stumbles