Free Zigzag by Ellen Wittlinger

them around the farm.”
    Get out of here and let us talk, is what she meant. It was beginning to dawn on me that this trip might be more than justboring; it might actually be horrendous. I took my time clearing my dishes and those of my disappearing cousins so I could eavesdrop on a little bit of the dining room conversation.
    â€œMarshall seems okay,” Mom said. “Why are you worried about him?”
    Dory sighed deeply. “When he’s at his worst he makes Iris look like a cocker spaniel. There are things going on in him I don’t understand. He has all these fears now, and he can’t sleep at night, and he was . . . asked to leave the school.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œHe draws pictures. Violent pictures. People shooting each other and running over each other with cars. Red blood exploding all over. His teacher found one that was obviously a picture of her, with her head cut off.”
    I turned the water off in the sink so I wouldn’t miss anything.
    â€œOh, but surely it wasn’t meant seriously,” Mom said.
    â€œSchools don’t take these things lightly anymore, Karen.”
    â€œI know, but he’s working it all out, don’t you think? You said he’s been seeing a therapist. Drawing pictures isn’t the worst thing.”
    â€œHe also hit another boy in the face and broke his glasses.”
    â€œOh, Dory.”
    Dory shook her head. “He says he hates his therapist—he doesn’t want to go back to him. He gets so angry about it, he scares me—he really scares me sometimes. That’s part of the reason for this trip, too—just to shake us out of our depressing routine. Things have to change, Karen—they have to.”
    When Dory started to cry, I slipped out the door as silently as I could. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I was going on vacation with a bunch of complete lunatics! Was there any way I could back out now? Maybe Mom would decide it wasn’t the best idea for her only child to go sightseeing with Superbitch and the next school shooter.
    I wandered slowly toward the barn, in no hurry to see what my fascinating relatives were up to now. As I got closer I heard a shout of fear, and then Marshall, saying, “Get it away, Iris!”
    The barn door was open and I could see Iris holding up a squirming Golddigger, our oldest and wildest barn cat, while Marshall hid his face behind his hands.
    â€œDid she scratch you?” I asked. “That cat hates to be held.”
    â€œNo kidding.” Iris dropped the cat to the floor and it took off.
    Marshall stood up and took his hands away from his face, trembling and embarrassed, it seemed, in front of me. “Iris made the cat scratch me.” He pointed to a mark on his chin, then kicked his foot out toward Iris’s leg, but missed her.
    â€œI did not!” She glared at him, then stalked off. “You are such a baby! You’re afraid of everything!”
    Marshall looked up at me, his happy smile now pulled into a tight scowl. “I don’t like cats anymore.”
    I shrugged. “Well, that particular cat scratches when you pick her up, that’s all. But some of the others are very friendly.” I looked around and spied Hermit, a sweet old guy who’s lived with us for years. “Here. You can pet Hermit—he doesn’t scratch.”
    Marshall shook his head and repeated, “I don’t like cats anymore.” His fingers kept tracing the line on his chin.
    â€œDoes it hurt?” I asked. “Do you want a Band-Aid?”
    His eyes were big and worried. “Could I get cat-scratch fever? I read about that. You can get sick.”
    I smiled. “Marsh, I’ve been scratched by cats about two thousand times and I’ve never gotten cat-scratch fever. I don’t think you have to worry.”
    He looked only slightly relieved. “Anyway, I don’t like this barn. It smells.”
    â€œNot