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was bright. Mark pinched the filter with his thumb and index finger and sort of waved it before his mouth. “Are you scared?” he sneered as only big brothers can.

“No.”

“I think you are. Look, hold it like this, okay?” He waved it closer, then with great drama withdrew it and stuck it between his lips. Ricky watched intently.

Mark lit the cigarette, puffed a tiny cloud of smoke, then held it and admired it. “Don’t try to swallow the smoke. You’re not ready for that yet. Just suck a little then blow the smoke out. Are you ready?”

“Will it make me sick?”

“It will if you swallow the smoke.” He took two quick drags and puffed for effect. “See. It’s really easy. I’ll teach you how to inhale later.”

“Okay.” Ricky nervously reached out with his thumb and index finger, and Mark placed the cigarette carefully between them. “Go ahead.”

Ricky eased the wet filter to his lips. His hand shook and he took a short drag and blew smoke. Another short drag. The smoke never got past his front teeth. Another drag. Mark watched carefully, hoping he would choke and cough and turn blue, then get sick and never smoke again.

“It’s easy,” Ricky said proudly as he held the cigarette and admired it. His hand was shaking.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Tastes kind of funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mark sat next to mm on me iug and picked another one from his pocket. Ricky puffed rapidly. Mark lit his, and they sat in silence under the tree enjoying a quiet smoke.

“This is fun,” Ricky said, nibbling at the filter.

“Great. Then why are your hands shaking?”

“They’re not.”

“Sure.”

Ricky ignored this. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, took a longer drag, then spat in the dirt like he’d seen Kevin and the big boys do behind the trailer park. This was easy.

Mark opened his mouth into a perfect circle and attempted a smoke ring. He thought this would really impress his little brother, but the ring failed to form and the gray smoke dissipated.

“I think you’re too young to smoke,” he said.

Ricky was busy puffing and spitting, and thoroughly enjoying this giant step toward manhood. “How old were you when you started?” he asked.

“Nine. But I was more mature than you.”

“You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s always true.”

They sat next to each other on the log under the tree, smoking quietly and staring at the grassy clearing beyond the shade. Mark was in fact more mature than Ricky at the age of eight. He was more mature than any kid his age. He’d always been mature. He had hit his father with a baseball bat when he was seven. The aftermath had not been pretty, but the drunken idiot had stopped beating their mother. There had been many fights and many beatings, and Dianne Sway had sought refuge and advice from her eldest son. They had consoled each other and conspired to survive. They

aiter me Deatings. They had plotted ways to protect Ricky. When he was nine, Mark convinced her to file for divorce. He had called the cops when his father showed up drunk after being served with divorce papers. He had testified in court about the abuse and neglect and beatings. He was very mature.

Ricky heard the car first. There was a low, rushing sound coming from the dirt road. Then Mark heard it, and they stopped smoking. “Just sit still,” Mark said softly. They did not move.

A long black, shiny Lincoln appeared over the slight hill and eased toward them. The weeds in the road were as high as the front bumper. Mark dropped his cigarette to the ground and covered it with his shoe. Ricky did the same.

The car slowed almost to a stop as it neared the clearing, then circled around, touching the tree limbs as it moved slowly. It stopped and faced the road. The boys were directly behind it and hidden from view. Mark slid off the log and crawled through the weeds to a row of brush at the edge of the clearing. Ricky followed. The rear of the Lincoln was thirty feet away. They watched it carefully. It had Louisiana license plates.

“What’s he doing?” Ricky whispered.

Mark peeked through the weeds. “Shhhhh!” He had heard stories around the trailer park of teenagers using these woods to meet girls and smoke pot, but this car did not belong to a teenager. The engine quit, and the car just sat there in the weeds for a minute. Then the door opened,

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