Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,32

you are, everyone else will want to know, too. And when you’re sixteen, maybe we’ll get you on a bike, okay?”

“Really?” The kid flipped his hair out of his eyes, puffed out his chest and adopted what was probably supposed to be a look of disdain. “How’s this?”

“Good start. Keep trying.”

“I’m going to go tell Seth! Thanks, mister!” He took off like a shot.

Ben watched him go. “Kids,” he said to himself.

“Men,” Josey countered. She wasn’t smiling. “Pick a few fights? Take up a dangerous hobby? Really? He’s just a boy.”

She could try to be mad at him, but he wasn’t buying it. “A boy who needs to figure out how to be a man. So he gets a few black eyes—it’ll be good for him. You can’t coddle boys. The sooner he learns to fight for what he wants, the better off he’ll be.”

Josey stared at him. He had no idea what she was thinking—he was a jerk? He’d permanently damaged that kid? “Besides,” he added, “I thought you liked the ride.”

Finally, her face relaxed into a rueful smile. “I’d argue with you if you weren’t so right. Come on.”

He walked next to her as she threaded her way through the crowd. It wasn’t that difficult—people got out of the way with feet to spare on either side. He looked around. Not too many “outsiders” were around. He picked out Josey’s mom at a hundred paces. As they closed the distance, he noticed that people were quick to smile and exchange a few words with the older woman, but no one stayed long—and no one was sitting near her. It was almost as if she had a demarcated line around her that no one dared to cross.

Again, he wanted to ask what the deal with that kid had been, but he picked up the scent of fried bread and beans and meat—venison, he’d guess—about the same time the drummers kicked the beat up a notch or two.

By the time they reached Sandra White Plume’s blanket, a hush had fallen over the crowd. “You’re late,” the older woman whispered.

“Got sidetracked with Tige and Jared.”

Sandra looked mortified. “They weren’t fighting, were they?”

“No.” Josey shot him a look that might be admiration, but it was gone before he could tell for sure. “Ben talked to them.”

Sandra looked like she might kiss him. “Mr. Bolton, you’re becoming quite the savior to our little school.” Luckily, instead of a smooch, she handed him something that looked a little like a soft taco.

“Fry bread taco,” Josey said, getting one for herself. “I’ll take you over to the drums after the opening dance, okay?”

He could only nod, because he was already halfway through the fry bread taco. Salty and spicy and greasy—this wasn’t health food by any long shot, but it was a whole bunch of good. Taco was a lousy name for this, because he’d never had a taco anywhere near this good.

Josey was chowing down on hers, too. For some reason, that made him smile. He didn’t like women who picked and poked at dead lettuce before taking “a bite” of his dessert because they weren’t going to “eat a whole one” themselves. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid of food.

The drumming intensified, and some dancers began to make their way into the ring. “Grass dancers—they flatten the grass for everyone else,” Josey said, hiding her full mouth behind her hand.

Ben nodded as he chewed. Sure, the outfits were crazy—feathers everywhere, ribbons and more mirrors than he would have guessed—but the rhythm was tight and the men in the ring were keeping the beat with their feet on the ground.

As the song went on, the moves the dancers made got more frenzied. They swung wider, jumped higher and landed harder. It should have looked like a mosh pit with better accessories, but Ben found it almost beautiful. He ate a second fry bread taco and bobbed his head in time with the music.

Suddenly, the beat paused—and the dancers stopped, too, crouching down in low positions that made it look like they were stalking something. Then it kicked back up. Josey leaned against his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “It’s a competition. Better score for stopping with the music.”

For a second, he forgot about the dancers, the drummers and the tacos. All he could think about was the feeling of her weight leaning against his, of her warmth touching the side of his face. He turned to look at her, and their eyes