All Over Creation by Ruth Ozeki

black hair stood up in bristles. Cass held out her hand to shake, but he drew his away and made a fist, leaving the thumb and pinkie standing. This he waggled at her.
    â€œHowzit,” he said. “You can call me Nix.”
    â€œHe’s fourteen,” Yummy explained, setting the squirming baby down on his bottom, on the floor. “He’s in the process of rejecting everything his mother ever gave him. Including his name.”
    â€œOh, Yummy, that’s such crap,” Phoenix said.
    â€œSee what I mean?” Yummy smiled. She lowered her voice and spoke in a stage whisper. “Phoenix, remember what I told you. This is Idaho. Call me Mommy, and stop swearing or the townsfolk will lynch you.” Phoenix rolled his eyes while Yummy grabbed another child, a fair-haired girl with sea blue eyes. “This one’s Ocean. She’s six and a half.”
    â€œOcean has a nickname, too,” Phoenix offered.
    â€œShuddup!” yelled Ocean.
    â€œIt’s Puddle,” Phoenix said with an evil smile.
    â€œIt is NOT!”
    â€œAnd this is Poo,” Phoenix offered smoothly, ducking Ocean’s fist and capturing the escaping baby by the back of his suspenders. “He’s not doing the walking thing yet.” The baby sat on the floor and looked up at Cass, flapping his arms a little. His skin was the color of milk chocolate. Curls sprang from his head, each a soft and perfect vortex.
    â€œWhat’s his real name?” Cass asked.
    â€œJust Poo. Mommy was striking out with the names, so she kind of just gave up.” He picked the baby up and offered him to Cass. “Here. Wanna hold him?”
    Cass took the baby in her arms. He was heavy and warm.
    â€œThat’s not true, Phoenix,” Yummy said. She turned to Cass. “His name is Barnabas, but he has to grow into it. For now Poo suits him just fine.”
    â€œHello, Poo,” Cass said. His eyes were liquid black. He gurgled and patted her cheek.
    They collected their suitcases, and Cass waited while they opened them and dug out warm clothes; then she led them out to the parking lot. She felt like a ringmaster at a carnival parade. Their bags filled the back of the Suburban.
    â€œIt’s freezing,” Phoenix said, teeth chattering.
    â€œIt’ll warm up once we get going,” Cass told him.
    Ocean climbed into the backseat next to her brother. “Yuuuck! This car stinks.”
    Yummy turned around. “Ocean, shut up.”
    â€œBut it does!”
    â€œOcean—” There was a warning in Yummy’s voice now.
    The little girl subsided. “It smells like cigarettes, ” she whispered to Phoenix.
    â€œSo what?”
    â€œI bet the lady smokes cigarettes. ”
    â€œWhy don’t you ask her?”
    Ocean leaned forward. “Excuse me,” she said, tapping Cass on the shoulder. Cass glanced into the rearview as she put the car into reverse and backed out of the space.
    â€œDo you smoke cigarettes? ”
    â€œSometimes,” she answered the child in the mirror. “Not often.”
    Ocean’s face grew severe. “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes,” she said. “Ever.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œBut do you know why you shouldn’t?”
    â€œYes. I know.”
    â€œBecause cigarettes give you cancer, and then you die.”
    â€œI know.” Cass pulled up to the exit. She unrolled her window and fed the parking ticket into the slot. Felt the machine tug the slip from her fingers. For a split second she always wanted to resist the machine, to see what would happen if she held on tighter, but she never did. She always released, and the candy-striped barrier arm flipped up and let them by.
    â€œSo how come you still smoke?” Ocean persisted.
    â€œBecause I’m stupid, that’s how come.”
    â€œOh.” The answer satisfied the child. She sat back next to her brother. “She says she’s