Beauty & the Beasts by Anne Weale, Janice Kay Johnson

baby-sitter, for Pete’s sake! Some days he’d go with Dad on his farm calls or hang around the clinic, but sometimes Dad couldn’t take him, or Garth didn’t feel like it
    Last year he’d become friends with Mark Hughes, the son of Dad’s partner. Garth wondered what Mark was like now. Did he listen to cool music and wear shorts so big they hung down practically to his ankles? Or was he still the good little boy, into soccer and school? Like Garth was going to spend his summer kicking around a dumb ball or riding bikes as if they were eight years old.
    With a faint thump, the wheels touched the runway and the pilot applied the brakes. Before the plane even stopped, people unclicked lap belts and began stretching. Garth stayed in his seat when everyone else jostled into the aisle, heading toward the exit or reaching for stuff in the overhead compartments. Let Dad wait
    He still hadn’t moved when the attendant paused by his seat. “Are you okay?”
    Garth gave her a flat stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    She returned a sunny smile. “Can I get anything down for you?”
    He wondered what her boobs would look like withher arms stretched above her head. “Uh, yeah. I think my bag’s up there.”
    The two little Mount Rainiers on her chest lifted and flattened when she stood on tiptoe and groped overhead. After a moment she peered down at him. “I don’t see anything up here.”
    “Really?” He played dumb. “Wait a minute. Gol. I guess it’s down here. Sorry.”
    “No problem.” She turned sideways to let a couple of people squeeze past. “I’ll bet your father’s waiting eagerly.”
    Hidden message: she wanted to hand him over. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. There wasn’t any point in sitting here, anyway. Unless they’d let him stay on the plane and fly wherever it was going next. Hawaii, maybe. Or Alaska. He briefly fantasized getting off in some exotic place all by himself, his mother’s credit card in hand.
    But the attendant was still waiting. And probably the plane would just be parked for the night, or else it was going to someplace deadly, like Kansas City or Chicago or Dallas.
    So he slouched out of his seat and down the aisle. He was the last one off the plane, except for the crew. Up the long tube to the terminal and then he popped out. And there was Dad, a big fake smile on his face.
    G OD ALMIGHTY . Shocked, Eric stared at the boy, who stared back. Garth? Could this kid really be his son? What the hell had happened to him in the past year? His jeans were about ten sizes too big, the crotch bagging around his knees, the tattered dirty hemsdragging on the floor. The sneering face of a rap singer known for his particularly violent lyrics adorned the front of a T-shirt just as sacky.
    Well, okay, Eric knew oversize clothes were in style for boys. Garth was twelve, old enough to care about such things.
    But sweet Lord, what about the head, shaved bald, and the earring in one lobe? And the expression that echoed the rap artist’s?
    “Garth?” he said uncertainly.
    The kid’s lip curled. “You expecting someone else?”
    Yeah, my son, Eric wanted to say. He settled for, “You’ve changed.”
    Jerking his shoulders, the boy said, “So? It’s been a long time.”
    “You’ve grown,” Eric said. That seemed safe. Garth must be five foot eight now, an alarming leap toward manhood from last year’s child.
    “Mom says I’ll be taller than you.” The idea seemed to give the boy pleasure in a disquieting way, as though stature would give him superiority.
    “Maybe. She’s tall, too.” When Garth didn’t say anything, Eric shook his head. “Why are we standing here? Let’s go get your luggage. Want me to carry that bag?”
    The boy grunted something that might have been no.
    “How was the wedding?”
    “It sucked.”
    Eric glanced at him. “What? Your mom trippedon her train and fell flat on her face? The groom didn’t show?”
    “I wish.”
    “She’d tripped?”
    “That he