My Cousin's Keeper by Simon French Page B

Brave?”
    â€œBecause,” Bon answered, sounding embarrassed, “I think you are. And it suits the story character. That’s all.”
    â€œThat’s stupid,” I sneered. “I don’t want to be Kieran the anything. That’s so lame. Anyway, are you going to keep writing and drawing it, now that I’ve seen it?”
    Bon looked steadily at me. Dribbles of pool water were still running down his face, and he wiped them away with one hand. “Yes,” he answered. “It’s not a story unless it’s finished and the adventure has a proper ending.”
    â€œHow’s the story going to end?” I put on a squeaky voice to add,
“
They all lived happily ever after
.”
    â€œIt might be like that. I don’t know yet.”
    â€œSo,” I said, “you don’t know where Julia is going yet? In the story?”
    â€œNo. Not yet. I have to wait and see.”
    â€œI bet you miss your girlfriend,” I said sarcastically, “being this far away on your free vacation.”
    After a pause, he answered. “Yes.” Then he said, “Are you missing her, too?”
    Before I could think of something to say, he dropped down beneath the water and I saw him move swiftly across the bottom of the pool toward the steps. He knew I wouldn’t want him to hear my answer. And he knew the answer would be,
Yes, I miss her.

Bon had set off for school with us that morning looking clean and tidy. He came home looking exactly the opposite, his hair half undone and his clothes looking grimy.
    â€œWhat happened?” Mom asked as soon as she saw him. “It looks like you’ve been caught in a hurricane!”
    Bon shrugged and didn’t say anything about how, on the playground, Mason had yanked on his braid so hard that Bon’s hair elastic had sprung loose. His braid had unraveled and he hadn’t been able to get it quite right again afterward. Bon also didn’t say anything about how his new school shirt had lost two buttons. That had been Lucas heaving Bon out of his place in the lunch line.
    â€œSome boys in Kieran’s class were annoying Bon,” Gina reported. “I saw them and told the teacher.”
    â€œIs that so?” Mom asked Bon. She looked at me. “Did you see any of this, Kieran?”
    â€œI thought they were playing a game,” I said, hoping it sounded like an innocent reply.
    I could tell from her expression that Mom guessed there might be more to the story. She pointed to the kitchen stool. “Come and sit down,” she told Bon.
    The ritual of Bon and his hair usually took place each school morning that he was with us. It would always be Gina first, with her request for ponytails, braids, or something more complicated, and then Bon. Mom usually had his braid done quickly, but this afternoon she worked more slowly. She pulled his hair loose and took some time brushing it out. She stopped and stood back for a moment, telling him, “You look like you’ve stepped out of a medieval castle.”
    Bon looked pleased about that. “Do I?” He looked straight at her and smiled a little.
    I rolled my eyes and shook my head before raiding the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. Noisily, I crunched an apple and silently watched all the attention Mom was giving Bon. The braid had curled his hair, and it dropped in curtains past his shoulders. His face seemed smaller and younger with his hair down.
    â€œBut your ends are all split,” Mom told him. She picked up strands of hair and looked at them closely. “Will you let me give you a trim?”
    Bon looked doubtful. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.
    â€œJust the ends,” Mom explained. “No more than an inch off.”
    Bon frowned.
    Mom laughed. “I promise! Trust me, Bon. Didn’t your mom ever get someone to cut them?”
    â€œNo,” Bon answered in a flat voice. “But she taught me how