Orphea Proud by Sharon Dennis Wyeth

writing?”
    “Somebody’s name.”
    “Lissa’s?”
    “How did you guess?”
    “I don’t know, I just did. If you miss her so much, why don’t you call her?”
    “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “I just can’t, that’s all.” I fumbled through my journal. I’d tucked a picture of her in the back. “Want to see what she looks like?”
    He reached for the photo.
    “It’s an old one, from ninth grade. But it still looks pretty much like her.”
    He studied the picture for quite a while, then gave it back. “She’s pretty.”
    “Her eyes are gray. You might not be able to tell from that.”
    “My eyes are gray, too.”
    I peered at his face. “I hadn’t noticed. So how come you’re not in school?” I asked, changing the subject.
    “Have trouble reading.”
    “That’s no reason to drop out.”
    “You dropped out on account of your math.”
    “Oh … right …”
    “That’s a lie, huh?”
    “Look, there are some things I can’t talk about. Let me ask the questions.”
    “Okay.”
    “How did you get kicked in the head?”
    “That’s easy. A horse did it.”
    “So that’s why you paint horses?”
    “It’s only one horse I paint, just all in different colors.”
    I looked at the mural. “There is something about the eyes that’s the same.”
    Ray nodded. “His name is Saint. He’s scared.”
    “How come?”
    “He knows he’s going to get shot.”
    “Mind explaining?”
    His fingers dripped green. He wiped them off with a sponge. He covered his legs with a blanket.
    “When I was eight years old, I went to a rodeo with Mama and Jerome. I went off by myself to the corrals, while they were winning me a stuffed animal.
    “There was a real powerful horse named Saint. He was a star in the rodeo. He was snorting and pawing the ground like crazy. His leg was tethered. So, I hopped in to help him.”
    “You hopped into a corral at a rodeo? No wonder you got kicked in the head!”
    “Folks were scared of Saint. But for some reason I wasn’t. When I climbed into the corral, he calmed down. He let me on his back. I was going to ride him.”
    “Are you telling the truth or is this some kind of tall tale?”
    “I was on his back for just a minute. I whispered in his ear. Then I got off his back and kneeled down next to his foot. He got spooked and kicked me. After that, I went to the hospital. I didn’t wake up for a long time.”
    “Man, you could have been killed!”
    “I was trying to let him go free. Saint was a good horse.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “People got upset with Saint. They thought he’d set out to kill me. They said he was crazy and good for nothing, so they shot him. And it wasn’t even his fault.”
    “It wasn’t yours either, Ray,” I told him. “You were just trying to help. You were a little kid.”
    “He was beautiful. That’s what I whispered in his ear. ‘Saint, you are beautiful.’ ”
    “Did your brain get hurt?” I asked quietly. “Was there damage?”
    “I expect, though I can’t tell the difference. Anyway, Lola says I missed so much school, I’d never catch up in reading. Since I have a talent at painting, I might as well do that.”
    “You are very talented. At least I think so.”
    “Would Lissa think so?”
    “Yes.”
    Ray touched the wall with his brush and painted a blue mane.

    One evening, Lola caught me out in the yard. “You’re spending a lot of time with my boy.”
    “I like his paintings. Anyway, he’s my cousin.”
    “Don’t go foolin’ around.”
    “With Ray? He’s a kid.”
    “So are you, missie.”
    I stood taller. “I’m sixteen.”
    “And little Ray is mighty cute. I saw you with him through the window. Ray was near naked.”
    “He gets hot,” I explained. “I’m not going to tell him how to dress when he paints. Besides, I’m not remotely interested in dating my fourteen-year-old cousin. Another thing—I’m not pregnant. Ray told me that’s what you think.”
    “Still waters run deep. Why are you