Straddling the Line by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

know. “But you can’t let them define you. You have to define yourself. That’s how it works.”
    The kid looked less terrified and more confused. “But won’t that make girls like me less?”
    Was it possible that Ben had been this clueless back when he was a squirt? Lord, he hoped not. “Once girls think you don’t want them, they’ll be curious—why don’t you want them? What’s your secret? If you’re doing it right, they’ll get it into their girl brains that you should share your secret with them, because only they can take away your pain. Girls like a challenge.”
    For a second, the kid brightened up, but then his face fell again. “But I’m—”
    “No buts. And you’re what, fourteen?”
    “Fifteen,” the kid said with a flash of anger.
    “Hey—that was good. Keep that anger. Drives girls wild. And what about that— Who was it, Josey? The one who’s father made the drum?”
    “Livvy?” The look on her face was one of pure horror.
    Ben ignored the horror. He was actually having a little fun. “Yeah. She was cute. What’s wrong with her?”
    The boy rolled his eyes—something he’d clearly practiced. “She’s, like, eleven, mister.”
    “Listen, kid, ” Ben said, trying not to smile. “Give her a few years. Some girls are worth the wait. Until then, watch some James Dean movies and practice being the lone wolf, okay? Pick a few fights, take up a dangerous hobby, stop doing that to your hair,” he said, waving to all that styling gel, “and for God’s sake, stop sniveling. Chicks don’t dig wimps. They dig bad boys.”
    The kid had definitely stopped sniveling. “You really think it will work?”
    “I don’t think. I know. When you know who 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