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purple quartz rock about the size of a baseball that Daddy had found when he was turning his tobacco rows. I held out my hand to Stump. “I’ll keep that for you,” I said. “I won’t let nothing happen to it. I promise.” He dropped the quartz into my hand, and I slid it into the back pocket of my blue jeans. Then me and Joe Bill just stood there and watched Stump and Mr. Thompson walk across the road toward the church.
    I didn’t want Stump to go inside there without me, even though Mama’d told me over and over that I wasn’t old enough to go to church with her just yet. But she’d also told me over and over that I should always look out for Stump and make sure that nothing happened to him, that I was like the big brother and he was like the little one. But I figured that what she’d said didn’t matter now, and I felt awfully little just standing there watching Mr. Thompson take Stump’s hand and lead him across the road.
    There was a black drop of blood starting to scab on my arm where something must’ve scratched me on the way through the woods, and I took my finger and picked the scab off and rubbed the blood back and forth across my skin. It left a rusty trail through the hairs on my arm. Me and Joe Bill had been standing in the shade so long that the sweat on my legs was getting dry and it was starting to itch. I wiped my finger on the back pocket of my blue jeans to get the blood off, and then I scratched my legs with my fingernails until they stopped itching. I could feel that music beating inside my chest from clear across the field.
    Joe Bill squatted down in the grass and put his elbows on his knees. Then he picked up a stick and started snapping it into little pieces and tossing them out in front of him. He didn’t look at where they landed because he was too busy staring at the back of the church where that air conditioner sat up in that window and shook like it might break those boards and fall out on the ground any second.
    â€œWhat do you think Stump’s doing in there?” I asked. Joe Bill didn’t say nothing for a long time, and then he laughed and broke off the last little bit of that stick and tossed it into the grass. He looked up at me and smiled.
    â€œHe ain’t singing,” he said. “That’s for sure.”
    â€œWell, he’s in there for some reason,” I said. “Mr. Thompson said it’s his special day. Maybe my mom wanted him to be with her.”
    â€œBut why?” Joe Bill said. “He can’t even talk or sing or nothing.”
    â€œThat don’t matter,” I said. “Maybe he’s old enough to go to church with them. He’s thirteen. He’s older than you.”
    â€œSo what,” Joe Bill said. “I’m smarter than him. At least I can talk.”
    â€œJust because he can’t talk don’t mean he ain’t smart.”
    â€œMy brother says if you can’t talk, then it means you’re dumb,” Joe Bill said.
    â€œWell, your brother’s an asshole,” I said, and as soon as I said it I knew I shouldn’t have. Joe Bill turned real slow and looked up at me like he couldn’t believe I’d said it either. We stared at each other for a minute, and then I squatted down beside him and picked up a stick and started snapping it into pieces so I wouldn’t have to look at him while he was staring at me.
    â€œDon’t talk about my brother,” he finally said.
    â€œDon’t talk about mine either.”
    â€œI’m just telling you what Scooter told me,” Joe Bill said.
    â€œI don’t care what he told you,” I said. “Why do you stick up for him all the time? All he ever does is beat the crap out of you.” Joe Bill stood up straight and looked at the church, and then he looked down at me.
    â€œYou going up there or not?” he asked. “Because if you ain’t I’m going back down