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a terrible risk, hunkering down in the city park behind a thicket of rhododendron. Someone might have seen him, and that wouldn’t do at all. They’d probably make him stop eating the things that gave him life. No telling what Mom would think, working with the nuts at the clinic. She might even think he was a bit crazy himself. He had to be careful: he didn’t want to get caught. People wouldn’t understand, he knew that. So he hid a trap deep in a clump of hawthorn bushes in the Veterans’ Park, and hoped it would snare another squirrel for him; he’d check it on the way home from school.
    Halfway home he came upon his sister and a group of her friends gathered around a four-year-old red Mustang convertible. Three senior boys lounged in the car, enjoying the obvious admiration Margaret Lynne was displaying as she leaned provocatively on the hood of the car, her boobs almost falling out of her skimpy tank-top.
    “Hey, Margo, isn’t that your creepy little brother?” the owner of the Mustang asked, grinning at the way Margaret Lynne reacted.
    “Yeah,” she said, sounding disgusted. “That’s Henry.” She made a gesture to him to go away. “He’s always trying to horn in where he doesn’t belong.”
    “Hi, Margaret Lynne,” Henry said, as if he hadn’t heard any of the slighting, hurtful things she said.
    “Margaret Lynne?” the Mustang owner echoed in delicious ridicule. “Does he always call you Margaret Lynne?”
    “Yeah,” she admitted as if confessing to a major lapse. She began to pout.
    “And you let him?” the boy hooted.
    “I know, I know,” Margaret Lynne said, trying to recover some of the ground she had lost. “But Mom insists.”
    “So, Margaret Lynne,” the Mustang owner exclaimed, “you’re only Margo at school.”
    “And other places,” she said, beginning to pout.
    “Hey, good for you.” His false praise stung Henry as much as it chagrined his sister.
    “Shut up, Craig,” Margaret Lynne told him. She shoved herself off his car and stood with her back to him. “Just shut up.”
    Watching all this, Henry felt his new-found strength slipping away. He ducked his head in anticipation of the blow he knew would be coming, but he didn’t step back—that would be too humiliating, and it would leave Margaret Lynne without anyone to champion her. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stared at her, trying to keep his mouth shut without seeming to be too much of a fool.
    “Hey, Margaret Lynne,” Craig called out derisively. “Better keep an eye on that brother of yours. Who knows what he could say to someone who cares.” He started his Mustang and drove off in triumph.
    “You little bastard!” Margaret Lynne shouted, rounding on Henry. “You screwed all this up for me. I hope you die!”
    “I didn’t mean—” Henry said, trying to placate her.
    “Sure you did!” She lifted her hand and brought it down on his shoulder with more impact than he had anticipated. It took him aback and he tried to maintain a stoic disposition while she continued to rail at him. “You wanted me to look like a slut, didn’t you? You like to make me look bad. You did this on purpose!” She swatted him again.
    “I don’t!” Henry protested. He started walking toward home, feeling completely dispirited. He wished he had another squirrel to eat, to bring back his vigor and restore his sense of dominion in the world.
    “Yes, you do. You just did. Craig will tell everyone about my name, and everyone’ll laugh. This is just impossible! I can’t stand it!” She had started to cry, her wrath increasing with her tears; she was working herself up to a fine tantrum. “You just couldn’t shut up, could you? Oh, no! Not you. You had to keep talking. I asked you not to, but you didn’t listen!” Her weeping increased. “You’re turning my life to shit, and you like it!”
    “No, I don’t,” Henry insisted, “really, I don’t.”
    “Of course you do,” scoffed Margaret Lynne.