Burning by Elana K. Arnold Read Free Book Online Page B

first place; our families did not reap the benefits of steady salaries and company-provided health care, but neither did we suck at the teat of an unfeeling corporation that might cut us off if the winds of fortune changed.
    Our families made our own fortunes, together, and together we tightened our belts when necessary. If one in our family was ill or injured, of course that would not mean less food for him and his children. That is what brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, and kin are for—to provide, to buoy one up when one is not strong on his own legs for a period of time.
    The
gazhè
are not like us. Each of them feels the whole weight on his back, as if he alone carries the world. Each is alone.
    Once inside the tent, I rearranged the chairs so that the three of them could cluster together on one side of the table and I could sit across from them.
    Today I wore my favorite skirt: long panels of purple silk, all different hues, radiating out from my waist and pooling at my ankles. Around my waist I had belted a strap of leather and above this wore a cool white cotton blouse, its neckline showing off my throat and the rise of my breasts to their best advantage.
    I sat first and watched the three of them in the tent’s doorway. The fat one shot forward quickly, an eager student now that I had made a believer of him.
    “Hog Boy!” The athlete spoke, angry and embarrassed.
    “You do not wish to be here,” I said. “But your friends have brought you for a reason. Sometimes to be a friend means to allow others to give to you.” I gestured to the chair in the middle.
    His eyes glanced at the chair and then darted back and forth between his companions. I could see it there, his desire to bolt conflicting with an urge to do this for his friends, to allow them the pleasure of watching him. And I knew that his sense of duty would outweigh his reluctance.
    Still, it took longer than I might have guessed for him to resolve his inner struggle and submit to his friends’ whim. At last he crossed the tent’s floor and sat himself in the chair across from me.
    I had not realized that I had been holding my breath until I released it once he sat. Behind the screen my sister laughed quietly.
    “You have money?”
    Hog Boy nodded.
    “Hang on.” The one I had thought was handsome—until I saw his friend—stepped forward, putting his hand on Hog Boy’s shoulder. “How much do you charge?”
    I shrugged disarmingly. “I request a donation. There is no set fee for a reading.”
    “Well, how much do people usually … donate?”
    “It varies greatly,” I demurred. “Usually between fifty and a hundred dollars.”
    Hog Boy whistled. “That’s a lot of dough,” he said. “We’ve got twenty-two bucks between us.”
    “I thought we agreed no more than fifteen,” said the boy who was still standing. The athlete closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. I could tell he thought this was quickly going from bad to worse.
    “Shut up, Pete,” said Hog Boy. He smiled at me magnanimously. “This chick is the real deal. If we’re going to give Ben a real send-off, we can’t cheap out now.”
    Ben. His name was Ben.
    “Dude,” hissed Pete. “I got that money from Melissa.”
    “Easy come, easy go,” said Hog Boy. It seemed to me that for this Hog Boy everything must be like that—easy, someone else’s problem.
    “You guys don’t have to do this,” said Ben. His voice was warm. Like honey.
    That was when Pete dug into his pocket, retrieving a crumpled-up twenty and a couple of ones. He smoothed them flat before handing them across to me, then sitting down on Ben’s left. “Will that be enough?”
    I nodded and folded the bills before tucking them into one of the pockets of my skirt. Now I could look at the boy in the middle, Ben—now it was my job to do so.
    “Your friends have brought you for a reason,” I said. “They want to send you into the world armed with some measure of knowledge. I am here to