was even now busily concealing stolen car phones.
Remy was the kind of little kid that when she was bad and her mother glared at her and began to count, âOne! Two!â Remy was so terrified of what would happen if Mom got to âThree!â she raced to do whatever she had been told.
Mac was the kind of little kid that when Mom counted, âOne! Two!â Mac got into the spirit of the thing and yelled along with her, âThree! Four!â and never once considered what kind of punishment he would get.
It wasnât as if Mom and Dad gave in. Once Mac was so rotten and worthless, Mom and Dad took away histelevision privileges. He went on being rotten and worthless.
Mom and Dad took away his radio. He went on being rotten and worthless. They took away telephone privileges, and then he was confined to his room, and no matter what Mom and Dad did to him, Mac went right on being rotten and worthless.
âWhat do we do now?â Dad said to Mom one night. âTake away his furniture? Leave him with nothing but a mattress?â
Then it dawned on them it was the mattress Mac loved. Lying awake on the bed doing nothing was Macâs favorite pastime. So they took away the mattress and after two nights sleeping on the floor Mac began to shape up.
Why canât I have a brother like Morgan Campbell? thought Remy. And then, more sensibly, thought, Since when do I want Morgan to be my brother?
When the car pulled up Remy felt like cookie dough. She was soft and sugary with nerves and delight. âBye, Mom.â Remy rushed out before her mother saw who was driving. âWeâll be at Larkâs watching movies. Donât worry. My homeworkâs all done.â
Her pleasure vanished when she reached the car. Nickieâs ratlike eyes stared straight through the windshield instead of turning toward the person getting in his car. His arms were as thin as crossed broomsticks. Whitish hair oozed out of his head. Nickie Budie was truly a scarecrow.
Morgan was facing her, but motionless. Eyes wide and somehow calculating.
There was something awful and wrong about how the boys sat. Her heart suddenly leapt in panic, hermouth went dry, and she climbed in back, grateful that Lark would be picked up next.
U nlike everybody else Lark lived in a high-rise apartment complex. Residentsâ cars were parked underground. No earth had been left unpaved. Not a tree and not a bush interrupted the flow of stone and pavement. Every one of the hundreds of windows was covered by shades. The immense buildings gave no sense of being occupied.
No tiny gauzy Lark flew toward them.
Nickie leaned on the horn long and hard, which hadnât seemed so bad in front of a single house but was stupid in front of all these apartments.
âGo get her,â Nickie said, neither to Morgan nor Remy, just being obnoxiously clear that the driver did not run errands. Remy opened her door without speaking and crossed the pavement to Larkâs building.
Mixed in with Remyâs crush on Morgan was a queer nausea. A kind of knowledge that she was in trouble. She was going as fast as a car, and would crash like metal.
G ood, thought Morgan. When the girls come back, Iâll get the seating right.
He watched Remy enter the outer lobby and try the interior door. Of course it didnât open. She rang the apartment from the bell board and talked into a house phone. After a few minutes Remy came back alone.
Morgan flung open the front door and edged over against Nickie to make space for Remy right next to him. He felt feverish.
âIsnât Lark dressed yet?â demanded Nicholas.
âShe canât come. Her motherâs getting the flu and she has to stay home and help.â
Morgan found it difficult to imagine Lark heating chicken soup or soothing a headachy brow. But he forgot Lark instantly. Remy was extremely nervous. She sat gingerly next to Morgan, trying to thin herself and not touch him. Morgan
Learning to Kill: Stories