Demon Copperhead

by Barbara Kingsolver

I folded the dead-meat mess of my lunch back into its foil, laying it to rest. Or on second thought, to save for later because I’d be starving in an hour. “So, report cards are coming next week and I’m looking good,” I said. “Possibly honor roll.” Even for a Hail Mary, this was dumb, Stoner giving no particular shit about school. Plus not true. But not totally false, either. I told him I’d busted my butt trying to make up a ton of work, due to missing a month of school. He looked up at me from his little salt project, with no exact expression. “October,” I said. “I was cutting tobacco.” “Huh,” he said. “So the foster parents don’t care if you lay out of school?” “Jesus fuck, Stoner.” He sat up like I’d kicked him, and looked all around for whatever Sunday school teachers might be present. “There’s no call for language.” I glared at him. “There’s no parents. It’s one old guy running a slave farm for homeless boys. You know where I’m living. Miss Barks told you about it, and so did Mom. What were you, unconscious? I hate it there.” “Fine, sorry.” He spread his hands. “Anyway, I won’t be there much longer because the work is pretty much done for now. He doesn’t keep boys on the farm through the winter months.” Stoner just nodded, like I was explaining how my sock drawer was full and I needed some place to stash my extras. Not at his place, was a good guess. I was wishing so hard for him to give a damn, and also for him to disappear from the planet of Earth. I wished both thos...