Indian Chik

Gates Middle is a long way away. You don't want them risking their lives just so you can play football do you?"We looked at each other and Robbie waited about fifteen seconds before adding, "Well?" I'm thinking about it," I grumbled."Tony!" I flinched involuntarily and almost said, "Yes, ma'am!" She'd sounded like my mother."I know. No, I don't want anybody getting hurt. But, it's just... I mean it was the last game of the season." It's the last game of the season, On a Friday night at home," she sang in a surprisingly clear strong voice."I didn't know you could sing," I muttered, realizing how stupid it sounded even as the words left my mouth."I'm supergirl. I can do anything," That I believe." You're sweet," she said and leaned forward to kiss me."What was that song?" Just something from the seventies. It's about a kid who plays good, because his father, who was blind, died and now can see him. 'It's the first time that my father's seen me play, '" she sang."Cool." Kinda corny, but. They were just going in to pick up a few sacks of chicken feed, but that was the rule: Harkers didn't go into town by themselves. Nor no place else, neither. Not even forty‑year‑old Harkers. That was just the way it was, the way it always had been; nobody went off by themselves. Harkers lived together, worked together and prayed together. He'd been doing it all his life, but sometimes it was still a pain in the butt.Harkers taught their own kids what little reading and writing and arithmetic they needed, and they always kept to themselves. They raised chickens and pigs and a few cows for milk, plowed their rocky fields with horses and mules, and only bought what few things they couldn't raise on the Harker ranch.Not that they could afford to buy all that much anyhow. Citizen's Basic would only stretch to cover just that, basics, but Harkers raised just about all they really needed. Last summer had been extra dry, so now he and Pa were headed in to town. They would pick up a few sacks.
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