As Brave as You: Chapters 7–10

Genie studied her face to see if any sadness about the fire truck still lingered.

“Nothin’,” they said in unison, dropping the shovels.

“Where else he gon’ be?” Grandma replied, glowering at him.

“Only one dern spigot out here and it’s on the wrong side of the house,” she groused, twisting the knob that turned the water on.

But sure enough, Grandma had a bona fide pea patch (pea patch?) on the other side of the house.

And if there’s one thing about city boys, as Tess had dubbed them, it’s that they don’t do dirt.

“Grandson, reach in my pocket and grab the keys in there,” Grandpop said, interrupting Genie’s frantic forage.

Genie gawked, trying to look in every direction at once.

First of all, sunlight filled every cranny, because the entire ceiling was glass.

The floor was covered in thick fake grass—grass!—vibrant green.

Genie took one hesitant step forward, then another, until he saw, tucked between all the foliage, five birdcages all made of wood and wire and set up like small castles.

Genie glanced warily at his grandfather, then went from cage to cage.

They flitted around, their wings flapping against the wiry walls, cheeping their blue heads off.

Grandpop rocked forward, this time with enough momentum to propel him to his feet.

Genie just smiled and nodded, chortling to himself, In-ter-netttt.

“It has to do with why your grandma ain’t my...uh...let’s just say, first choice for this expedition.”

“What you wanna do on the Internet?” she’d asked, blocking the front door as if Genie might just rush past her and barge inside.

“Exactly,” Ernie said, shaking his head as if just as disappointed in Genie’s lack of summer protocol.

“Nobody but you,” he quipped.

And while they gabbed on, Genie focused his attention on the monitor, typing:
Is there really such a thing as black sheep?

“And his daddy taught me how to make birdcages, which is where I think Tessy got her craftiness from.”

“And now you all know the history of North Hill, Virginia, where the people save birds who get hurt trying to fight themselves,” Tess said, witty.

“She’s crazy, my ma,” Tess said, blunt.

“She’s crazy. Seriously. She’s out of her mind. She wears that mask because she thinks she’s sick and everything around her is sick. Every week it’s a new thing. Last week she thought she had tuberculosis. Week before that, asthma. Yesterday she told me that she’s pretty sure she’s coming down with cerebral palsy, but then this morning she said it’s cystic fibrosis, and just before I let y’all in, she said she thinks it might be Alzheimer’s, but she can’t remember.”

“She’s crazy. Seriously. She’s out of her mind. She wears that mask because she thinks she’s sick and everything around her is sick. Every week it’s a new thing. Last week she thought she had tuberculosis. Week before that, asthma. Yesterday she told me that she’s pretty sure she’s coming down with cerebral palsy, but then this morning she said it’s cystic fibrosis, and just before I let y’all in, she said she thinks it might be Alzheimer’s, but she can’t remember.”

“Or, we could say that your mom’s a hypochondriac,” Genie said.

“I’m not,” Genie backpedaled. “I’m just sayin’ that’s what’s wrong with her.”

And as soon as Grandma’s litany of duties were done, Genie and Ernie headed down to Tess’s.

Then, on Day Eight, the humdrum routine that Genie and Ernie were actually starting to like was broken.

Before they left, Genie and Ernie washed their hands and changed their shirts—Grandma’s rules—and Genie took the red truck from the dresser and slid it gingerly into his pocket.

“And so what if people sell food there? You got them sunglasses from the bodega at the end of our block, and they sell food too. Plus, Tess sells her earrings, and can’t nobody eat earrings, Ern.”

The can had gotten low, but Genie figured he could divvy out the flies fairly, four or five apiece, and each of the Jackson Five would get enough.

She made a beeline through the food section of the market—past the corn dog stand, the guy selling turkey legs.

Then, upholding his big-brother responsibilities as “first taster,” he nibbled on one of the claws hanging out from between the bread.

He wore a dingy tank top and jeans cut into booty shorts, with kneesocks and sandals.