The Silence Here
Owns Everything

I. A Lesson for the Young Cartographer

After the final bell, Kendra and I walk the mile from Bloomington High North to our neighborhood. Even with a breeze it’s too hot for May, and underneath my backpack my tank top is damp and sticks to my skin, a heaviness waiting to be peeled. The wind tangles Kendra’s straight, blonde hair until she looks like one of the wolf girls Miss Collington told us about this morning in world history. I picture the grainy black-and-white images she showed on the overhead projector, of the little girl found in a forest in Ukraine, running naked on all fours with a pack of wild dogs, growling and clawing to protect her own—a girl and not a girl without even knowing.
People on couch
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