His dad had the pickup going. He could get up now. Jess slid out of bed and into his overalls. He didn't worry
about a shirt because once he began running he would be hot as popping grease even if the
morning air was chill, or shoes because the bottoms of his feet were by now as tough as his
worn-out sneakers.
"Where you going, Jess?" May Belle lifted herself up sleepily from the double bed where
she and Joyce Ann slept.
"Sh." He warned. The walls were thin. Momma would he mad as flies in a fruit jar if they
woke her up this time of day
He patted May Belle's hair and yanked the twisted sheet up to her small chin. "Just over
the cow field," he whispered. May Belle smiled and snuggled down under the sheet.
"Gonna run?"
"Maybe."
Of course he was going to run. He had gotten up early every day all summer to run. He
figured if he worked at it - and Lord, had he worked-he could be the fastest runner in the fifth
grade when school opened up. He had to be the fastest-not one of the fastest or next to the
fastest, but the fastest. The very best.
He tiptoed out of the house. The place was so ratty that it screeched whenever you put
your foot down, but Jess had found that if you tiptoed, it gave only a low moan, and he could
usually get outdoors without waking Momma or Ellie or Brenda or Joyce Ann. May Belle was
another matter. She was going on seven, and she worshiped him, which was OK sometimes.
When you were the only boy smashed between four sisters, and the older two had despised
you ever since you stopped letting them dress you up and wheel you around in their rusty old
doll carriage, and the littlest one cried if you looked at her cross-eyed, it was nice to have
somebody who worshiped you. Even if it got unhandy sometimes.
He began to trot across the yard. His breath was coming out in little puffs-cold for
August. But it was early yet. By noontime when his mom would have him out working, it
would be hot enough.
Miss Bessie stared at him sleepily as he climbed across the scrap heap, over the fence,
and into the cow field. "Moo," she said, looking for all the world like another May Belle with
her big, brown droopy eyes.
"Hey, Miss Bessie," Jess said soothingly. "Just go on back to sleep."
Miss Bessie strolled over to a greenish patch - most of the field was brown and dry - and
yanked up a mouthful.
"That'a girl. Just eat your breakfast. Don't pay me no mind."
He always started at the northwest corner of the field, crouched over like the runners he
had seen on Wide World of Sports.
"Bang," he said, and took off flying around the cow field. Miss Bessie strolled toward the
center, still following him with her droopy eyes, chewing slowly. She didn't look very smart,
even for a cow, but she was plenty bright enough to get out of Jess's way.
His straw-colored hair flapped hard against his forehead, and his arms and legs flew out
every which way. He had never learned to run properly, but he was long-legged for a ten-
year-old, and no one had more grit than he.