Breakfast.

Desperate enough for something to eat, she rinsed the grease and moldy food out of a small frying pan. She took a bloody package from her refrigerator and dumped the contents in the pan. When it began to sizzle, she added a half cup of lard and a dozen eggs.

When the eggs were done, Leda took a knife and fork. She sliced off some of the meat. Just right. Blackened on the outside and bloody in the middle.

The hot pan thumped on the table. Leda cut up the meat and sighed. Delicious. Just perfect.

The Cu:alani boy had been such a nice kid.

---

A savage jab in the right kidney drove him into the locker.

An elbow forced into his spine held him there, kept his knees from buckling.

Benny's face was slapped against the air vents of his locker. He winced at the musky rank stench of his gym clothes.

The fist clubbed at his kidney again and he shuddered.

A grunt forced its way from between clenched teeth. He stiffened and waited for the next punch.

Grinning at his team mates, Donald obliged him. He ran his fingers up through Benny's shaggy hair, scorning the feeling of the coarse fibers.

He pulled Benny's head back and listened with satisfaction to the bones creak.

“I ain't happy with you, creep. Why'd you have to go messing with my Angie? You must think you're hot shit, telling everybody you boffed her when you were greasing your ass at old man Ryan's parties. Ain't it, fag?”

“I never did that crap, and you know it, Donny.”

Donald rammed his fist in Benny's kidney again. Benny hissed with pain and decided silence was the only answer. He closed his eyes. Too many against him, and last night was just too much, man. He was too far gone, but no way Donald was gonna get away with this crap.

“Just keep your fat lips shut, Grey. I don't like you White Haven punks coming up to Mountain Top messing with our girls. You people all stink like river rot.”

Benny's head was dragged back and slammed against the metal locker. A  hollow boom echoed through the hall. No one bothered to look up. No one would have squealed on another student to a teacher. Besides, it was only that weird Grey kid. The one everybody's parents whispered about.

Flexing the biceps of his right arm, Donald grinned at his friends. He drew back, lunged, and drove his right fist deep into Benny's side. They all snickered at a small, involuntary cry jerked from Benny and the ‘breed wilted.

Donald had to shove hard against Benny's spine to keep him from falling. “Angie told me you got nasty with her last night, ‘breed. All you had to do was take her to the freekin party and leave her there. Why'd you make a fuss?” He cleared his throat and spat the mess in the back of Benny's head.

“I ought to pound you, but I don't want to get ‘breed blood on my new jersey. You know?” Grinding the fist into Benny ribs, he snickered and mocked, “Red-nigger boy, do yourself a favor. Go back to the cat house. You don't belong here, and all of us know it.”

Benny clenched his teeth and refused to give in. One punch, one lousy pop, and Donald was history.

And the whole team would swear he had started it.

And then he was history.

Donald snarled. He ground a little harder, but still the jerk was silent. He snorted. Donald stepped away, frustrated and afraid of being made to look like a fool.

Benny sank to the floor, his face dragging, making squeaking noises on the cold metal locker. Laughter muttered up.

“Look ‘t him.” Donald jeered. He nudged Benny with the toe of his sneaker. “Big brave. Ugh, chief. Why ain't ya pounding on us, huh?” Donald spat on him again. “I think those jerks who were there last night were lying, man. This . . . this slug,” he said, his eyes bright with cold amusement for the word, “ain't got the guts to do anything but hit girls.” He waited, the ‘breed said nothing.

Donald growled, taking Benny's silence for defiance.

“What do you think, Grey? Or can't ‘breeds think?” he taunted. “Are you a slug? Do you like it when women tie you up and rape you? Huh? Do you?” He growled at Benny. “Get up, slug, or I'll step on you.” Donald's fist slammed into the locker. He stared at the unmoving body on the floor and drew his leg back for a kick.

“Yo, man, no.” One of the team members caught his arm and pulled him slightly off balance. Donald shook off the hand.

“Come on, man. What if he's dead?”

The boy stared at Benny, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Everybody says them dudes at the bar beat the living shit out a him. You want to go to prison on a murder charge? For one of them?”

Donald's face paled. He shivered and glared up and down the hall. No one was looking his way. They better not.

The bell rang and they scattered to their rooms and study halls, three of them dragging him along, hissing and muttering.

“I was wondering when it would finally happen.”

An incoherent Benny muttered through a haze of bloody, skinned patches and cracked ribs. He groaned and persuaded an eye to open. And found himself staring at a tile. He closed that one and wedged open the other.

Worn sneakers.

They looked real familiar. He had a pair like that once.

The eye tracked up.

Patched and faded jeans.

Not the stupid ones rich kids bought already patched, but constructed out of denim and poverty. Like Carl would say, the real thang.

Neatly tucked into the jeans at the waist was a too large, worn red and yellow flannel shirt. It looked big enough to fit a bull. Or maybe even his Uncle Charlie. But was far too large for the shoulders it now encased, despite the fact that it had, Benny knew, been taken in by a talented and loving mother.

It was kind of like she hoped to see the man the boy would become, before the tired material gave its last gasp on life.

Benny mumbled into the tiles. He rolled his head and squinted at his cousin. “Hey, Toddy.” A smile flickered, but it hurt too much. Closing off the pain, Benny gave Todd a blinding grin, one of the good things he had learned at the cat-house.

“Good ol' Toddy. Man, nice to see y' ‘gain.” Benny groaned and tried to pick his head up, but it weighed too much to lift.

By way of explaining, he said, “Jus' all part a being a regular stud, my man.”

Young and a stud. Ain't that all he was? Breeding material for the Project. Meet America's premier whore, The Young Stud, Benny Wya Grey.

No, that ain't right. Whores don't have last names.

For Todd's sake, Benny tried to smile. “‘M OK.” He grumbled at the concerned looks Todd was giving him. He grimaced and tried to laugh.

“Yeah, and I'm Miss America.” Todd glared down at Benny.

Peering at him, Benny snickered. “You don' look much like Angie-Babe, bro-Toddy. When you get the jewels cut off?”

Todd snorted.

“Guess I look a mess.”

Todd raised an eye brow, clearly informing Benny he was stating the obvious.

“I've seen you worse.” Todd hugged his book into his side and squatted by his cousin in a comfortable, easy stoop that he could hold for hours in meditation, or studying an ant hill as a part of a science Project.

He smiled at Benny, shook his head and touched his heart. He spoke seldom, and was way, way too solemn for Benny.

“Be glad you're a virgin, cuz,” Benny said darkly. He wheezed a chuckle. Rolling his head back, he gave Todd a gimlet eye.

A shadow passed over Todd's face. “Shut it, Grey.” His gazed darted through the now deserted hall. Todd almost breathed a sigh of relief. No one heard Benny. He relaxed slightly.

“P.P. Head Gavstone would have a cat fit. She's been making me take rubbers –“

His voice a little firmer, Benny said, “Toddy, my man, I was not kidding.”

The second bell screamed and he winced. Shaking his head, he rasped at it. “Since that pig of Leda's took me, it's like a drug, bro-Todd. It owns me now.” Flatly, he whispered, “Thanks to Leda and Chillin MacAvoy.”

Todd winced at the hate in Benny's voice.

“My fault,” Benny said into the tiles, his voice a hoarse whisper of shame and regret. “All o' mine. Ok? So don't look at me that way.” Shoving with his arms, Benny tried to rise. Todd reached to help and Benny snarled at him.

Todd nodded in understanding.

Under his own power Benny made it as far as the lockers. He rested for a moment, then pushed with his legs. Watching him, Todd's face was a tight, barely controlled mask, showing no emotion.

Grunting with effort, Benny slid up. He gave Todd a wan smile and shook his head at an instant offer of help.

“I got it,” he said. “Got to do it on my own, bro.”

He straightened his legs and reached out to pat Todd on the shoulder. Benny signed, ‘Thank you, Brother.'

Nodding, Todd acknowledged and shrugged.

Embarrassed at what his heart was telling him, Benny peered vaguely around at his feet, seeking his book.

“Here, bro.” Todd handed Benny the lost history text. “You want to go see Mrs. Gennetti?”

The book dragged Benny's arm down. He glared at Todd. “I don't need any nurses. Stop moving like that.” Angry, he shook his head and groaned. Man, but like there was two of Toddy.

Two of everything, too.

Benny peered at his groin, snickering and wondering if there would be two of that. Make weird Cindy want him twice as much? As it was she'd had trouble handlin ol' harry, cryin it hurt.

Benny shuddered and choked on the tightness of a collar that was long since removed. That day, Cindy had taught him the value of a woman's right to say No. He had nearly died from the massive shock she gave him with her remote. Dammed prick teasing bimbo.

He started to slide down the locker. Todd leaped to help and Benny grunted a harsh “No,” shoving back up.

“We're late for class, man. Got Mrs. Ritter first thing, too.”

Nausea shriveled Benny's stomach. He swallowed the rising bile, and sternly told it to behave.

Shaking off Todd's concerned hand, Benny tottered in the direction of class. The well-lighted hall darkened, and brightened, and darkened in time with every ragged gasp. Unable to walk farther, he sagged against the lockers near a door.

Hoping it was Ritter's class room, Benny glanced in.

Bummer, it was Hard-Case Redford's. She was the least patient, toughest, nastiest teacher he had ever met. Except for Ritter.

Redford loved to go hunting and deep-sea fishing. Benny wondered if it were true that a shark had tried to bite her, and instead she bit it. He could believe it. But yo, could he.

Sensing trouble, she glared through the wire reinforced glass of her door. Her eyes hardened and crystallized on Benny.

He paled.

Benny gave Mrs. Redford a worried smile and shifted back from the door. Out of sight, out of mind.

Todd glanced in. He nodded politely at her.

The text book she held crashed to the desk top. She snarled, certain Grey was getting his cousin in trouble. Again.

The door burst open and Benny gaped at her. For a woman of her bulk she moved fast.

Her angry words died unspoken and she nodded at Benny's battered face.

Mrs. Redford's voice cracked at them. “Get to the nurse's station.” Their faces lost all expression, and the woman shook her head in angry despair.

“Get him cleaned up, Toddy,” she said roughly, and stepped back into her class room.

Face gray and drawn, Benny snorted and clutched his ribs. He grimaced, muttered something about the evil eye. Had he really seen pity in the old war horse's eyes?

Benny rubbed his head and worried about how much damage had been done there.

With gentle but insistent tugs, Todd managed to get Benny down the hall to the nearest lavatory.

He ripped off a handful of paper towels and soaked them under a tap of cold water.

Scowling and grumbling threats, Benny submitted with ill grace to his cousin's aid.

The worse of the blood washed off, Todd pulled a worn leather sack from his pocket.

“Hey.” Benny's whispered voice cracked in surprise. “Wasn't that Grampa's?”

Todd smiled. He nodded and let Benny see the pouch.

Holding it with reverent joy, Benny let a tear fall.

Swallowing hard against the pain in his throat, Todd said, “I miss Gramps, too.” From the opened pouch he took pinches of ground home-grown tobacco. He sprinkled it on Benny's wounds. Todd lay damp towels over that.

The blood stopped seeping almost immediately. Benny winced at the burning sting of the tobacco, but let Todd do his job. Todd wanted to be a Healer, like their Grandfather Wya, and tobacco would sterilize the wounds and bring faster healing.

Waiting a few minutes, Todd removed the towel and brushed away the tobacco. The wounds stood out, glaring and raw, but dry. He grinned. Benny looked POed as all get-out. And for what? Because he had to accept help.

He backed off, balled a fist, and in no uncertain terms told his cousin thanks were definitely not necessary. Not in words, not with a slap on the head.

Benny grinned faintly and nodded. “I'm cool, bro.”

Squinting at Benny, Todd shrugged. He grinned back and touched his heart. “All for one-”

“One for all.” Benny smiled. “I love you, cuz.” He grumbled to himself and kicked a heel at the wall. A man wasn't supposed to need anybody. But he needed Toddy.

“I know.” Todd stared up at the clock for a moment, and whispered, “Dn:V:tli.”

“Brothers.” Benny offered Todd a slight nod in agreement.

“Geez-iss,” Todd cried. “We're dead meat. Man, it's quarter after.” He groaned and yanked the still woozy Benny out the door.

“Thousand Word Club, for sure, bro.”

“Hang on, will ya?” Benny grumbled and pulled back. “I gotta go.”

He shuffled to a urinal.

Done, Benny shoved down the handle. He grunted, tried the other hand, but couldn't manage it. Benny grimaced and his gaze flicked at Todd.

Todd came up, rolled his eyes in a glare at Benny, and shoved the handle down hard. He glanced in, his eyes widened at the bloodied discoloration of the urine, and the Healer came to the fore.

Benny shook his head, and stumbled out. He winced and glared at Todd. Todd groaned, helping Benny up the four steps and watched his cousin totter down the hall to Mrs. Ritter's class.

---