YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!

"But yer so smart, Adam. You know how ta do stuff 'n' how ta fix stuff 'n' . . . Well . . . ya know stuff!"

Adam seated himself in the chair across from his frustrated brother, lessening the obvious height difference and hoping to diminish what Hoss always referred to as 'Adam's teacher stare'. "Hoss," Adam said calmly, "the assignment is yours, not mine. If I do it for you, you won't learn anything from it."

"I don't wanna learn anythin' from it!" Hoss cried, shoving his fists against his hips. "I don't wanna learn nothin' from nothin'! I don't wanna go ta school! You ain't Pa, 'n' you can't make me!"

With their parents and baby brother in Carson City, Adam had been given the daunting task of getting his seven-year-old brother, Hoss, through the school week. Adam knew Hoss struggled daily with assignments and tests – all of which Hoss felt were too difficult and quite frankly, pointless if he wanted to grow up and be a rancher like his pa. Countless discussions and lectures from Ben, Adam, and even Marie – who, in Adam's opinion, tended to give in to Hoss all too often - pointed out the need for knowledge in the daily running of the ranch. Those conversations had gotten the grownups in Hoss's life nowhere.

Adam leaned against the table, propped his chin atop his elbows, laced his fingers together, and sighed. He knew they'd tried reasoning with Hoss in the past, and that evening, Adam decided to try another approach. "Alright, Hoss," he said. "You don't have to go to school the rest of this week. We'll let Pa and Mama decide what'll happen after they get back."

"Ya mean it, Adam?" Hoss screeched, jumping up from his chair. "Ya really mean it?"

Adam's heart ached when he saw the relief in Hoss's Tahoe-blue eyes. Oh, brother! This plan of mine is already going awry! But, what's done is done. Adam knew that if this plan failed, Hoss would be devastated when Pa returned and made him go to school the following week. Still, his plan had been set in motion, and Adam steeled himself for what was to follow."Yes, Hoss, I mean it. You may stay home and do as you please while the rest of the children go to school and read their assignments aloud and everyone in class hears the wonderful essays about their families."

"Thanks, Adam!" Hoss grinned, slamming his schoolbook shut. "I'm gonna git me a snack!" With a gleam in his eyes, Hoss scampered across the living room and into the kitchen.

Adam dropped his forehead to the table, his thoughts wandering to the explanation he'd need to prepare. You see, Pa, I figured if Hoss thought that the other children were . . . I mean, if they had to . . . Adam closed his eyes, his father's disappointed face flashing in the blackness. He raised his head slowly, the banging and clashing sounds of Hoss preparing a nighttime snack suddenly accompanied by Hop Sing's angry voice.

"You want snack, you ask!" the Chinese cook yelled. "You no make mess for Hop Sing clean up!"

Moments later, when Adam heard Hoss's approaching footsteps, he played out the rest of his plan. "You know, Hoss, while you're here on the ranch, spending time in the barn or the corral, those other pupils will be stuck inside reading stories of how courageous and strong their fathers are and how they always find time for their boys; stories about how beautiful their mothers are and how they take care of them when they're sick or hurt and how they can bake the tastiest pies." From the corner, Adam saw Hoss slide into one of the dining room chairs, hesitating before biting into the triple-decker sandwich. Hiding his grin, Adam continued. "They'll probably even read about their silly little sisters and how they bother them and follow them around." Adam opened the table drawer and slid Hoss's schoolbook inside, slamming the drawer for effect. "And then, of course, they'll talk of their brothers and how lucky they are to have them to play with. Some of them might even mention how their brothers teach them about roping and branding, and take them hunting and fishing."

Hoss glanced at the corner by the front door where he and Adam had placed their fishing poles as a reminder of their Friday outing after school.

Adam saw a frown growing on Hoss's chubby face. "Just think, Hoss. Since you won't be writing that essay this evening and seein' as how you won't be going back to school, you won't have to listen to any of those stories. And none of those kids, sitting in that stuffy old classroom will know what kind of family you have."

Hoss finished his sandwich while Adam made himself comfortable in Pa's worn, burgundy chair. He reached off to the side, grabbing his guitar and softly strumming as he hummed a favorite tune. He glanced off to his side, and saw Hoss guzzle his glass of milk, stand, and shove his hands into his pockets before walking sullenly toward the front door.

"Uh, Hoss?" Adam questioned. "The dishes, please!"

Hoss nodded, his head hanging down. He stacked his empty glass atop the plate, and carefully made his way to the kitchen. When he returned, he lumbered to the credenza and stood staring at the waiting fishing poles.

Adam craned his neck, his fingers still plucking the guitar strings. He saw Hoss shoulders rise and fall with an audible sigh, and when his brother started to turn, Adam quickly focused his gaze on the strings of his guitar.

Hoss ambled across the room, stopping just beside the burgundy chair. "Hey, Adam?"

"Hmm?"

"Ya figure you could help me, just a little, with that essay?"

Adam bit back a grin as he gently lowered his guitar to the floor. "Sure, Hoss," he said, clapping his brother on the back. "I'll help you get started."