1

It was summer in the Midwest. The heat shimmered over the drying grass, and a gang of cousins and their friends ran helter-skelter over the farm. The few trees had children and animals in and around them. The grandparents and parents sat on the porch visiting and enjoying the first day of their annual gathering.

A yelp broke the tranquil sounds, though it went unnoted with all the other noise. Again, it came.

"Chad, give it back. Please!"

The big boy laughed, and held the book and sketch pad high. The little girl hated having her older siblings' college friends come and visit, especially boyfriends and girlfriends. They were the meanest.

"Well I might, Jasmine, or I might not. Can you reach it, princess?" He mocked, using her father's pet name.

Jasmine stopped pleading and trying to find a way to trip the giant football player. He was her sister's boyfriend and her brother's friend. She didn't dare get him in trouble, or the whole family would shun her for a week. She studied the pencil she still held, and wondered if she could find a garter snake to leave in his bed. She was deathly afraid of snakes, but letting Chad sleep with one almost made the idea palatable.

A man stood from the porch and started over the lawn. Was he her dad's friend or one of her brother's? It didn't matter. They were all equally mean.

Chad laughed, and thumbed through the book, a collection of short stories. "Baby stuff," he muttered, and tucked it under his arm. Then, he opened the sketch pad, and flipped the pages, eyeing the drawings and grinning hugely. That's when he saw the one of him, drooling after a random girl, his knuckles dragging the pavement. Jasmine braced herself as he reached for her collar.

"You little tramp! You have no right to-"

A lean hand grabbed Chad's wrist before it could get near the child. "And someone made you censor for the day?" An icy voice asked. Jasmine looked up, and saw it was the man who'd been walking over. He was strong, holding the large hand in place, without batting an eye. Swiftly, he plucked the books from Chad's possession, and thumbed through them himself. When the college student tried to move, the man simply, twisted with his thumb, stretching the wrist joint painfully. After a few seconds, he let go and turned to Jasmine, holding out her things. "Trade you for the pencil?"

She studied his face, the bland eyes, the brown hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail, the serious mouth. Slowly, she held out the pencil, and took the books. He nodded in thanks, and turned again to Chad, spinning the writing tool through his fingers. "You know, everything has several breaking points? If you can find one, the other faults show up really quick, and," he held the pencil out with both hands, fingers lightly on each end, then he twisted, shattering it neatly into two jagged halves. "Voila."

Without warning he grabbed the visitor's arm, and pressed the two tiny spears against the wrist. "It also doesn't take a lot to figure you haven't bled a lot, or be hurt a lot. Advantage to being the big football player, but the disadvantage? You can't handle something like this," he mocked, watching Chad turn pale, nearing tears. Releasing the younger man, he watched him walk away. Then, he turned to the girl behind him. "You okay?"

She nodded, looking up with big green eyes. "He couldn't do anything really bad, there are too many people watching. Thank you for getting my things back for me."

He was wearing a vest over a loose polo shirt, and reached into one of the pockets, pulling out a small souvenir knife. "It gave me something to do, besides," he began whittling on the broken pencil, "I don't like football players."

Jasmine frowned, watching his hands work quickly. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing personal. They could just think of something besides games every so often. Thus, the term meathead." He held out the pencil, one half carved to two points, the other to one and the eraser still intact. "That should work. Take art lessons?" She shook her head, and examined the tools he returned to her. He smiled a little as he watched her solemn face. "You should, they're pretty good."

Jasmine looked up as if she didn't quite believe him. He held out his hands, the knife still held loosely in his fingers. "What, no one's told you good job before?" She shrugged, and he returned the blade to its pocket. "Come on, your grandma said there was a creek somewhere, but in this heat I'll have to see it first."

She led him across the yard to a stand of trees. In them the creek ran, dreadfully slim from lack of rain that spring. It was, however, deep enough to wade in, and Jasmine promptly kicked off her flip-flops and walked in. The man unlaced his army boots, and followed. They moved around in compatible silence for a time, before Jasmine looked up through her dark hair. "What's your name?"

"Jack. What's yours?"

"Jasmine." She smiled for the first time. "You're one of my dad's friends, aren't you?"

"I know your dad," he said. She studied him again. He couldn't have been much older than Chad, but he seemed to be. The way he talked and moved, they way nothing fazed him. She slid to the bank and sat down. Pulling out her sketch pad, she began to draw.

Jack sat beside her, watching her work. After about fifteen minutes, she handed him the book. There, she had drawn him. He was walking across the grass, slightly slouched, hands stuffed deep into his pants pockets. It was only an outline, the perspective off here and there, but it was clearly him. He smiled and patted her back. "Nice."

"It's yours." She said shyly.

He paused, his face unreadable. Slowly, he tore out the picture, and held in on his knee. "Thank you, this is special." He told her.

She smiled, and leaned against his shoulder.

The rest of the week went too fast for both of them. Jasmine never found out his last name or what he did for a living. He never asked her any questions either. He showed her a few tricks to stave off bullies, and she followed him like his shadow.

Her father told her one day, "Jasmine, don't bother Jack if he needs some space."

Zeke, her father's closest friend laughed. "Don't worry, Brian, he's enjoying the attention as much as she is, right, sweetie?"

She nodded, adding quickly, "If I think he wants me away, I won't bug him. I promise, Daddy." She meant it. She wasn't about to risk offending her only friend.

When the time came for everyone to leave, Jasmine simply handed him her sketch pad. Jack also said nothing, giving her an army knife. She waved as Zeke drove all her father's friends away.

It perhaps was the summer Jasmine looked back on with any fondness. It certainly was the only summer she felt had prepared her for life.