3

I can't say much about my tentmates. There were only three of them.

And I hated them all.

I hope they're all burning in hell right now, those little—

Anywhoosers...

I entered the tent with the most dramatic entrance I could possibly muster, and jumped in, screaming. I ran around in circles, grabbing inanimate objects (and a beetle) from the floor and flinging it into the air, hoping to get someone's attention.

Oh shit.

No one was in the tent.

My arms drooped down, and at that moment... they entered.

The first one that came in was the least hatable out of all of them. He stared at the scrungee in my hair, and then at my pink overalls.

"My mother is a single parent," I said simply, hoping it was enough of an explanation for him to be satisfied and not laugh at me.

He smirked, and nodded, brushing me off. He walked over to his cot and sat down, wiping his armpits with a dirty towel.

Another boy practically leaped into the tent, making a dramatic entrance not nearly as dramatic as mine... OF COURSE. His gray hair resembled a dead raccoon as it swooshed around whilst he was jumping up and down. He had a very youthful face, with those freckles and that annoying kind of nose that you see on Hannah Barbera cartoons, which made his gray hair look even more out of place.

"OH MY JEEBUS!" He cried, lunging at me and knocking me over. "A GIRL! OH THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE! A GIRL AT GREENLAKE!"

I kicked and punched at him until he got off. When he did, I brushed the dust off my clothes and told him in the simplest way that nothing in my anatomy was, or resembled a vagina.

The boy looked disappointed.

He sat down on the cot next to the other boy who was wiping his armpits with the towel.

The third boy entered. He was the one who pissed me off the most because he thought he was black. Now you people out there, I'm not some racist biggot you politically correct people think I am. Hell, I wasn't always the chain-smoking, child-hating son of a bitch you think I am either. But I find it very annoying seeing an Irish boy who would fry up like a sausage if he ever went to Africa pretending to be some MC Hammer wannabe.

He walked in with a proud, and overly-done gangster stride and looked my up and down like I was some hot babe. "Wassup, doll," he said, smirking.

"Shut your mouth boy! I'm a girl." I said as sassily as I could.

He looked almost as disappointed as the gray-haired boy. His smirk grew, and my pink overalls suddenly felt pinker.

I turned around to face them, stamping my foot. "IM NOT A GIRL, HEAR?"

"Hey, girlie, don't get yer panties up in a bunch," said MC Whitey. The other boys snickered. Oh wow, an Irish boy pretending to be from the hood with a southern accent.

Nice.

The first boy stopped wiping his armpits and stood up, sticking out his hand for me to shake. I stared at it, helplessly imagining it was a bog of insects and under-arm creatures. I pretended not to see it, and he lowered his hand.

"I'm Nick. This here's Marcus," he said, pointing to the caffeinated boy with gray hair, "and that one over there prefers to call himself Numba One."

I stared at Numba One. "Why?" I snorted.

"Because I am!" he thundered, lifting his arms as though he had some sort of godly power within them.

I backed away, frightened.

This is too much!

I fled from the tent, blindly heading for the old man's cottage. I burst through the back door, finding myself in the kitchen.

The 'family' was sitting together at a table, having some sort of road-kill possum for dinner. They turned to me, all in shock.

"I can't stay here!" I cried.

The old man wiped his hands with a napkin and got off his chair. He reached out and grabbed my neck with one wrinkled arm.

"Now...'boy... You deserve to be here. And whether you think so or not, you're stayin' here." He released his grip from my neck and kicked my behind towards the door.

"Now GIT OUT—"

"—stay for dinner."

Silence.

Everyone, even the quiet old woman, turned to the girl, as if doubting if she'd actually said what she did.

"Stay for dinner," Lou repeated, that stupid smile on her face. She turned to the old man, who's boot was three inches from kicking me again. "Can he stay for dinner, grandpa?"

The old man knotted his eyebrows, and mustered a fake chuckle. The old woman said nothing, but continued to stare out into space.

"But Sweetydoodle, this boy's a criminal, see? We can't just invite them criminals to our house for dinner. This here's a prison, you see? You don't invite prisoners for dinner..."

There was another silence.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Well, because it ain't allowed, that's why. Plus," he said, glaring at me, "I don't like this one at all. He stenches of..." he sniffed me. "Estrogen."

"He looks hungry,"

He looked at me, examining the dark circles under my eyes and seemed to even hear my rumbling stomach.

"What do you think, Linda?" He turned to the old woman.

She said nothing.

"Yer a lucky one. Ma wife seems te like ye."

I stared at the woman who didn't even blink once since I came into the kitchen. I thought a saw a cobweb forming behind her ear.

He grabbed the collar of my shirt and led me to the only empty chair. "Sit," he said.

I sat. The scary girl, who was behind me, smiled, but said nothing, continuing to eat her possum meat.

The old man scooped up some peas from a bowl and dropped them onto my plate. "Eat," he said.

I picked up one pea with my fingers and stuck it in my mouth. I was hungry as hell, hence it wasn't that bad.

The girl stared at me and smiled whilst chewing.

I knows it's wrong, but I hated her even more that day.

"And don't you tell them boys about any of this," the old man growled, spitting bits of chewed possum everywhere. "They'll eat yer up."

I stared down at my food.

"At least they don't have to eat this."