Page 13 of Savage Heart

“I was just . . . coming out to tell Lucky good mornin’,” I say, patting Lucky so I don’t have to look at Dad.

“You know good and well you’re not supposed to be out here this morning.” He looks me over, and his face says he’s not happy. “Did your mom see ya?”

“No, sir,” I grumble, looking at the ground.

“Get in the house and put your good jeans on. And your tennis shoes instead of those boots.”

I frown up at Dad. “I can’t wear my boots?”

“We got you some new shoes just for school. And if you’re in the gym, you can’t exactly wear those cowboy boots, now, can you?”

He sighs when he sees my grumpy face.

“Don’t you guys want to go see what it’s all about?” he asks.

“Not really,” Lincoln says.

“Me either. Do we have to, Dad? You need me here.”

He grins and ruffles my hair. “Yes, I do, but you need to go to school more. We’ve waited to put you in as long as we can. I bet you’ll like it more than you think. Go on inside. Breakfast will be ready soon. Don’t make your moms wait.”

Lincoln’s mom helps my mom with all the cooking on the ranch. They have to feed a lot of people, and Dad’s right, neither one of our moms will be happy if they have to look for us. My stomach growls, even though eating is the last thing I want to do right now.

Dad looks at Lincoln and smiles, leaning down to whisper, “If you go out the back, maybe you can avoid getting caught by your dad.”

“Thanks, Mr. Harrington,” Lincoln says, grinning wide.

“It’s Hatcher,” Dad says.

It’s become their thing. Dad tells him to call him Hatcher, but Lincoln’s dad insists he call Dad Mr. Harrington. I don’t know why. I don’t call Manny Mr. Keller, I call him Manny.

I sigh loudly and hug Lucky before we leave, kicking a rock all the way to the house.

School is as boring as I thought it’d be. We sit at these desks that feel as tight as Biscuit’s kennel. I know because I used to get in it with him when he was a puppy.

Recess isn’t bad, except it’s way too short. Lincoln and I had a good game of tag going, and then the teacher blew the whistle, and we had to go inside.

Instead of going back to our desks, Ms. French asks us to gather around her on the carpet for story time. As I’m about to sit next to Lincoln, a girl beats me to it. She blinks up at me when I sigh and pats the seat by her.

“Here, sit by me,” she says.

I sit down, and when I turn to look at her, she’s staring at me intently.

“What?” I ask.

“You have Superman eyes,” she says.

I feel my face get really hot, and the girl smiles big.

“You have . . . tiger eyes.” My face burns even hotter after I’ve said it.

But it’s true. Her eyes are gold, like the tigers I saw when we went to the zoo on vacation last year. My brothers and I all had different favorite animals. The tigers were mine, Grady loved the bears, and Cameron could’ve watched nothing but the monkeys all day.

She gasps and smiles even bigger.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I love tigers!” She leans closer. “I’m Iris.”

Our heads almost touch, and I gulp, suddenly feeling like I need a drink of water.