Gone Crazy in Alabama by Rita Williams-Garcia

lake, fish with long whiskers swam down deep and close to the mud. He knew this and knelt and raised his stick to spear one, butthe fish slipped on by. He tried again and missed. And missed again. When he was mad enough to spit, the water laughed at him. Augustus didn’t like the water laughing at him so he said, ‘Stop your laughing at me.’”
    Miss Trotter raised her make-believe spear for my sisters’ delight, thrusting it downward, and Fern gasped, which Miss Trotter liked.
    â€œHe felt something smack the side of his face. It seemed that laughing catfish’s tail jumped up and splashed him. Augustus was fit to be tied. He was hungry and that catfish was making sport of him, so Augustus bided his time. He studied the ripple of the water, studied his fish wriggling this way and that, found the spot where the ripple and wriggling flowed as one, and speared that rascal with the sharp end of his stick. Just when Augustus knew he’d humbled that rascal, he heard the laughter again! But the laughter didn’t come from the water. It came from behind him. When he turned, he saw eyes that belonged to a girl, no taller than he. She led him to her family, who’d fished those creeks since the creeks ran. When he came into their family to live as one of them, the girl’s father said his daughter had caught a big, black fish. He told his daughter she increased their wealth and when the time came and she was old enough, she could claim her prize.
    â€œIt wasn’t long until all the Indians that lived along the creek, the pine, and the coast were forced to move themselves from the land and go west until their feet bled andthe old folks dropped. Isn’t it funny that even the good things of the earth can make your hands and feet bleed? And that is as far back as we know. Back to my father’s father. A boy named Augustus. Now, take that back with you.”
    As soon as we were on our way, Vonetta said, “We’re Indians. Just like Great Miss Trotter.”
    â€œAunt Miss Trotter,” Fern said. “JimmyTrotter has aunts. We have one too.”
    â€œI guess that makes us part Indian,” I said. “Just part.” But I already knew this from looking at Slim Jim Trotter standing next to my great-great-grandmother Livonia.
    â€œMy part’s probably bigger than yours. I look more like Miss Trotter than you do.”
    â€œThat’s silly, Vonetta,” I said. “You, Fern, and I are all the same. From Pa and Cecile. We’re what they are. Black.”
    â€œAnd Afro-American without the Afros.”
    â€œIf you know so much, why is our grandpa Indian and we’re not?”
    â€œGreat-great-grandfather,” I told her. “And if you were listening with your ears you’d know he was half Indian.” I spoke with my foot all in it although I wasn’t sure.
    â€œStill Indian,” she both sulked and insisted.
    â€œVonetta, I thought you were good at math,” I said.
    â€œYou thought right.” I let the sass slide because I was making a point and didn’t want to get sidetracked.
    â€œIf both ours and JimmyTrotter’s great-great-grandmas were black, and our great-great-grandpa was half Indian, I repeat, half . . .”
    She cut her eyes at me and sucked her teeth but again, I let it slide and continued, “. . . half Indian and half black, then Ma Charles and Miss Trotter are what?”
    â€œSisters,” she said.
    Vonetta had cooked up in her head that she was Pocahontas now that we’d heard the story of Augustus joining into his Indian family.
    I sucked my teeth hard. “I can’t believe you, Vonetta. You know your fractions. You know better.”
    Vonetta sucked her teeth extra hard back.
    â€œLook,” I said. “We come from the Gaither side too. We’re what they are.”
    â€œBlack and proud,” Fern said.
    â€œWe come from the Charles side and we’re what they