Wabanaki Blues by Melissa Tantaquidgeon Zobel

sarcastic smirk like Beetle’s—a full-blown, I-really-like-you smile with a brain attached. I’ve only seen smiles like this in my dreams.
    â€œI’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty in August” he says, “if that’s what you’re asking. I just finished my third year of forestry school at Yale. How about you?” Del folds his arms, signaling it’s my turn to dish on my background information.
    I don’t know what to say. He’s smug, and he’s obviously a liar. Like he goes to Yale. Like anyone could finish three years at Yale by nineteen. Nobody from Colt High has ever attended Yale. It’s one of those mystical places in Connecticut that everybody has heard about but nobody actually goes. And seriously, why would Yale have a forestry school in the city of New Haven?
    I don’t mention that I have birthday coming up in late July, as I don’t want him to know I’m only seventeen. “Let’s see what you like to read.” He pulls out the book from under my arm. “ Wabanaki Legends . So you have an interest in the stories of these woods? I’m not surprised. Your relatives are the keepers of its most ancient tales.”
    I grab the book back. “That’s not why I chose this book. I like reading about lots of things. You don’t have to go to Yale to like reading, you know.” I decide to smoke out his lie. “What do you plan to do with a degree from Yale Forestry School?”
    He gently lifts my chin. “Look around you, Mona. All we’ve got up here is woods. Your grandfather made me realize the importance of this place. I’m on the fast track to finish college in one more year. Then, I can come back to Indian Stream for good.”
    I squint my already squinty eyes, wondering if he’s for real, loving the feel of his hand on my chin. “That’s a pretty big sacrifice, to live here with a Yale degree. You could go anywhere.”
    â€œYour grandparents taught me these woods would be long gone if people hadn’t sacrificed to protect them.”
    â€œYou sound just like them.”
    â€œThat’s because they practically raised me.” Del drops his head, as if he’s said more than he meant to.
    Grumps yells at the butcher. “Are you out of your mind?”
    We snap our heads in his direction.
    â€œIt looks like your grandfather is getting into it with my boss over our recent price hike on bananas,” says Del. “Maybe you should distract him.”
    â€œHey Grumps, it’s time to go!” I say, still feeling the touch of Del’s hand on my chin.
    Grumps breaks away from his quarrel and sidles up to the leprechaun like he’s his favorite grandkid. “Morning, Del. I see you’ve met my big city granddaughter. As you may have noticed, Mona Lisa ain’t the smiley type.”
    I shrivel at hearing my middle name.
    Del’s eyebrows form that furry teepee shape, indicating keen fascination with this disclosure. “I was just telling Mona Lisa that I go to college in her home state.”
    I concentrate hard on not sighing again. His voice is not only buttery; it’s melted butter dripping over steamed corn on the cob. When he says “Mona Lisa,” it sounds luscious.
    â€œWe’re proud of you attending Yale, Del,” says Grumps. “I know your father is glad to see you doing so well at his alma mater. Don’t drop out like your ole dad.”
    Grumps lowers his head exactly like Del did when he realized he’d said more than he meant to. What are they both hiding?
    Del replies quickly. “You know I’ll graduate, Mr. Elmwood.” He eyes Grumps admiringly, the way I’m sure I used to look at Bilki. Plus, it appears he actually does attend Yale.
    Del’s lichen-green eyes open wide, like one of Bilki’s vortexes, pulling me in. Thousands of fire ants inflame my skin from head to toe. I’ve never been the object