When Zachary Beaver Came to Town by Kimberly Willis Holt

start coughing. I cover my mouth and try to swallow, but it’s no use.
    â€œYou okay?” she asks. “Do you need a glass of water?”
    Holding up my palm, I manage to say, “I’m fine.” I wish I could start all over—opening the gate, repeating my slow cool walk toward the porch, maybe a casual lift of my eyebrows when she says hi.
    But Scarlett doesn’t seem to mind. Her gaze slides over the magazine page and she sighs. “You know, there’s a whole world out there waiting in the back of magazines.”
    â€œHmm? You mean in the ads?”
    â€œYeah. Didn’t you ever want anything in the back of a magazine?”
    â€œWell, I always wanted to order those sea monkeys in the Superman comics. But my dad said they were a waste of money.”
    She laughs. “Sea monkeys?”
    I feel my face go red. I decide not to mention the Atlas Body Building course.
    â€œI mean these kind of ads.” She points to an ad
about a modeling school in Dallas right next to one about becoming a stewardess. The wind blows her hair across her face, and a few strands stick to her lip gloss. She swings her feet to the porch floor and scoots over, leaving room for me on the right. It’s not the left, where Juan sat, but I guess it really doesn’t matter.
    Leaving a foot of space between us, I sit next to her and take deep breaths. Her hair smells like flowers.
    I want to hold Scarlett’s hand, but mine are sweaty. I should have used deodorant on them. Maybe one day I’ll invent a hand deodorant and market it to guys like me who want to get rid of their wet palms.
    â€œIs that what you want to be?” I ask. “A model?”
    â€œMaybe, if I can get these fixed.” She taps on her two front teeth.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with your smile?” I know she’s talking about the gap, but I love her gap.
    She sighs. “Oh, Toby. You have to be perfect to be a model. And I’d look better without it. See?” She smiles, and a piece of chewing gum fills the space.
    I shrug.

    â€œOr maybe a stewardess. That would be the next best thing, to fly around the world. How glamorous.”
    I’d ridden in a plane once when we flew to my grandmother’s funeral. The stewardesses served drinks, handed out peanuts, and asked if we had any garbage. A little kid threw up on one of them. But I decide not to mention any of that.
    She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course, to be an international stewardess, I’d have to know another language.” She says international stewardess like it’s as official as a U.S. ambassador job. “Juan was helping me learn Spanish before …” She gazes into the yard.
    I should have listened to Dad and enrolled in Spanish class last year instead of shop. He told me learning a foreign language would come in handy. Just as I start to scooch toward her, Scarlett stands, stretching her arms above her head. “I’ve got to cook dinner. Mom will be home from work any minute. You can come in if you want.”
    If I want? Yes, I want. I follow her into her house, which is dark and smells musty like an attic. Clothes cover shabby furniture and toys litter the floor. Scarlett breezes into the kitchen, dodging the whole
mess. I stub my toe on a giant baby doll with batches of hair torn out.
    Scarlett fills a pot with water. “Toby, would you get my radio? It’s in my room.”
    I glance around for a door.
    â€œGo down the hall. It’s the first door on the right.”
    In the room, two unmade twin beds have matching floral bedspreads, but it’s as if there is an imaginary line drawn down the middle of the floor. One side has a ton of stuffed animals and dolls without arms and heads. I swear Tara is headed for the women’s penitentiary.
    The other side of the room has Bobby Sherman posters taped on every square inch of the wall. I remember signing the Autograph Hound sitting