On our way back to the rez, people were outside the bar smoking. We passed by on the other side of the road and Tyson and I felt them staring.

“Hey,” a fat guy said. “You got a cigarette?”

Tyson yelled back. “Look in your hand!”

“I’m holding this for someone! Come on, you got a cigarette?” He walked out from under the streetlight and into the dark of the road. “Come back.”

Tyson and I kept walking toward the bridge.

“Greedy fucking Indians!” He yelled. A roar of laughter came from all the men. “Can’t spare one lick of tobacco!”

We stopped.

“Let’s tie our shoes,” I said.

We knelt down. I checked my laces and they were knotted tight. I searched the ground for rocks. When I stood, I had a handful.

“Ready?”

We turned back toward them.

“Atta’ girls!” Jabba the Hut said. “Bring me a cigarette.”

We got as close as we needed.

“What are you dicking around for?” His voice was calm, and he held out his hand. “Come on,” he said. “I won’t bite.”

I leaned toward Tyson. “Throw that rock like you threw that stick at my face.”

“I’ll throw it harder,” he said.

I counted to three and we let them fly. The fat man was the first to duck and the others closest to the bar door tried to go inside.

“You dirty fucking Indians!”

Glass shattered, sprinkled all over the sidewalk. Men rushed out from the bar and the fat man stood. “You’re fucked now, girls!”

Tyson turned first and then I followed, sprinting ahead of him. I didn’t look back but it sounded like footsteps.

“The swamp, head to the horse bridge!”

I ran so fast across the bridge to the Island that everything was a blur. I passed the church, I knew that much, and soon I found myself near the swamp. I veered off the road and into the woods, twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot. I stuck my hands out to protect my face from tree limbs. The moonlight lit the swamp and I avoided the pools of murky water, hopping from one small patch of mossy ground to the other, until those patches got fewer and fewer the closer I came to the river that crept inland and formed the swamp.

A fallen tree closed the gap between the swamp and the path along the riverbank that led to the horse bridge. I was out of breath when I stepped carefully on top of the fallen tree and wobbled across to the other side. Even, flat ground. I took one deep breath and floored it toward the horse bridge.

With hands on my knees, I tried to listen. All I heard was ringing in my ears and my heavy breathing.

I waited. My breath slowly came back to me and my ears stopped ringing. Five minutes passed, then another, and Tyson didn’t show up.