Lance (Kevin) Lawhon
llawhon@austincc.edu

Kevin Lawhon is a native Austinite who wrote his first short story at nine years old. Even though his contemporaries panned the piece, the desire to make up stories so ignited his imagination that he couldn’t stop. His habit only worsened over the years. He remarks, “Yeah. Summers were one of the best things about being a kid. I’d ride my bike to the local library and spend hours turning those squeaky metal displays where all the sci-fi and fantasy paperbacks lived. More than once I’d catch the raised eyebrow of the librarian as she put her finger to her lips. Of course movies helped, too. And tv. And comic books. Even back then I knew I wanted to be a writer.”

He attended what is now Texas State University where he miraculously obtained a Fine Arts degree and a Masters in English Literature with a focus on Medieval, Renaissance and Science Fiction literature. He wrote a number of science-fiction and fantasy short stories, but after a bevy of rejection letters, he quit. Subsequently, it took several years and a mind-numbing job working in a warehouse to cause the necessary crisis moment for his character to arc and force him back to his calling: writing.

When asked what writing should be about, he offered, “At first I thought literature should be about cool stuff: nifty plots, strange places — that sort of thing. But I realized it’s a lot deeper than that. It still boils down to humanity, down to us humans and what we do and where we’re going. Basically, literature is still about people whether they’re in the 16th century or bug-eyed aliens in the 25th. I write from a Christian worldview, so my work expresses a redemptive quality. Literature should tell the truth of who we are.”

Kevin’s current literary endeavors include a medieval fantasy epic called Covenant Man and a young-adult novel, The Second Apprentice.

Coyote Meets the Teenager

The van scattered dust and gravel as it peeled out of the driveway. MJ stood on the shaded porch, watching the van disappear down the twisting, tree-shrouded road. Once it had passed out of sight, he dashed into the wide clearing toward the family’s water tower. At the yard’s far edge, cedar, oak and pecan trees rose out of the rocky scrub Texas soil, hardy and alive in the last gasp of humid September heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead even before he reached the staircase leading to the top of the tower. He launched himself up the creaking boards, his adolescent mass of legs stumbling on the steps.

Once he reached the corrugated metal roof, he raced over to lean on the railing. From his vantage point, he watched his family’s blue minivan grow smaller on the winding stretch of flat East Texas road. “That’s right. Keep going,” he urged under his breath. He reached into the pocket of his long shorts and withdrew the tan, naked form of his sister’s Barbie. Then he waited, one leg tapping out a nervous beat. The van turned grey in the distance, eventually disappearing from view. Satisfied they weren’t coming back, he scrambled down the staircase and ran into the ramshackle tool shed leaning against the tower. “This is gonna be goo—ood!” he chanted.

With his bag of tools and Barbie doll in hand, MJ jumped into the low end of the pool hole — a wide, grass-filled opening in the ground where his dad intended to put in a swimming pool when they had moved from Austin to the country three years ago.

The sun beat down on his wiry fourteen year-old body. He sank a shaft of wood into the dry, roasting soil; the whirring cicadas struck out a rapid cadence as if to spur on his actions. Then he tied the doll to the stake. Sweaty fingers made his grip loose—Annie hadn’t dressed her in six months—and Barbie wriggled as he brought the twine to bear. One arm he hadn’t tied down stuck out, defiant, as if giving him the finger. Then he scattered twigs and wood chips at the base. The lighter fluid he then doused her with soaked the mop of golden hair, running down in rivulets across the creases and bends of her perfect tan form and was absorbed into the twine.

He stood back to admire his handiwork, trying to draw breath from the stifling, still air. Sweat dripped into his eye and he rubbed it into his faded Formula One t-shirt. “I’ve had it with you!” he seethed. The doll didn’t answer, only stared back unblinking, beatifically vacuous. From the bag he withdrew one of his stepmother’s spare lighters and flicked it on. The butane flame whooshed out, the air around it a shimmering nimbus. He giggled in nerdy fascination at the quivering flame, “Fire… fire is cool.” MJ pulled out a stick of Night Jasmine incense and lit the end. He took his time walking the few steps forward to his prey. His grin stretched and stretched.

Then he lit the fire to burn Barbie at the stake.

A swath of flame enveloped her. He whooped and hollered, throwing himself into a sudden dance, mesmerized by the heat, the giddy sensation of revenge. Her hair sizzled away. The plastic darkened, melting. He cheered, then laughed as he watched his shadow. His awkwardness vanished. Sinewy arms and legs scooped the air like tree limbs while the leaves of his curly brown hair rustled to the cicadas relentless hum. The smoke cast its own shadow as the stench of burning plastic rose ever higher. He gave into the dance, feet beating the ground to the inaudible beat. The world around him blurred.

MJ finally stopped, exhausted and hoarse, surprised to find his t-shirt and shorts completely soaked with sweat. He gulped down swallows of the humid air. Man, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. He coughed as he stamped out the smoldering embers. With a hand spade, he buried the evidence.

As he crawled out of the pool hole, a sense of being watched hit him. He tensed, ready to bolt, and strained to hear the tell-tale sound of gravel turning. Checking the air with a sniff assured him the burning plastic smell had dissipated and a glance below him proved he’d adequately covered the evidence. For a time he waited to hear the van’s approach but the yard remained silent. A slight breeze drifted across the yard and he took it for a good omen that Barbie would trouble him no more. MJ relaxed. It needed to be done, he concluded again. Get back at Annie for torturing me with the dang doll. “No more beating me on the head and waking up me up on Saturdays to make breakfast for you,” he announced. “No ma’am!” Besides, he thought, it’s not like I was her only victim. Annie, his half-sister, used Barbie as a weapon, an extension of her seven year-old brattiness. The dogs, the cats — whatever got in her way was subject to flailing by the doll. “Barbie needed killin’, officer,” he joked out loud in the thickest southern accent he could muster. Then with a kick to his step he went inside to celebrate with a Coke.

He’d actually come to the decision to do Barbie in earlier that day. It started with the sound of tires grinding to a stop on the gravel road outside. MJ’s stepmom, Joyce, bustled in, weighed down by plastic bags sporting Frugal Fred’s smile. “Michael-James,” she drawled out his full name, which he hated. “Groceries.“ Joyce modeled that stubborn class of eclectic Texas Individualist — a mix of intellectual, hippie and world traveler rounded off with Big Texas Accent and hair. MJ padded across the wood vinyl of the double-wide past Joyce’s vast library of everything from Ayn Rand to Zebulon’s History of Ghosts. Massive oak furniture and paintings of the Scottish Highlands blanketed the wide living room, as in to contrast to the rugged, unconquered Texas terrain outside. And MJ often felt like he’d landed on an alien world. Before he made it to the door, Annie ran up to Joyce with a bright piece of paper in one hand and the doll in the other.

“Party. Party. The party is today.”

“Huh?”

Annie continued to wave the invitation until Joyce took it. “Well, ya could’a told me earlier,” came her sharp reply as she reviewed the colorful invite. “I was just at the store. Now we gotta go and get a birthday present. I swear Annie,” she tsked. “Well, we better leave now. Michael-James, I need you to put away the groceries.” MJ grunted a reply. Good. Let the little monster terrorize kids her own age, he thought to himself. She’d woken him up the fifth Saturday in a row with the stupid doll by beating him on the head, demanding he make her breakfast. One ear still smarted.

“Well, g’won to your room,” urged Joyce to her daughter. “We better find something for you to wear.” In a little girl fit of joy, Annie skipped toward her room. Shoes, clothes were launched helter-skelter as she went. Even Barbie was tossed to the side, where she skittered to a halt underneath the coffee table. Joyce followed behind. “Pick these things up!” Annie frowned, but complied. Then they headed into Annie’s room to fight over what she would wear. But Barbie remained forgotten, hidden under the thick-legged oak table from Aberdeen that was incised with all manner of Celtic runes and designs.

It dawned on MJ that the opportunity for revenge was at hand.

MJ whistled to himself and nonchalantly scooped up the doll and shoved her into his baggy shorts. Then he headed outside to bring in the groceries.

Howard and Joyce had met in Austin not long after MJ’s mom had died when he was six, then immediately the oil company where Howard worked shuttled them off to Scotland, where they lived for several years. Then the company transferred Howard again from the North Sea to the Gulf of Mexico, where he continued to work as a mud engineer for five or more months out of the years on the giant offshore platforms. Back to Austin they went. But Joyce was eager to commune with Nature and Howard, MJ’s dad, liked the idea of having a ranch with lots of cool farm equipment, so they soon moved out to the counrty.

But MJ missed Aberdeen. The cool sea breeze. The verdant turf beneath his feet. Fish and chips. Friends. He was losing his Scottish brogue and he hated that. Making friends in “Lickfart” had proven a Herculean task. At least the buddies he’d made in Austin still kept in touch and came out when they could.

Mom, I can’t find Barbie,” whined Annie at dinner the next night. MJ bit his lower lip and turned the page of Popular Mechanics next to his plate.

Clean up that room of yours and you’ll find her. Needs it anyway. Looks like a tornado hit it.”

“I looked all over. All over the house.”

“Where’s the last place you saw her?”

Annie shrugged her shoulders.

“Michael-James — you seen Annie’s doll?”

MJ grunted in the negative. He took another helping of chicken-fried tofu & potatoes. Joyce’s attention returned to her daughter. “I swear Annie—that’s the third doll you lost. You better find that doll ‘cause I ain’t buyin’ you another.”

A few moments later MJ excused himself from the table and made for his room. He barely had time to jump into the closet and slam the door shut before exploding with laughter.

The next week brought a pleasant summer rain. The yellowing grass sprang to life. On Saturday Joyce cornered MJ at the computer in her workroom where he sat playing an online role-playing game. She stood at the door, her eyes boring into him. “I told you twice already to go mow the yard.”

“Just a minute more,” mumbled MJ, his eyes held fast by the action on the screen.

“Now! Move it or I’m erasing your gaming stuff.”

He mumbled another reply.

“One… two…”

“All right. All right. I’m going.” He saved the game. At least I can drive the riding mower, he thought as a consolation. The longed-for driver’s test, the next stage on the ladder to freedom and social respectability lay two years away.

The mower sat collecting rust at the edge of the property where Howard had abandoned it after running out of gas. MJ lugged the gas can at one side. Out of the corner of his eye just past the mower he caught sight of a grey form in the tall grass and assumed it to be Cowboy, their German Shepherd. MJ filled the tank and brushed the leaves and dirt off of the seat. He climbed on and put the key in the ignition.

“Hey,” came a voice.

“Huh?” MJ wheeled around but didn't see anyone.

“Down here, kid,” said the same voice, a smarmy mix of politician and used-car salesman.

Sitting on its haunches in the grass wasn't Cowboy, but a coyote. Startled, MJ sucked in a breath. They’d had problems with coyotes a year back. But they were skittish, easily frightened by humans. “Beat it! Shoo!” he waved his arms and wished he’d brought the .22 or his dad’s shotgun.

“Leave already? I just got here,” replied the coyote with a wide grin.

MJ’s mouth remained open.

“You can speak, can’t you? Most humans do.” And the coyote chuckled.

“Uh… yeah,” came MJ’s weak reply. When they’d lived in Scotland, he would go into the woods and search high and low for faeries or elves but always came back disappointed. Joyce regularly complained that “fairy trash” stole the laundry or knocked things over, but he’d always assumed she was just a lousy housekeeper. He had begun to give up on ever finding magic. Each year he searched a little less and lost a little more hope. Now here he was in the middle of a Texas afternoon talking to a coyote.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“M-M-Mowing the yard.” He paused, uncertain what to say next. “Um, what do you want?”

The coyote lowered his head and barked a series of guffaws. MJ blinked a few times. “Relax. I’m not going to eat you or anything. Nice trick with the Barbie doll, kid. Gotta hand it to you on that one.” His snout contorted into a pained, though still-grinning expression. He brought up a hind leg and scratched behind an ear. “Fleas.”

“I gotta be dreaming. I’m talking with a talking coyote,” said MJ to himself.

“Not just a coyote, the Coyote. Aha. That’s better,” he concluded, bringing down his leg.

MJ remembered something he’d read before. “Wait a sec. You mean Coyote from all those stories. Native American stuff?”

“You humans with your politically correct terms. Yeah. That’s me. The native Hopchee in this area called themselves ‘The People.’ Me, I still prefer ‘Indian.’ It worked for Columbus. So, whaddaya want?” If Coyote had been a man, MJ could see him clapping his hands and then rubbing them together.

“What do you mean ‘what do I want?’”

Coyote bounded on top of the John Deere’s engine and brought his face up to MJ’s. The earthy smell reminded MJ of Cowboy between baths. He put one paw on the teenager’s shoulder. “C’mon now,’ he said with a conspiratorial wink of a yellow eye. “I don’t need to spell this out for a clever young man like you, do I?” Seeing MJ nod, Coyote sighed. “Okay. It works like this: Your property is on old Hopchee holy ground. You play an awesome trick on your sister – nice touch with the stake, by the way – and perform a ‘Hey, Coyote, check this out’ dance. Now who do you thinks gonna show? Mighty Isis?”

Still stunned, MJ replied, “Uh, I wasn’t trying to get anyone’s attention.”

“Well, ya did. Here I am. So, Michael-James is it? What do you want?”

“It’s just MJ.” Recognition slowly flashed into life like old fluorescent bulbs. “So, I get a wish?”

Coyote’s constant grin grew larger, though MJ wasn’t quite sure how. “Ri . . . hang on,” he squatted and brought a leg up to his other ear and scratched furiously, “Ah. Right. Something like that, Michael-James.”

“Okay. I wish…”

“Wait. Did I come out of a lamp? Noooo. Look, before you go asking for buried pirate treasure or world peace,” Coyote rolled his eyes, then whispered, “you might wanna try for something a little closer to home.”

MJ thought hard. Just getting past the whole Indian Coyote spirit thing was hard enough. Then his hormones kicked in, a leer stretching across his face. “Well, there’s this Donna Ellesmere chick at school. I’d love to go out with her.”

“Atta boy. That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

“Okay. So, do I just wish for her to go out with me?”

“Trust Ole Coyote. Just ask her out.”

Donna Ellesmere traveled in The Pack, a clique of cheerleaders and other Beautiful Girls that Geeks like MJ could only hate or worship from afar. They ate together, walked together, went to the bathroom together in a constant chattering chorus. And nestled within The Pack like the nucleus of an atom were the Untouchables – Donna and Judy Lipsinger, auburn-haired goddesses who left braces and pimples to Lesser People. MJ figured extricating Donna from The Pack next to impossible. Fission of The Pack Atom occurred only when a boyfriend collided and spun off with one of the Beautiful electrons. Jeff Luke, the beast of PE class, dated Donna and there'd be no way to get to her.

MJ threaded his way through the anxious pulse of student life — a vein of backpacks and books buzzing down the locker-lined halls. Whitewashed concrete walls and the glossy floor magnified the sound so much it made it hard to think. MJ scribbled a note, trashed it since it sounded stupid and wrote ten other drafts between classes.

At lunch he approached her locker. There in the modern, crowded hallway with kids talking on cell phones MJ wondered if his conversation with Coyote had been some kind of dream. He steeled himself. No, no I really did. C’mon, MJ, be a man. He kept chanting it to himself like a mantra. When he thought no one was looking, he stuffed the note up through the air vent on her locker. Once inside, there was no going back. He’d asked her to meet him outside the gym after fifth period.

And the minutes ticked by.

He waited outside the gym, palms sweaty and biting his lip. He kept reminding himself that he’d met an Indian spirit god who told him to ask the girl of his dreams out. Coyote had told him to do it. Yeah.

A hand touched him gently on the shoulder and MJ whirled around with joy… to come eye level with Jeff Luke’s square jaw.

“Uh oh.”

“You hit on my girlfriend, Geek.” MJ gathered that besides lacking the IQ of the common goat, Jeff Luke obviously lacked a sense of humor.

“Wait, I can explain.”

The ham-sized fists that lifted sixty-five-pound handweights as champion of the weightlifting team paused briefly for an explanation, but MJ couldn’t give one, of course.

MJ learned two things that day: One, the high school caste system was alive and well. Two, embarrassment gave him the strength to walk normally even when his body was covered with bruises.

At the ranch, he hobbled over to the water tower to sulk and nurse his sore ego.

He sank into a patch of grass that was in the process of dying again, then heard a snicker. Sitting next to him was Coyote.

“Now that was priceless.”

“You think that’s funny?” he retorted, the novelty of talking to a spirit being suddenly gone. “I got my ass kicked! You told me to ask her out!”

“Yup. Sure did!” And Coyote laughed so hard that he fell over onto his side.

“You said I had a wish! You said you were going to help me! You lied to me!”

Coyote’s gray form thrashed around on the ground in almost desperate laughter until, finally out of breath, he lay on his back, panting.

“Oh, kid. That was great,” he wheezed and rolled over. “That’s the best trick I’ve played in an age or so. The look on your face when you turned around and saw Jeff… I could’a sold tickets for it. And to set the record straight, I never said you got a wish, so I didn’t lie. All I said was to ask her out.”

MJ’s anger melted away into shock and disappointment. “You… tricked me?”

“Hook, line and sinker.”

“You were there?”

“Looking over the edge of the roof, watchin’ the fun.”

MJ gently rested his throbbing back against the tower and he stared at the line of trees. “Bastard.”

“Ahhh poor thing,” mewled Coyote.

“Why’d you do that to me? What did I do to you?”

“Hey. You dialed my number. The sacrifice of precious things is strong mojo.”

“What? Barbie precious? She’s a stupid doll.”

“Oh no no no no. Not to your sister. Besides, we’re just getting started. Mean things have a way of bearing fruit.”

MJ rolled his eyes. “Getting started?” He turned to the flat spot of grass where Coyote had been. “What? Where are you? Come back here!”

At least gym went okay, he thought the next day in the locker room shower. I’m surprised no one spiked me in the face with the volleyball. No threat from the Beast today. Good sign. Must’ve gotten it out of his system. He didn’t think anything of it that he was one of the few guys showering until it was too late. As he finished drying off, a shout went out and a crowd appeared around him; he felt hands grabbing his arms and legs. “Hey, let me go!” He found himself hoisted over their heads and moving to the door. “N… stop!” Kicking and flailing didn’t produce any results — too many in the mob. The door opened. They paraded him out naked, bruises and all: A trophy to the strong dominating the weak. “Put me down! Put me down!” he cried louder.

“Now!” he heard Jeff Luke’s voice yell. Dropped unceremoniously, MJ’s bare butt landed on the cold, dirty linoleum. He scrambled to his feet, only to see a wide-eyed gaggle of girls not fifteen feet in front of him standing next to the water cooler. Coyote sat on top of the cooler, the girls apparently oblivious to his presence. Time itself seemed to slow. The girls’ mouths dropped and they slowly burst into a chorus of elongated, echoing giggles and “O… MY… GOD!” Coyote reared back and howled so hard he slid off the blue plastic container and landed with a prolonged thud.

The laughter hit MJ in a series of slaps. His breath caught in his chest and he only managed a half-blurted curse word. He turned to make a dash for the safe confines of the locker room. Each ungainly step toward the door seemed an eternity. Even pushing as hard as he could, the door wouldn’t budge; the guys on the other side held it shut. The dirty but still slick floor refused his feet any grip. He hammered his fists against the banded wooden door and bit back the tears stinging his eyes. At last Coach intervened and made the other boys open the locker room door. MJ’s hands trembled as he pulled on his clothes. Rage mingled with fear and humiliation tasted like acid in his mouth. Oh, they got an earful from Coach but nothing else. Stupid jocks, he thought.

The rest of the day went down the toilet, too.

In Speech class, as MJ daydreamed of Jeff as the guest of honor in a medieval torture chamber, he saw Coyote bound up onto the table next to The Beast as he played paper football with some of the other cavemen. Am I the only one who can see Coyote? MJ wondered. Coyote started whispering into his nemesis’ ear. The jock dropped his hands from making a goal and his eyes brightened as if inspired by the muse. The head swiveled on the solid neck like a naval gun turret and he made eye contact with MJ. Jeff’s mouth stretched into an evil grin. “I’m gonna get you,” he mouthed. And Coyote winked.

Other students jumped on the bandwagon that day and tripped him unmercifully. Even fellow Geeks blamed him for all farts in his vicinity and poured hot sauce down his backpack when he wasn’t looking. After sixth period he opened his locker; a cord of green slithered on top of textbooks. “Aah!” he yelped and lept back.

“He’s afraid of a little snake!” A kid MJ barely knew pointed at him and laughed. The hallway erupted into a chuckling horde.

That night he sat in his unlit bedroom closet, clutching his knees and scowling. Guilt for burning Annie’s doll mingled with shame amid the scent of musty laundry. What the hell am I supposed to do? Talking to the principal was out of the question because Jeff and his goons would smell blood and make it all that much worse. It was a vicious Catch-22. Besides, what would I say, “Uh, sir, there’s this Indian spirit god who’s making my life hell… can you do something about it?” He stared, unblinking, in the quiet, humid darkness. Yeah, right. But there is Joyce. If anyone’ll believe me, she will.

He found her reading in the attached trailer cum-workroom-cum-extended library.

He took a deep breath. Here goes. “Joyce… I burned Annie’s Barbie,” he announced.

Joyce regarded him through the trailing edge of cigarette smoke. She turned her head and blew out a stream. “What the hell’d you do that for?”

“She kept hitting me on the head with it to make me wake up. It really hurt and I was sick of it. Only, that’s not all of it.”

“Go on.”

He sucked in a breath. “I burned Barbie at the stake in the pool hole. And I, uh, did a kind of dance. Then the next weekend when I went to mow the yard, I… met this coyote, who talked to me.”

Joyce didn’t even blink, just nodded and took a drag on her Camel.

“Well, he said he came ’cause I danced and got his attention or something and said we're on old Hopchee holy ground and I’d played a good trick on Annie. Then, he talked me into asking Donna Ellesmere out. Her boyfriend beat me up and since then everyone at school’s been playing tricks on me.” MJ felt his chest tighten and his eyes start moistening. “He won’t leave me alone, Joyce, and I can't take it anymore.”

She nodded, raised an eyebrow. “That was stupid, Michael-James.”

Great. She thinks I’m lying or nuts, he thought

“Burning important things will always attract attention. And those little jigs you do when you’re happy run a little too close to tribal dances. Guess that’s mah fault for taking you to all those psychic fairs and pow-wows when you were little. Still, you’ve managed to conjure up a fine mess. Coyote won’t be an easy one to deal with.”

MJ swallowed. “You mean you believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The look on her face made him think she was somehow pleased with him.

“So can you get rid of him?”

“Oh no you don’t.” She jabbed her cigarette at him, “This is your mess and you get to take care of it.”

“But I never meant to… to do whatever… it is I did.”

“Don’t matter. Bad actions have consequences.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Yeah. Sounds like Coyote all right. He’s a trickster, but there’s something else you oughta know. These trickster spirits did more’n just play tricks on people. Often they were good at teaching. So… what’ve you learned?”

MJ slumped into the bean bag chair next to her desk. “I guess that actions have consequences and I oughta tell Annie what I did.”

“Yeah. And buy her a new doll.”

“Right.” The fluorescent tubes fired into life again. The results of reading fairy tales throughout childhood distilled into a single conclusion. “Hey, will that make Coyote go away – if I make up for what I did?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Fairy tales: They help us to understand life and human behavior. But it’s never as cut-and-dried as the stories. It’s more complex than that.”

“Which means what?”

“Means it’s gonna take more than apologizing and buying her another doll.“

MJ’s shoulders slumped. “Then what should I do?”

“Usually the way to get rid of the trickster is to outsmart him, get him to promise to leave you alone or distract him with something else. Now he’s gonna know everything in all these stories, so you’ll have to come up with something on your own.”

The bean bag chair crunched as he leaned forward. “Like what?”

“That’s the complex part. Observe. Think. Use your head.”

“Okay.” He got up to leave.

“Michael-James?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re grounded. For burning your sister’s doll. Two weeks.” And she turned back to the computer.

He meant it when he apologized to Annie that evening. Her lower lip quivered as he told her what he’d done. She was more hurt that he’d pulled the prank than the loss of the doll, but the conversation did end with Annie screaming, “You meanie! I Want My Barbie Back!” She struck at him with her stuffed rainbow unicorn, but it lacked Barbie’s hard plastic intensity.

“I promise I’ll get you another. Even some clothes. I really am sorry.”

She crossed her arms. “Hmph.”

MJ knew she’d be inconsolable until Malibu Barbie once again became part of her life. He went back into the workroom and approached Joyce to pick one up for him when she was in town, but she refused to buy it for him.

“Why not? She’s going to bug me about it until I do. It’ll be my allowance money anyway.”

“Annie! Get in here.”

A moment later his sister appeared, lugging in Barbie’s semi-equine replacement.

“Annie, you’ll get another doll when your brother’s no longer grounded.”

“But he’s the one who did the bad thing. He killed Barbie.”

“Yeah. And you shouldn’t have been hitting him with it. You know better.”

“But he…” she screeched.

“Maybe you should…” started MJ.

“Enough! I made mah decision. Maybe you’ll both learn something. That’s all.
Court’s adjourned. Out!”

Day Four of Hell. MJ’s new, self-prescribed homework became reading everything in Joyce&rss library about Coyote and finding what he could on the internet.

October brought in the first cool front; the rocky Texas soil having finally expelled the last of its pent-up heat. Coyote appeared that evening as MJ sat on the porch swing doing some homework.

“Hey kid. Whatcha doing?”

“Algebra. I hate it. It’s evil – like you.”

Coyote tilted his head, grin unwavering. “Michael-James, I am what I am. What’s the story of the scorpion on the frog’s back?”

“Whatever.” He paused. “Betcha you aren’t any good at math.”

Coyote chuckled like a game show host.

MJ hoped Coyote couldn’t hear his heart beating faster. “Doesn’t seem likely for a trickster spirit. I bet that god Thoth . . y’know the Egyptian god of knowledge… was pretty good at math. But I guess you’ve got other kinds of smarts.”

Coyote’s ears perked up. “Thoth was a retard.” He jumped up on the swing with MJ. The metal rings creaked. “Hang on.” Coyote turned and gnawed on his side for a moment. “Rain won’t even wash out the buggers. Just makes ’em worse. Happens every time I turn corporeal. Be glad you don’t have fur. Okay. Try me.”

“It’s gonna be hard. You’ll have to sit here and do it. I need you to state the whole answer slowly out loud so I can understand it. Promise you won’t leave ’til it’s done.”

“Fine. But it’s gotta be valid. What’s the question?”

“Tell me the exact value of pi.”

Coyote’s yellow eyes grew large. Then they became slits as he bared his teeth in disgust. “Three. Point. One. Four. Five. Nine…” he snarled as he rattled off a series of numbers. Satisfied Coyote wasn’t going to move, MJ patted him on the head and went inside.

Day Five started fine. It was just past seven in the morning with a tinge of cool in the air and a promise of more. A gray duskiness still clung to the sky though it was streaked here and there with flashes of orange. MJ, Joyce and Annie headed to the van for school. Coyote sat on the porch swing, mumbling. He turned and glared.

“Well there he is,” declared Joyce.

“You can see him?”

“’Course I can.”
Annie yawned, “See who?”

“Get in, sweetie. Buckle up,” urged Joyce. To her stepson, “What’s he doing? He doesn’t look none too happy.”

“Calculating pi.” He snorted.

Joyce tousled his curly brown hair. “That’s mah boy. That oughta keep him busy. Good job.”

At school there was a minor amount of giggling and finger-pointing in his direction, but by lunch he’d been prank-free and he dared to breathe a sigh of relief. Even the food in the lunch line looked edible for once.

“Hey Geek,” said a voice behind him. MJ turned to see Jeff Luke and something round in his hand. Before MJ could move, Jeff slammed it into his face and everything went dark.

MJ flinched and brought his hands up. Something sticky and chunky clung to his face; he managed to wipe it out of his eyes and was relieved to find the red wasn’t blood but pie filling. He had the presence of mind not to throw any of it back at Jeff, because then there would be his blood mixed in. Chuckles and guffaws started up. One of the lunchladies reached a gloved hand past Coyote sitting on the metal tray line and handed MJ a towel. Another chided Jeff.

“Three dollars and twelve cents,” announced a voice next to his filling-covered ear.

MJ began wiping off his stained shirt. “What are you talking about?”

“Three dollars and twelve cents. That’s the value of the pie that just hit you. You asked me to tell you the exact value.”

“Hey Geek, who ya talkin’ to?” quizzed one of Jeff’s cronies.

“I meant the formula for pi,” fumed MJ under his breath, “You know what I meant. It’s infinite.”

“Well, you didn’t say what kind of pie. No tricking the trickster,” chided Coyote. “Fooled me for a bit. Nice try, kid,” and he licked a swath of red from MJ’ face. “Yum. Cherry.”

Day Six: Wedgies. Day Seven: Swirlies. Day Eight: Third period American History. MJ pulled his folder out of his backpack. The cover was oddly slick and it slipped out of his hands. Glossy pictures cut out of a Playgirl magazine showered out of the folder as it plummeted to the floor. MJ gasped in horror, then grabbed for the pictures as they flittered downward like leaves. It started a ruckus and Mrs. Jordan banished the red-faced MJ to the office for bringing pornography to school, despite his protests of innocence. Now I’ll never get a date—at least not with the right gender.

Concentrating on schoolwork became a joke as he spent his day thinking of ways to get Coyote off his back. An idea struck him in first period English on Day Ten of Hell. Coyote is enjoying this… watching me squirm. What if I didn’t? Pretend I don’t care?

It failed. The practical jokes continued unabated. Apparently Coyote didn’t care that MJ apparently didn’t care.

Day Eleven: Why didn’t I think of it before? Joyce said he wants the emotional energy. If I let out all of my emotions, then there won’t be anything left. He won’t bother me anymore. He’ll think he’s won. The rest of the day MJ hung his head, sulked and even cried. He shouted at Coyote every time he saw him. “Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! Just leave me alone!” He beat his fists against his locker hard enough to skin them. “Just leave me alone!” Coyote laughed. People in the hall laughed. Only the principal didn’t laugh.

He found Joyce surfing the Web in the trailer. “Please. I can’t take this anymore,” he blurted. “I can’t get rid of him. I’ve tried everything. And I mean everything. He’s just too smart.”

She looked down at his bandaged hands and sighed, “I know it. Never expected it’d be this bad or last so long. I really am sorry. Closest you got was that thing with calculatin’ pi,” then she added, “I’ve been researching. Couldn’t find anything.”

He brought his hands ups, fingers clenched. “Aah! All I did was burn her stupid doll. I don’t deserve all of this. It isn’t… it isn’t fair!”

“Michael-James, no one said life was fair.”

The realization stopped him and he drew in a deep breath. “Can’t you put some kind of whammy on him?” he begged, his eyes watering. “I don’t know, banish him with a dreamcatcher or something?”

She shook her head, the mountain of auburn hair turning as she did. “Uh uh. Way too powerful. Back when we lived in Scotland I could keep the faeries at bay. They tried to spirit you and you sister away more’n once, y’know, but I put a stop to that nonsense.”

MJ remembered her stories about battles with the faerie folk and now he found himself regarding her with a new level of respect. He leaned into the overstuffed bookcase and closed his eyes. He heard Joyce tap out another cigarette from the package. “Coyote’s another matter. He’d eat pixies for breakfast. Obviously you’re providing him with enough entertainment to satisfy him. And he’s doing it at school where you’re at your weakest. Peer pressure produces lots of emotional energy. You teenagers are full of it — getting’ a handle on your emotions and all. He’s getting’ a kick outta you and the ruckus it’s causin’.” To herself she added, “I’ve half a mind to hex that Jeff Luke boy when this is over.”

“Maybe I could burn the school down.”

He felt her disapproving gaze and opened his eyes.

“I’m just joking,” he sighed. “How about taking me out of school for a while?”

“Not gonna happen. That’d be running away. He’ll still be around; he’s very patient.” She adjusted her broom skirt. Then her eyes narrowed. “You could offer him something he wants. Don’t know what he could possibly want. He’s a fickle sort.” She lit the cigarette. “Well, consider yourself ungrounded. That’s all I can do for you. Maybe you can have over your buddies from Austin this weekend.”

This brought a smile to his face and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thanks. That’s something, anyway. If I’m ungrounded, can we go to the store after school tomorrow? I need to get Annie another Barbie.”

Day Twelve: Coyote was in rare form. More wedgies and swirlies in gym. His experiment in Mr. Hendley’s fifth period Science class blew up in front of him. No one took credit, though out of the corner of his eye he saw Coyote sitting next to Judy Lipsinger from The Pack. Hendley sent MJ to the office thinking he did it on purpose. Oh, not girls. Maybe I can take this from the guys, but not the girls. It felt like a nail in his coffin and for once his thoughts really did turn to taking his own life.

After school they stopped at the grocery store. It turned out for the best that Joyce didn’t buy the doll for him earlier. Only when he walked up and down the aisles at Frugal Fred’s trying to find the toys did he wander into the pet section. The answer sat between the chew toys and the shelves of dog food.

The air had a nip to it when they left the store. MJ ran to the van. “Hurry up! Let’s go!”

Joyce huffed and puffed up the slope to the minivan, cigarette in gloved hand. Annie followed behind, brandishing Barbie like a sword.

“What’re you in a hurry for? You've been grounded for nearly two weeks.”

“I know.” He pulled a box out of the shopping bag.

She smiled, “I think my son must have a plan.”

MJ was out of the car as soon as they pulled into the driveway, dashing off to the water tower. Coyote was there rubbing up against the metal side.

“Hey fleabag!” MJ pulled the white loop of cord out of the box and shook it.

“What’s that?”

“What do you think?”

The plastered-on grin cracked. “A flea collar. Oh, put it on me! Please! Please!”

Now MJ smiled, showing his teeth. “Let’s make a deal.”