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The Cornfield- Part 3I knew it! he scoffed. I knew youd chicken out! You never have the courage to do anything.
Cliff stumbled a few steps back in surprise. I-I do, too, he squeaked pathetically. Surprised by Corrins outburst, I felt my body turn cold. My being sunk into my feet, draining my cheeks of warmth.
Not at all! You cant take a piece of toast from the toaster because youre scared of burning your finger, you cant brush a bug aside because youre scared of it stinging you, and you cant stay out a moment past curfew because youre scared of your mother punishing you! Corrin shook his head. No, you just expect everyone else to take care of you. You cant seem to take care of anyone, even if its your responsibility!
A week ago, he went on, his voice growing loud, You ignored Penny; you left her by herself!
Cliff had taken me to the library while Corrin was at the
The Cornfield- Part 2I hurried over to the porch, rushing past the relatively unfamiliar faces of the Car Guys. When he noticed me, Corrin relaxed his grip on the stick and softened his stance. Cliffs shoulders lifted into a straight-backed position.
Hey, Penny, said Corrin, hesitantly raising his eyebrows. Whatre you doing here? Here to help with my moms harvest? His eyes focused on me, sharp and intense, like a hawk.
She had a fife lesson today, said Cliff, his voice shaking slightly. His eyebrows were lifted also and slightly bunched together, causing a tiny crease in his forehead.
Corrin started to speak again, but stopped when he noticed I was pointing at the stick in his hand. Its a spear, he said, and clenched his fists around it proudly, flexing the muscles in his arms. Its for the pests. Thats the problem, see. We have this small cornfield of twenty stalks or so, but its infested.
The Cornfield- Part 1Mr. Scroe gave me a silver fife for my tenth birthday. He told me that once I could play it well, I would be able to talk to birds.
He handed it to me a week after my birthday when my uncle and I had visited for our usual talk about hunting and drink beer visit that I never really participated in. I thought he had forgotten until he leaned forward with his typical crooked grin, scratched the ragged stubble on his chin, and addressed me. Youre ten now, arent you, Penelope?
I looked at him from my seat on the rickety stool by the smoke-stained window and nodded.
He pulled the fife from the trunk beside him and tossed it to me. I almost dropped it; it was so smooth and slippery, like a sardine. I set my fingers along the thin row of holes and pushed my lips to the cool mouthpiece. A breathy, airy note forced itself into the dusty room.
My uncle and Mr. Scroe laughed and took sips of their beers. Ill help you learn, Penelope. Once you learn t
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