Excerpt of A Boy Called Cin by Cecil Wilde

Of course it had to be the underwear suitcase that
slipped from her hands. The ancient hinges ruptured on
impact with the sidewalk and it split open like a bale of
fiberglass insulation. Except, instead of bright pink
slabs, what burst forth was dull white, black and beige-
“Panties!”

Jade planted her little feet on the cobbled drive leading
to the Bramble House bed and breakfast, and glared at her
mother accusingly. “Panties are private, Mama.”

Bob the dog cocked her homely one-up one-down ears,
always alert to her little charge’s ever-shifting
emotions.

Some teenage boys leaving the park across the street
paused in their roughhousing. One of them handed his
football to the others and began loping over to her.

“Hey lady, need a hand?”

If there was anywhere on the planet where you could still
find old-fashioned courtesy, even when you didn’t exactly
want it, it was Marietta, Montana.

Samara saw the instant he recognized the items flung
about them.

He froze midway, seemingly paralyzed beneath the canopy
of fall colors sheltering the street.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

The boy rejoined his pals and they loped away, but not
before she heard hoots of laughter.

Spare her from adolescent testosterone.

“Mama! Panties!” insisted Jade, agitation making her
voice quiver.

“I know, honey.” She squatted to shove the formerly
neatly rolled items into the case, but it had been packed
tightly and without hinges, the laws of physics just
laughed at her.

“Stay here with Bob, sweetie,” she said. “Bob, stay.”

She popped the back of the mini-van and pushed and shoved
stuff until she located a bungee cord. She could use it
to hold the case shut. Naturally, it was underneath the
spare tire and one of the s-hooks had become deeply
attached, and resentful about being moved.

“You wanna fight?” she muttered. To herself or the stupid
clingy s-hook, she wasn’t sure. She yanked hard and,
suitably chastised, the cord let go. Of course, being a
bungee cord, it snapped back with great gusto and the
metal hook, in an illustration of karma or retaliation
or, more likely, that darn physics, grazed her chin.

She stumbled against the curb and landed on her butt in
front of Jade, who was now clenching and unclenching her
fists. Bob shoved her head under the girl’s arm but it
didn’t have much effect.

“I wanna go home, I wanna go home, I wanna go home,” Jade
chanted, her voice rising with each repetition.