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their eyes not stopping even as the boys ceased beating me and began to beat at the birds. Their beaks pecked the boys’ hands, their arms, drawing blood, and I watched from my tree branch, spreading my wings in joy.
    Finally, the boys stumbled up and ran, the birds pursuing them down the street. Only one remained, a single crow, glossy wings reflecting the light in purple and green.
    I watched from above. I was a bird. Then, I was a girl again, a small girl. In my body, on the ground. I gathered myself up. I felt no pain. I stood and walked over to get my forgotten backpack. The crow stood, unmoving, as if it had something to say to me in some secret crow language. Still, I walked around it, gingerly, carefully. I picked up my backpack. The street was again deserted. Nick and Nathan were truly gone. I wondered if I looked like I’d been beaten. I ran my fingers through my hair. Even though I was ugly, I hated to be messy. Why make it worse than I already was? My mother had taught me better. Finishing that, I trudged toward home.
    “Hello?” A voice came out of nowhere.

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4
    I started. It was a woman, standing as if she’d always been there. Yet, I hadn’t seen her before. The streets had been quiet, empty.
    “Hello?” she repeated. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
    So she had seen? But how? There had been no one there. No one! The boys would never have thrown rocks at me with witnesses. They were dumb but smarter than that. Bullies always knew how to hide it.
    Finally, I spoke. “I’m . . . I’m fine.”
    “I see that.” She stepped closer. I noticed the crow was gone. It had been exactly where the woman now stood. “You don’t have a scratch on you. How is that . . . Violet?”
    A chill wind rippled through the trees. “How did you know my name?”
    She shrugged. “Lucky guess, I suppose. Was I right?”
    “You know you were.”
    She smiled. She had long, black hair and wore a dress of sheer, iridescent material, first black, then purple, now green, flowing around her. Her hair caught the strained sun and seemed to do the same. I couldn’t determine her age. She was beautiful. “You look like a Violet, I suppose.”
    “No, I don’t.” First off, no one was named Violet. If you wanted to guess the name of a girl at my school, you might choose right with Jennifer, Kathy, Lisa, or Michelle. But I was the only Violet. “Violets are pretty, with their little faces turned to the sun, hopeful. I’m not pretty. I’m not hopeful either.”
    She walked closer. Her black hair blew around her face. “You could be anything you want to be.”
    I laughed. That sounded like something a mom would say. Anyone’s mom but mine. “I can only be what I am.”
    “Sometimes, what you are is more than enough. How did you get those birds to come?”
    “They just showed up.”
    “Pretty convenient, wouldn’t you say? Ever hear of birds attacking anyone like that?”
    “In a movie once.”
    “You won’t hear about this time either. The boys will consider telling their parents, but, eventually, will decide it makes them sound guilty. Or crazy.”
    There were no cars anywhere. We were alone. Her eyes were a strange bright green, like a Sprite bottle.
    “How about you?” she asked. “Have you had any other experiences with birds?”
    “Who are you?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Kendra. I live here.” She pointed at the houseon the hill, the one I was sure was abandoned. “I’d ask you in, but, of course, your mother would disapprove of your coming inside a stranger’s house.”
    Now her eyes seemed brown.
    “Actually, I doubt she’d care.” I knew the second I said it that it was the wrong thing to say. What if she was a kidnapper or something? But it just popped out. Besides, I’d never heard of a woman kidnapper.
    “Ah, so she knows.”
    “Knows