My brother sits on the top step in the back hall, his blond head bent forward to watch me. I am helping him with his buckle boots.
“Okay, slide your shoe in,” I say, “Point your toe.”
I push and twist and pound on the bottom of the boot. Our mother peers around the corner with a worried look. “You should be on your way to school,” she says and Bob starts to cry.
“I wish I had buckle boots,” I tell him and he stops crying to ask why.
“Girls have to wear zip-up boots,” I say, “with stupid fur around the top. They look ugly and they’re not even warm.”
Bob glances at my white boots. “I think they’re nice,” he says.
“Want to trade?” I ask and he shakes his head.
Bob’s shoe is finally in the boot and I hurry to fasten the little metal buckles. I like the sound they make as they click shut and the way I can adjust the tightness to make it snug around Bob’s ankle.
“Boys are lucky,” I say again. I’m just beginning to see how lucky. His boots make a jingly sound as we walk to school.
