The Brownies held their weekly coven in the classroom next to where we, a small collection of farmers’ children and trailer park kids, waited for the afternoon bus to take us home to Pike Creek. Their hard Mary-Janes made such a racket as they skipped down the halls, a giggling blur of brown polyester and maple leaf neckerchiefs. Together they worked on their secret crafts and badges. They sang their own songs and wrote cryptic messages with their little Brownie pencils. They macraméd and découpaged. It was like the Freemasons for white girls, for Christ’s sake and I wanted in.
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