Before the sun rises, we're out working. It goes on and on. My arms ache from building up the garden wall. Even smashed fingers don't stop the work. Blood stains some of the stones. Sweat drips from me. The dry, sandy soil hungrily sucks up each drop. I long to take a break, but there isn't time. The floods are coming. Last year, the rains washed away part of the wall and a large section of our garden. I bet scribes don't work this hard and get plenty to eat.

  My stomach growls. The empty spot that fills more than my stomach pushes me to work harder. I shouldn't complain. I know my parents have had less to eat than us kids, but knowing this doesn't make me any less hungry.

  The buzzing of the midge flies fills my ears. They zip around in an endless attack against my mostly bare skin. Each bite burns.

  The next rock for the wall doesn't sit flat. When I try to force it, it wobbles off, splitting open on my bare foot. A sliver of dolomite catches the light—bands of blue and pink run through the clear crystals.

  A bit of magic right here in our rocks! My fingers twitch towards it. The coldness of the crystals soothe my fingertips. I'm not sure what the crystals can do—probably lots of things. I make sure Dad isn't watching. He hates magic. It's forbidden in his family.

  I found dolomite once before when we were fishing. He knew what it was. He made me bury it and scrub my hands in ashes every morning and night for three days to keep the magic from sinking into me.

  I want the rock, but there's nowhere to keep secrets in our tiny hut. I've never thought much about magic, but now that I've found it again, I want it. The guilt seeps down into my skin the same way the sun does on a hot day. I toss the rock before I can change my mind. It's time to work, not collect magic.

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  "This one is too big for me," Abby whines. Her long brown hair is coming out of the braids. Streaks of dirt cover her.

  She's trying to pick up a black rock as big as she is. I help her roll it to the end of the wall. It's the perfect final rock. Next, we move to the garden to pack the dark soil around the plants. It has to be tight enough to withstand the rain but not kill the plants. It's been a week since the little green, red, and yellow shoots popped out of the ground. They're already up to my knee. I've never seen them grow so fast. A red beetle chews on the tender leaves of one plant. I pick up a rock to smash it.

  "Stop! Don't hurt the little guy. He's hungry, too." Abby gives me her look. Her sad gray eyes are so dark they're almost black.

  "Argh!" Of course, she wants to save it. I pick up a dry banana leaf. The bananas will be ripe in a week or two. I tried one yesterday. It tasted bitter and gave me a stomachache. Thinking of food makes my insides growl again. I use a stick to get the beetle onto the leaf. I carry it past the edge of our fields. I check to see if Abby is watching. She is. I throw the leaf and give the beetle a warning. "You're lucky Abby was around. But if I find you in the garden or if you bite my toes at night, I will smash you."

  The whole family is out working. We all have to help prepare for the rainy season. If we fail even one year, the land could be taken from us. Mom and Nicolina, my older sister, are pulling the endless weeds. Mom will dry them in bunches, then grind them for bread flour. Dad is thinning fruit blossoms. The ones he pulls off go into a basket. Mom uses them to flavor soups and helps the weed bread not taste as bitter. Ansel, who always does everything he's supposed to, is plowing the rice paddy.

  "Jeremiah, don't forget to clean the drains," Dad calls. "The water has to have a place to go, or the floods will drown the plants."

  I wince. He caught me not working. The words echo through my bones. The rebuke reminds all who can hear that it's my fault we didn't have enough to eat this year. If I'd worked harder and been more like Ansel, the family would be better off. At almost twelve, I know what to do. This year, I'll do it. I begged to clean the drains, not wanting to but to redeem myself. Long after wanting to stop, I do a little more. I stand and stretch. I'm done for now.