A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Squaw sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, straw-like black hair held together with a rubber band that wrapped around the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored;144 his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his eyebrows. He still had just a hint of childish fattiness around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the first words out of his mouth.
"You're Isabella Duck, aren't you?"
It was like the first day of school all over again, where I had to tell everyone my nickname.
"Bella," I sighed.
"I'm Squaw." He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. "You bought my dad's truck."
"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his hand. "You're Billy's son. I probably should remember you."
"No, I'm the youngest of the family—you would remember my older sisters." At that, he cupped his hands to his chest, hefting two pendulous invisible weights.
"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I'd kicked their asses enough times to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.145
144. Like a potato.
145. On the reservation, Bella's reputation precedes her. She is known locally as "The Wraith," for both her slight physique and her wasted looks.