Leta ain’t one of us. She got the same last name as us; she got the same mama and daddy, but she’s not one of us. We Wilson sisters got straight, pretty teeth— Not Leta. Leta (rhymes with Cheetah) got fangs. Daddy says the fangs are from his side; he says his daddy had fangs. But in pictures, daddy’s daddy’s fangs don’t look sharp like Leta’s. “That’s ‘cause granddaddy had human fangs—Leta got animal fangs,” I said once and my other sisters agreed. Most folks, after meeting Leta, say she acts like a boy, but it’s more than that— she’s more animal than boy. Folks think ‘cause she can’t cook or fill out dresses that makes her a boy. I wanna tell them how Leta’s more like something dragged in from outside. It don’t matter that she was raised inside, Leta’s always gonna have that outside blood. The rest of us Wilsons are inside blooded. I wish, though, I was made up of the stuff Leta is made of. One night, I caught her slipping out the hall window. I let her get far enough ahead then I followed her to behind the supermarket where some boy was waiting. He wasn’t from around here. He was what daddy would call a “football boy.” I saw Leta run to him, knock him down and kiss him. What came next I shouldn’t have watched, but Leta – undressed – started climbing all over him like he was a tree instead of a boy.