his friends took their orders of food to the benches outside. As the number of customers waned and the parking lot cleared, Jacob and his friends lingered. He smoothed his hair and stepped back inside. “Hey, Jenny.” “Hi, again.” He approached her counter. “Next week’s our homecoming dance.” “Yes, I know.” She smiled. “Right, yes. Well, may I take you? That is, I mean, will you be my date to the dance?” “You may, and yes, I would like that.” “I’ll pick you up?” “Please. But, Jacob, if I go with you, will you promise to join me in the dance contest?” He furrowed his eyebrows but then grinned slowly. “I’m not very good, but yes, I’ll try.” ■ ■ ■ Five miles outside town, where the windswept plains stretched forever east and 昀椀elds of newly planted winter wheat lay dark and dormant, Jacob’s father, Don McCord, stood in the headlights of his truck and shot two kneeling migrant workers dead. He hitched his belt and crushed his cigarette. To his younger son, he said, “Liam, get in the truck.” To his farmhands, he pointed. “Bury ’em deep.” He nudged the duf昀氀e bag at his feet. “And burn their things in the morning.” He climbed into his truck, glanced at his son, shifted gears, and drove back up the long dirt road. ■ ■ ■ As their manager closed the A&W, the girls waved to him goodnight, got into Jenny’s Pinto, and drove home. “Jacob’s Baptist, you know,” Susan said. “He’s tall and handsome.” Jenny turned onto 6th Street, toward Susan’s house. “Baptist, Jenny. They don’t dance.” “Some do, and I’ll teach him. We’ll practice.” “Yea? Where?” Jenny thought. “I’ll ask if we can practice at his farm. I’ll 3 ■ PLAINS PARADOX