I had two strikes against me, and we were down two runs. The bases were loaded and there were two outs. I wished it was the last game of the World Series, but it was just smelly gym class and Bacne was pitching. I couldn't remember Bacne's real name, but because the creeper gym teachers made us all shower together we saw his back, and it was covered with zits from his shoulders to his buttline. Martin Roy was good with nicknames, so called him Bacne right away and it stuck. That was three years ago, and he was still Bacne.

I didn't think he liked it.

"Come on, Bacne, strike him out!" bellowed Martin.

Martin was one of those kids that I'd gone to school with since I was little but had never liked. He said stupid stuff at really inappropriate times just to see how people would react. Viktor almost got mad once last year, which would have been the only time I'd ever seen him mad in the whole time that I'd known him, when Martin started asking Viktor all kinds of questions about the war and whether or not Viktor's dad was actually crazy or just pretending so he could get government money. Viktor had nearly said something back, but he was so peaceful that he held his head high and walked away. I respected him for that. I probably would have just cursed and kicked at thin air.

I was about to find out just how low Martin Roy was willing to go for a laugh. Maybe he wasn;t even going for a laugh.

"Strike him out, Bacne! Make his dead daddy proud!"

I couldn't see anything else but Martin's face.

I couldn't hear anything but Martin's voice.

I wanted to destroy both.

I wanted his face to melt off his head and his voice to make his larynx explode until he was so dead that his parents wouldn't be able to identify the remains.

Bacne threw the ball.

I swung and the ball smashed off the end of the bat and pinged right off of Martin's ugly face. His face blew up in a mess of blood and snot, and it felt really good to see him roll around on the ground like the little bitch that he was.

"Now your face is dead like my dead daddy!" I shrieked, and ran inside without waiting for the bell. I hung out at the lockers and waited for Viktor to get out of physics. I hadn't even changed out of my gym strip yet.

"I just broke Martin Roy's face," I said. I was wriggling with excitement, like I had just eaten a hornet"s nest and all the hornets were still alive and being digested by my stomach acid.

"How?" Viktor asked.

I could tell he was happier about my news than he was letting on. His dislike of Martin was battling with his inner pacifist.

"My line drive hit his stupid bastard nose. There was blood everywhere."

Viktor just nodded. Jodi Shaw, my other best friend in the whole world, walked up and said hey. She was pretty cool, and by pretty cool I meant that Jodi was the only other person in the whole world that could see me crying, and I wouldn't feel weird about it. I'd known Jodi since almost before I could talk, and we knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other. I'd even slept over at her house when I was in Grade One or Two, but that was way before I knew what it REALLY meant when a boy slept over at a girl's house.

"Why are you so sweaty, Will?" she asked.

She didn't have very big boobs. That was okay. Good friends didn't have to have big boobs. Jodi made me laugh. Martin Roy had once tried to make fun of her about her small boobs, but she just turned it around and made fun of his small nuts. Having small nuts for a guy was way worse than having small boobs for a girl. I never asked how she knew, but he never bugged her again after that day.

"I just smashed Martin Roy's face in," I said.

It sounded great every time I said it.

"Nice," she said. "You didn't think to change your clothes afterwards?"

"No, too excited."

"You stink."

"Yeah."

She looked at my face really intensely. I didn't know what she was thinking, which was a good thing. If I did know what she was thinking, then I would have superpowers, and I would be persecuted for having them.

Her eyes were really brown.

"You okay, Will?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"If you ever need to talk..."

"I know, I know."

"Good. See you later, then."

Jodi left and went down the hall. She was a great girl.

"What do you have next?" asked Viktor.

"English."

English was only slightly better than Socials. Perry was nowhere near as interesting or weird as Vezna, but I liked reading so it was a decent trade-off.

"You should see if he knows anything about Ernest Hemingway. Maybe you'll get some answers for your man question." 

"It's not just a man question, Viktor. It's the fate of my entire family. It's very important. I highly doubt that some silly old dude who died before I was born will be able to help me with anything."

Viktor stared into my eyes, which was always weird because he hardly ever did it.

"Just ask."

I laughed, but stopped because Viktor looked so serious.

"Okay, I will. What do you have next?"

"Gym."

I laughed again, and this time Viktor joined me.

"See if his stupid blood is all over the field, okay?"

"Done."

I grabbed my English binder out of my locker and slammed it shut.

"You seriously aren't going to change?"

I shook my head. "I have to live in my stink. More manly."

"That's repugnant."

I shrugged. "That's the way it's got to be." 

I have a paper route.

I deliver 120 papers to people all over my neighbourhood. Some of the people have dogs. Some have cats. Cats don't bug me. 

My friend helped me once and got bit by a dog. He had a rabies shot. 

Dad showed me a good way to fold the papers. Other kids roll them up, but Dad's way is way easier to throw. I deliver my papers on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I can do the Saturday ones any time I want. It's great. 

I hate Wednesdays. I have to deliver my papers after school. When it's winter it gets scary. I don't tell anyone I'm scared.

That's not even the worst part. My parents can't afford to get me a bike, and I'll have to deliver about eight billion papers to get my own. I can't carry all the papers by myself, and I can't ask Mum or Dad to help me. I want to show them I can do a job.

I made this cart out of our old baby carriage.

Mum calls it a pram. I roll the pram around and carry my papers in it. I finish the route in half the time, but every time I go on my route these kids try to beat me up.

One tried to run me over with his bike.

I got really sick at school today. I felt gross this morning at breakfast while I was eating my cereal, and I almost barfed then. At recess I barfed all over Carissa Fletcher.

She started crying and then barfed too. 

Mum packed up the other kids and came to get me. She took me home and made me soup. Then I remembered it was Wednesday and I started crying. Mum asked what was wrong, and I told her I had to deliver my papers. She told me not to worry, took the other kids and delivered the papers for me. When she got back she ran me a bath.

Dad came home.

I heard them talking. 

It started nice.

Dad's voice got louder.

Mum's voice got louder.

Dad got really loud.

Scary loud. He came into the bathroom, looking really big and angry.

I didn't want to be in the bath. It made me even shorter.

He yelled at me for being sick.

I said sorry.

He yelled at me for coming home from school.

I said sorry.

He yelled at me for getting Mum to deliver my papers.

I said SORRY.

I thought he was going to hit me.

He didn't. He left the room and slammed the door.

I never missed another paper day.