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Authors: Andrew Klavan
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scared of Mark? I’m sick of Mark. Mark’s pushed me just as far as I’m gonna go.”
“I’m just saying . . . Look,” I pleaded. “You know, she’s . . . It’s not right.”
Jeff looked at me a long moment. It wasn’t a nice look. I thought he might be about to knock me around again. But instead he smiled that smile. “It’s not right? It’s not right ? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know . . .”
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me, punk?”
“I mean, well, Jennifer, she’s . . . You know. You shouldn’t . . . She’s . . .”
“O-o-oh,” said Jeff, turning his smile back to Jennifer again. “I see what you mean. You mean she’s not right. She’s crazy, isn’t she? She’s got bugs in her brain. Don’t you, bug-girl?”
And now Jeff made this crazy noise, this sort of high-pitched warbling sound—you know, to indicate that Jennifer was nuts: a way of making fun of her. Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed loudly. And Jeff kind of illustrated the crazy noise with his hands—waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face. Jennifer just sort of stared at the fingers as if she was mesmerized by them.
“Crazy, crazy, crazy,” Jeff said.
And I said, “Hey, Jeff, listen . . .”
Then—very suddenly, very fast—Jeff slapped her.
It happened before I could do anything, before I could even think. Jeff was doing that thing with his hands, waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face, and she was staring at his fingers, and then the next second he kind of rolled his hands over and over, the way a boxer does when he’s punching a bag. He rolled his hands over and hit Jennifer in the face with them four times really quickly, whack-whack-whack-whack , too fast for her to block them or get away.
Jennifer stumbled back from the blows and covered herself, cowering in pain, trembling in terror.
Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed and laughed, and Jeff laughed and called at her, “How was that, bug-head? That was pretty funny, huh? Was that crazy enough for you? Why don’t you take that to the crazy store?”
Have you ever had a revelation? You know, like, one minute you don’t understand something and the next minute you do. Like maybe you’re playing a video game and you can’t figure out how you’re supposed to climb up on this ledge that’s out of reach and then all of a sudden the answer’s obvious; it just comes to you as if from out of nowhere.
Well, that’s what happened to me then. When Jeff slapped Jennifer, I had a revelation.
My revelation went like this: Do right. Fear nothing .
Before, when I was riding my bike up the hill, worrying about what I was going to tell Jeff, that idea had seemed complicated. Difficult. Even impossible. How could you just stop being afraid? How could you just do what was right when the consequences might be really painful?
Now, all of a sudden, in a bright brain flash, it came to me.
I thought: Oh wait, I get it! Do right. Fear nothing. It’s as simple as that!
Jeff and Harry Mac and Ed P. were still laughing, and Jeff was making noises again as Jennifer cringed in front of him, her face red from his slaps and stained with tears. I could see that Jeff was getting all excited by his own cruelty, that he was planning to hurt her again, to hurt her more.
“Hey, Jeff!” I said.
He turned to me, grinning. “What do you want, punk?” he said.
I thought: Do right. Fear nothing .
And I slugged him.
Hey, under the circumstances it was the only thing I could think of. And sure, I knew what was going to happen to me next. But I wasn’t afraid because . . . Well, because I understood the words on the angel statue. Do right. Fear nothing. It was just that easy.
Anyway, I slugged Jeff in the face, and it was a good one too—a good, solid punch, not like before when we were up on the ridge. This one came up from my knee with my whole body turning into it. My knuckles smacked hard into Jeff’s cheek and sent him stumbling backward, his arms
“I’m just saying . . . Look,” I pleaded. “You know, she’s . . . It’s not right.”
Jeff looked at me a long moment. It wasn’t a nice look. I thought he might be about to knock me around again. But instead he smiled that smile. “It’s not right? It’s not right ? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know . . .”
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me, punk?”
“I mean, well, Jennifer, she’s . . . You know. You shouldn’t . . . She’s . . .”
“O-o-oh,” said Jeff, turning his smile back to Jennifer again. “I see what you mean. You mean she’s not right. She’s crazy, isn’t she? She’s got bugs in her brain. Don’t you, bug-girl?”
And now Jeff made this crazy noise, this sort of high-pitched warbling sound—you know, to indicate that Jennifer was nuts: a way of making fun of her. Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed loudly. And Jeff kind of illustrated the crazy noise with his hands—waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face. Jennifer just sort of stared at the fingers as if she was mesmerized by them.
“Crazy, crazy, crazy,” Jeff said.
And I said, “Hey, Jeff, listen . . .”
Then—very suddenly, very fast—Jeff slapped her.
It happened before I could do anything, before I could even think. Jeff was doing that thing with his hands, waggling his fingers in Jennifer’s face, and she was staring at his fingers, and then the next second he kind of rolled his hands over and over, the way a boxer does when he’s punching a bag. He rolled his hands over and hit Jennifer in the face with them four times really quickly, whack-whack-whack-whack , too fast for her to block them or get away.
Jennifer stumbled back from the blows and covered herself, cowering in pain, trembling in terror.
Ed P. and Harry Mac laughed and laughed, and Jeff laughed and called at her, “How was that, bug-head? That was pretty funny, huh? Was that crazy enough for you? Why don’t you take that to the crazy store?”
Have you ever had a revelation? You know, like, one minute you don’t understand something and the next minute you do. Like maybe you’re playing a video game and you can’t figure out how you’re supposed to climb up on this ledge that’s out of reach and then all of a sudden the answer’s obvious; it just comes to you as if from out of nowhere.
Well, that’s what happened to me then. When Jeff slapped Jennifer, I had a revelation.
My revelation went like this: Do right. Fear nothing .
Before, when I was riding my bike up the hill, worrying about what I was going to tell Jeff, that idea had seemed complicated. Difficult. Even impossible. How could you just stop being afraid? How could you just do what was right when the consequences might be really painful?
Now, all of a sudden, in a bright brain flash, it came to me.
I thought: Oh wait, I get it! Do right. Fear nothing. It’s as simple as that!
Jeff and Harry Mac and Ed P. were still laughing, and Jeff was making noises again as Jennifer cringed in front of him, her face red from his slaps and stained with tears. I could see that Jeff was getting all excited by his own cruelty, that he was planning to hurt her again, to hurt her more.
“Hey, Jeff!” I said.
He turned to me, grinning. “What do you want, punk?” he said.
I thought: Do right. Fear nothing .
And I slugged him.
Hey, under the circumstances it was the only thing I could think of. And sure, I knew what was going to happen to me next. But I wasn’t afraid because . . . Well, because I understood the words on the angel statue. Do right. Fear nothing. It was just that easy.
Anyway, I slugged Jeff in the face, and it was a good one too—a good, solid punch, not like before when we were up on the ridge. This one came up from my knee with my whole body turning into it. My knuckles smacked hard into Jeff’s cheek and sent him stumbling backward, his arms
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