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apartment and took the fastest shower in the history of bathing.

chapter ten
    Beau got rid of his little brother, and we headed for the Laundromat where he said there were video games. As we walked, kicking things down the street, we told corny dumb-blonde jokes, making up our own. Then I told him that my dad and Cora had gotten into a really quiet fight. “So quiet that Iris had to tell me about it.”
    “Who’s Iris?” Beau asked.
    “You don’t know Cora’s niece?” I said.
    Beau shook his head, so I guess he didn’t know
everything
about my dad.
    Then, out of nowhere, Ditz was on my mind. It kept happening, like terrorist attacks—grief ambush with no warning. But there was still something numb about it. I wondered if the numbness was because I was here instead of there. Could distance make death seem less real? Did thatmean that if my dad dies while I’m back home in Kansas,
his
death will seem unreal too?
    I suddenly felt stupid for thinking these things. Did other guys, guys like Beau, ever think about their parents dying and junk like that? Maybe I was just weird.
    “You dreaming about her?” Beau asked, poking me with his elbow.
    “Huh?”
    “The niece,” Beau snickered. “You zoned right out.”
    “I was, uh, thinking about something else,” I stammered.
    “Sure you were,” Beau kidded, jabbing me in the ribs again.
    I tried to remember what we were talking about. “Did you ever see people fight quietly?” I asked him.
    “My parents are screamers,” Beau said. “Door-slamming screamers.” By that time we were at the Laundromat playing games. Beau went through way more quarters than me.
    When we were both out of money, we went back to the apartment building and threw rocks from the back steps near the trash cans. Then Beau’s brother Eric appeared. I practically ducked, half expecting to get clocked on the head.
    “Got any dough?” Eric asked.
    Beau shook his head.
    Eric pointed at Beau as if his finger were a gun and said, “Deliver.”
    Beau turned his pockets inside out as proof of poverty. I just stood there, afraid Eric was going to ask
me
for money. But he never looked at me or gave any sign that he’d noticedI was there. Then he turned and sauntered away, calm, in control.
    I exhaled and that kid Alex from back home popped into my head. Alex had been calm like that too. It never seemed particularly thrilling to him that he was ruining my life. Like Eric, Alex tortured in an offhand way as if he were just killing time. Meanwhile, I’d be cowering, feeling my chest close up, trying not to cry, wishing I were dead.
    Back then I’d thought that if I had a dad, a
real
live-in dad, I’d ask
him
what to do about it. But it wasn’t a long-distance phone call kind of problem. Plus, I’d been afraid Dad would agree with Alex that I was a worm, for having to ask him what to do.
    I hadn’t told Mom because I knew she’d get hysterical, run to the principal, and make a scene. And I hadn’t told my sister because she would’ve said to go for Alex’s jugular. And if Liz had found out that I couldn’t fight back, she-would’ve come to my school and beaten Alex to a pulp
for
me.
    Having my enemy beaten up by my sister would’ve been fatally uncool. Having him annihilated by my big
brother
, however, would’ve been fine. In fact, all my fantasies of revenge back then included a brother the size of an oak tree who’d obliterate Alex, growling, “This is for John. And
this
is for John,” with every bone-crushing blow.
    But how did it work, I wondered, if your enemy
was
your big brother? I watched Beau continue to pitch stones at the garbage can as if nothing had happened. One of his pockets was still sticking its tongue out.
    “You’re lucky you have a sister,” Beau said. I thought he meant
instead of a brother who tortures you
, until he added, “You probably understand girls, know how to talk to them and stuff.”
    “Sisters aren’t
girls!
” I said, and we both cracked