It had been happening so much, his dad losing his temper. Craig looked around, dazed. His dad had left. He didn't know where he went, maybe just into another room. He went upstairs carefully, not sure of just how badly he'd been hurt.

Upstairs, in his bed, he felt so bad. Worthless bad, like he didn't matter. No matter how hard he tried he kept making his dad angry. He couldn't do anything right. Lying there, looking at the yellow light from the streetlights out his window, the pain was going away. It was being replaced by that funny numb feeling, that beyond hurt feeling, the body's reaction to pain. Endorphins. Craig felt almost like he was floating, like he was slipping toward sleep because he'd been drugged. It was late now. Past midnight. And he had that science test tomorrow. He felt so weird and sleepy but he couldn't get to sleep, he'd fail the test, his dad would get so mad…

Next day, alarm going off at its accustomed time. Craig groaned and rolled over to shut it off. In the shower, the hot spray of water feeling so good, he lifted his arms to wash his hair and wondered why it hurt so much to do that, already putting it behind him, forgetting. But the pain made it hard to forget and he said it softly, "oh, yeah…"

His dad acting like nothing happened, too, so that made it easier to pretend. Craig dutifully wore his long sleeve shirts so no one would see the bruises.

At school he looked at everyone with hooded eyes, thinking how they weren't going home to such unpredictable behavior. He saw the other kids laughing, wearing whatever they wanted to, and he knew they didn't have to put up with what he did. Put up with it. And the science test hanging over his head like a sword.

It was hard to stay awake in class, the soft monotones of the teachers' voices making him feel so sleepy, looking out the windows, his worries and thoughts softly running together. He thought maybe he could be good enough now, good enough so that his dad wouldn't get angry at him again. He'd do everything right. Get good grades, not leave food out in the kitchen or glasses of juice on the table without coasters and he'd come home on time, he would. He promised he would.

"Craig!" His teacher, Mr. Zibel, said his name so sharp. Craig jumped.

"Huh? What?"

"Where are you? Off in lala land? Would you care to join the class?"

"Um, I'm sorry, sir. It was, it was just a late night last night,"

"You must have a lot of late nights,"

The science test, his heart sank when he turned it over. He hadn't studied any of the right stuff, if his dad could have helped him, he always knew what he should be studying. All that work last night and all of it for nothing. He didn't know any of these answers. None of this made sense to him.

As the day went on he forgot that beating more and more until it was like it never happened. And the vague thoughts about being better, not making his dad so mad were still there but sort of underneath everything else. It wouldn't happen again, of course not. It couldn't. He couldn't live like this.

At home, his dad home, making supper, asking how his day was. Calling him Craigger.

"Pretty good, I guess," Craig said, eating chips from the big bag on the table, licking the salt off his fingers.

"You guess?"

"Yeah, well, I had this science test I don't think I did too good on,"

"Quit eating those chips. You'll ruin your dinner,"

Craig rolled up the bag and shoved it away from him, watched his dad stir some vegetables in the skillet with a wooden spoon.

"Did you study?" Albert said, looking at him.

"Yeah, all night. But I don't think I studied the right stuff,"

"Don't worry about it. I'll help you study for the next one," Albert looked at him with that look that seemed to say everything would be okay. Craig smiled and nodded. He hoped it would be. He really did.