A/N: a quick switch in age again. these are written by theme, not chronologically.


Detention is for losers. Detention is more school. Why'd you wanna put yourself up for that?

Suspension, that's where it's at. Suspension is no school, home in the day when ma's at work, do what the hell you like and no truant officer can come knocking, no matter that you're eleven years old, 'cause school told you to get lost in the first place.

Seems like common sense to me.

Only trouble is, it's a fine line between the paddle, or detention, or a full blown suspension.

The paddle don't frighten me, I can take it. Ain't no worse than the end of a belt an' who the hell ain't used to that? But detention blows.

It pisses me off to do something I think is bad enough for suspension and end up sitting in front of Clarkson, for an extra hour every afternoon for a week, instead.

I have recently taken to being 'pissed off' by most everything, because I like the way it sounds. I roll the words around on my tongue. That pisses me off. He pisses me off. The whole world pisses me off.

Cussing gets you the paddle and detention, so I learn to keep a lid on it around teachers.

Apparently, lunch is only worth detention. Other people's lunch, that is. I ain't never had a lunch I carried with me to school. Who's supposed to give it to me? Ma? Don't make me laugh.

So, taking someone's lunch equals detention.

Collarbones, though. They're worth suspension, I find out without even asking.

If you break one, shoving someone off the jungle gym when he won't give up his lunch.

He's tough enough, for a baby, that Steve Randle. I don't even know what his problem was. He only had lousy PB and J.

The kid with the stupid name looks more scared than him. Bursts into tears when Randle hits the ground and don't get up. Stupid Name really is a baby. I mean, I know they're only in second grade an' all, but why is he still bawling like a girl? Even Curly's got more balls than that now.

I would've gone for Stupid Name's lunch, only his big brother picks him up from school sometimes. I would fight him but I don't think I could beat him. It would almost be worth it. Stupid Name's lunches are good.

Maybe Randle oughta trade, then he'd have something worth fighting for, something worth a broken collar bone.

I never even knew such a bone was. It ain't right where a collar goes. At first I thought they was saying I broke his neck, 'cause that's where a collar is. I wonder what a broken neck looks like. More impressive than a pansy sling, which is what Randle gets to wear like a stupid girl with a stupid necklace.

He tells me that when his bone is mended, he's gonna fight me an' his dad says that he won't even get in trouble. His dad says that he can fight me all he wants. He asks if my dad says that I can fight without getting in trouble for it. I tell him yes.

And then he calls me a liar because everyone knows my dad went to jail. Again. I'm about ready to land one on him, sling or no sling, when Clarkson rounds me up and I don't see him again.

His collarbone stays broke until summer vacation starts and then I'm gone up to the middle school and I forget about him anyway.

Middle school sucks even more than grade school.

I don't know no one, except the losers who came up with me. If I went to the Catholic school, I would get to see Dom. But Ma says she ain't a Catholic no more and the freaking priest would rather spit on her than give us a letter of recommendation. Gramma got her beads out, when Curly told her what Ma said.

I don't like being the littlest again. I don't like that there are kids who think they're tougher than me. They ain't tougher than me. I take on a couple from the grade above to prove it.

They got a paddle at middle school too, I discover.

I wonder if they work out you're gonna get it twice, if they call home? If the school punishment is soft - just a couple of whacks, that ain't nothing - 'cause they know you're gonna get worse anyways?

Ma keeps one of my dad's belts special, even though she threw out all his other stuff. I know what to expect. She always yells some, tells me to fetch it, gives me a licking and then sends me to bed.

I don't think she ought to let Ron do it though. I don't like it if he does it. He ain't my uncle.

I won the fights though.

They don't like that, the older boys. One day after school they wait for me, down by the park.

They start shoving me from one to the other and there's four of them, so I know there's not much I can do about it. I try and get in a punch, but one of 'em gets me back and I hit the dirt, my lip split.

Then there's another couple of boys there and one of them new ones says, "That ain't fair, four on one an' he's only a little one."

The one who hit me says, "Shut up, Curtis, it ain't your business. This 'un's a cocky little shit and he needs to be took down."

I'm up and running at him and I got the momentum to tip him over and we're both on the floor, with me on top and hitting him. Then the big boy yanks me back up on my feet. And I see that it's the big brother. Stupid Name's big brother. I didn't see him around school yet, but I guess he goes here.

He tells me to cool it. He tells the one who hit me to cool it. He tells the four of 'em that if they think it's okay to gang up on a littler kid they won't mind him and Paul ganging up on them, will they?

They mind. They disappear.

"You should maybe walk home with some friends," Big Brother tells me. He's a frigging comedian. He looks like he's waiting for me to say something back. I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

But I think about it that night, when I'm lying in bed, running my tongue over the split in my lip.

And I think what he was saying was, there's strength in numbers.

I don't want friends. I don't need friends. But the next day I watch the kids in my classes and I work out who would be useful.