somebody asked, “Remember when she got hit in the head by that soccer ball
and spazzed out?” Some of the boys laughed.
“Dad said that was a seizure,” Henry said, but nobody heard him.
Bryce played quarterback again and called anyone who didn’t catch a pass a
masturbator. Their team lost to some boys from the other fifth grade class.
Afterward, Bryce said he would have shown them the picture again if they
had won. Henry and Bryce had been friends since kindergarten when they
had played on the tire swing together until the older kids spun them so hard
they would zig sideways and fall on their face as soon as they got off. Lately,
Bryce had started acting like one of the older kids, especially when they were
around others, and Henry didn’t know why.
At the end of the day, Bryce approached Henry as he was putting books in his
backpack. “Here. You can hold on to it for now.” Bryce pulled the folded
picture from his pocket and dropped it into Henry’s open bag.
“Bryce,” Henry said. “I don’t want it.”
The two boys stood alone at the back of the classroom next to Henry’s desk as
their teacher, Mr. Willis, ushered students out the door. Mr. Willis turned and
said, “You two coming?”
“Yes, Mr. Willis,” Bryce said in the voice he used for teachers and parents. As
they walked out of the room, Henry zipped up his backpack until the zipper
bit into a fold in the canvas and got stuck. He couldn’t fix the snag and walk
at the same time, so he held the opening closed and shielded it from Mr.
Willis as they passed him. Henry wanted to hit Bryce. Once out of earshot,
Bryce turned to him and said, “Come on, Hank. Don’t be a baby. Mom’s been
looking through my stuff.”
Henry didn’t want the picture. He didn’t know what to do with it and was
worried he’d get caught with it. He would have kept saying so, but as they
reached the parking lot, Bryce was preoccupied with looking for his mother’s