Go ahead, Brick, say it. You used karate on Glenn like Floyd uses boxing on you.

6.3 [naked]

I DON’T know what I’m trying to fix when I spend a couple of hours on weights and karate after lunch. I go over—again and again—the front stance, stepping punch, and the three blocks. Flipping ahead in the book, I try the reverse punch, side stance, and side snap kick.

Side kicks are cool.

Docker wouldn’t approve of me jumping around in the book. Docker isn’t here.

Later, Cassie and I drive to town on the ATV. In case Snyder’s around, I park beside Sobeys where there are more people. Then I take Cassie to the toy department at Zellers.

“You can buy anything you want, up to fifteen dollars,” I say. “How about a nice white teddy bear? Aren’t you tired of Rover?”

Her jaw juts. “I love Rover. I want to buy something for Caramel at the pet store.”

No point arguing. After a lot of thought, she picks out a rawhide stick he’ll probably barf on Marigold’s clean floor, a rubber ball, and a ceramic dish with a picture of a puppy wearing a crown and a silly grin. Total, fourteen dollars and sixty-nine cents. Now all we have to do is deliver them.

Don’t fraternize with the neighbors.

Cassie needs Caramel, Marigold, and Rolf. Perhaps she even needs Tully. We’ll just have to be careful.

Once we’re done at the pet store—after Cassie’s talked to four kittens and a turtle shell, no turtle visible—we go to the sports store, where I find a pair of Nike look-alikes, half-price. Excellent support and cushioning, the sales guy says.

If I run fast enough, no one can read the label.

The barber is the next stop. Only two people ahead of me, one of them a guy in my grade who looks at Cassie, looks at me, and sneers.

MacAvoy, Brickson. Popularity 101: F.

Magazines, a coloring book, and some crayons are heaped on the table. Cassie chooses purple for the trees and orange for the people, and that keeps her quiet.

When it’s my turn, I ask for a buzz cut. The barber wraps me in a black cape. Then he turns on his electric clippers and cuts a swath from forehead to nape, like he’s mowing long grass. I want to change my mind. I want to close my eyes. I don’t do either one. I’ve had enough of Floyd yanking me around by the hair. If he’s going to slap me, he’ll have to grab my ear.

Right, Brick, give him a new challenge. He’ll switch from slaps to punches. I should have thought this through. The clippers buzz louder than a swarm of hornets.

Finally, with a flourish, the barber removes the cape from my shoulders. “Looks good on you,” he says.