You want to know how this makes me feel? Like the hawk sailing toward the sun. Like I want to lay my head down on the water lilies and weep.

I can’t come up with even a smidgen of anger.

I walk upstairs to the bathroom and gaze in the mirror. Who is this guy who looks like a Wanted poster at the RCMP detachment? Or like the passport photo of someone who doesn’t know where he’s going and wishes he gave a damn?

Before I go to bed, I force myself to read chapter five about bullying.

8.3 [white knight II]

NEXT MORNING all I’m good for is a combination of walking and jogging. I take #539 and Swamp Road for a change. It’s not exactly raining—somewhere between mist and drizzle. Good thing I got to Della before Tully; if I cut the grass six or seven times, that’s another $200 in my savings account.

I wonder who else would give me a job. Too risky to put a sign up at MacTaggart’s.

I’m thirsty, so I stop in there, where I’m charged two bucks for a measly bottle of water. I glug it down and head outside.

Samson Donovan is zigzagging across the parking lot, kicking a stone with the toe of his sneaker. I lift him off the ground, turn him upside down, shake him, and watch coins rain out of his pockets.

Pennies and nickels. No dimes.

No quarters, either.

I lower him to the ground, right side up, and hear myself say, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He’s standing exactly where I put him, jacket rucked around his shoulders; it’s not hard to see he had strawberry jam for breakfast. Kneeling, I start gathering the coins, passing him half a dozen. His fingernails are dirty.

When I’ve given him the last penny, I stand up. “I won’t hassle you anymore. You or your brother.”

Then I take off down the road, running along the shoulder as though the cops are after me. Likely he’s been saving that money for candy. Gummi bears ... whatever.

At the turnoff to River Road, I slow to a walk. What kind of a creep am I? Lorne, white-faced, bug-eyed whenever he sees me coming. Gary Sanger, crying as he passes over his lunch money. Lucas, flat on the floor on top of his caramel chunk cookies.

If I quit bullying, AQ will be out of control. If Floyd would leave me alone, I wouldn’t need to bully.

Floyd leaving me alone? Dream on. Who else would he pick on if he didn’t have me?

I’m so scared of him. So fricking scared.

*