At first the training had been kind of fun. Joseph had enjoyed the attention and the feeling of camaraderie. It had never occurred to him that the fight would actually occur. He had assumed some unforeseen circumstance would intervene. A flood would come, or an earthquake, or a wave of summer bronchitis. If nothing else, the neighborhood kids would simply lose interest and forget, as they often forgot their more elaborate schemes. They had never stolen a car, for instance, or built a pipe bomb. But as the day drew closer and the excitement increased, it was becoming hard to deny it was really happening. Tomorrow, he would fight Michael. There was no stopping it.

“Mike’s been training hard,” Ronnie said. “He’s a little fucker. He’s going to be tough.”

“You do your push-ups?” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, though he hadn’t. He hadn’t done any crunches or deep knee bends either.

“You gonna take any shit?” Ronnie said.

“Fuck no,” Joseph said.

Tony seized the cigarette from Joseph’s hand and enjoyed a mighty toke, letting the smoke curl inside his mouth. His blushing cheeks and feathered hair were like an angel’s. “Don’t nig-lip it,” he said, and handed back the burning cigarette. On his next drag Joseph was careful to curl his lips over his teeth before touching his mouth to the filter.

He understood that it was his duty to fight Michael, and that he had been selected for a reason. Michael was not very well liked among the boys. It was his task to humiliate him in a novel fashion, to serve as a tool of Michael’s further disgrace.

“That little turd,” Tony said. “You’re gonna kick his ass, Joe.”

The affection in his voice was almost too much to bear; Joseph was relieved when his mother’s voice came drifting through the trees, rising and falling with its sad, evening lilt, calling him back home for dinner.

It was taco night and the table was filled with bowls of beans, hamburger, grated cheese, diced onion and tomato, and a basket of corn tortillas. Joseph greedily assembled his meal, trying to put the fight out of his mind. It was no use though. It kept coming back in the form of questions. Where and when would the fight happen? Who would be watching? How long would it last? What if he bled? A lot? The questions were unanswerable and led only to more questions.

A part of Joseph longed to tell his mother everything about the fight, but he knew that would be wrong. What happened at the creek was not discussed with grown-ups. On the contrary, what happened there was specifically opposed to their world. Without secrecy the world of the boys would not function at all. No one had to tell him that. And besides, she had her own problems to deal with.