Dave repeated grade three. That’s why he’s older than everyone else. He’s the kind of kid who, come grade six, can barely read but knows exactly what to do to put the fear of death into anyone who would even think about ratting him out. A real monster. Today we have a word for the modus operandi of the Dave Fisets of the world: bullying, a.k.a. the art of making poor kids’ lives miserable. But back then it was just a normal part of life, like worrying about the hole in the ozone layer. And just like that once-pressing environmental issue, all the summits, conferences, and marches in the world won’t be enough to make bullying a thing of the past.

I watch them. Dave’s big brother has gone on to high school now, though word is they only passed him because no one could bear the thought of Fiset senior running wild in elementary school another year. He must be in a special class now with the rest of the county’s lost causes, chomping at the bit until they park him in a professional program for future sanitation workers.

And that’s the sum total of what I know about the Fiset brothers. They don’t leave the house much. They must have killer video games. Usually I know a little more about people, but those two gross me out too much to inquire further. At this point I still haven’t grasped the importance of gathering information on my enemies.

Out in the forest, Dave’s having a gay old time, uprooting plants on the banks and stomping on tadpoles, while his older brother is busy catching garter snakes to burn with his magnifying glass. The guy basically burns whatever he can get his hands on: grass, tadpoles, the poor garter snake he finally catches, his brother’s arm. This last one causes a bit of a kerfuffle, but the two brothers make up by having Dave burn his older brother’s arm to even things out. Without a doubt, those two are bound for glory.

My afternoon is ruined. Coming down from my perch is out of the question: the risk of being seen or heard is too great. The last thing I want is for the numbskull and his idiot brother to realize I’m out here all alone in the woods with them. I’ll just have to put up with them until they get tired and head off to go kill something else.

I read a few pages, but it’s like doing homework while your dad’s watching boxing on TV: the prospect of a massacre keeps distracting you; there’s just no way to concentrate.