|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Matty was small for his age, so he was easy to beat up. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
They had done it before, and he hadn't squealed. It was never anything bad, just a few slaps and sucker punches, an occasional knuckle haircuta ''noogie," as it was knownone of Bobby Gorawlski's specialties. Another was the "pink belly"whacking his gut with fingers while other kids pinned him down. Never any blood or telltale signs. The worst part was the humiliationespecially the time Bobby pushed him down into dog mess in front of Gina Whitehead. Everybody hooted hysterically, including Gina. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Matty had not forgotten the sting of that. Not for a minute. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
School was out and Matty headed up the long incline of Hutchinson Road. Little League practice was scheduled for three-thirty at the Robert Gregory field about three miles the other side of Carleton. He was wearing his number 11 red Devil Dogs T-shirt, but he had no desire to practice ball today. And he had forgotten that his father was to pick him up at three. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
About half a block from the wood he heard Gina call. "Maatty." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He turned around. Gina Whitehead was pumping toward him on her bike. She lived around the corner from him. Although they had known each other since babyhood, they had an on-again, off-again friendship. Some days they were like brother and sister. Other days, cat and dog. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I thought you had Little League." She always wore outfits a little too old for her. Today it was yellow tights, a green tank top under an |
|
|
|
|
|