Brownie Points Read Online Free PDF Page B

reflection, made matters worse. In the huddle of boys, one mumbled, “Mama’s boy.”
    ™˜
    Logan’s first day of school was no better. When he and Maya got home, it was clear that Logan had been hit in the face. Repeatedly. His lip was swollen and bleeding a bit, and his nose looked like it had taken a blow. “Oh my God,” I cried, rushing toward him as he entered the kitchen. “What happened to you?!” I wiped his face with a wet paper towel.
    He said nothing.
    “Logan, what happened?!”
    “I got into a fight,” he said.
    Maya snorted. “That’s one way to put it.” My eyes turned to her and demanded explanation. “He got beat up.”
    “Beaten up? By whom? Who would beat up Logan? He’s the sweetest, most gentle child.”
    “Um, Mom, I’m right here.”
    “Who would beat you up?” My eyes filled with tears. “You’re the sweetest and most gentle child.”
    “Yeah, I think you’ve pretty much cracked the case, Mom,” Maya said. “Sweet and gentle equals target for ass kicking. Can I go over to Ashley’s?”
    “Sure,” I said, secretly relieved. She threw down her pink zebra pattern backpack and disappeared. Hoping his sister’s absence would get Logan to disclose more, I asked what happened at school. “What did these kids say to you?”
    “Say? They didn’t say anything, Mom. They just jumped on me and started punching until the cafeteria lady came and pulled them off me.”
    ™˜
    “We need to teach that boy to defend himself,” Jason said behind our closed bedroom doors that night. “If someone throws the first punch, the boy needs to be able to handle himself.”
    “Jason, he said four kids jumped on him. This isn’t a Jackie Chan movie.”
    “Maybe he should start taking karate with Maya. Speaking of, where was Miss Thing during all this?”
    “She was the one who got the cafeteria lady,” I told him.
    Jason sat on the bed and buried his face in his thick hands. “Yeah, right. The cafeteria lady, how could I forget?”
    “Our son was beaten up on his first day of school and the only emotion you can muster up is embarrassment?” I asked.
    He sighed, deflated. “Nah, I’m pissed. You know, they’ve got a boxing gym in town. The kid must have some killer instinct after all those fencing lessons.”
    “You want to send our son to school with a sword?”
    “I want to send him to school acting like a normal person, Lisa! McDoyle told me Logan was leaping around that party challenging kids to duels.”
    “He didn’t leap,” I snapped. “He lunged.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve made that distinction for them. I’m sure it would’ve made all the difference in the world.”
    “What’s wrong with you?! Who cares what that Jim McDoyle thinks?”
    “He doesn’t even try to blend in, baby. He could save himself a lot of hassles if he learned to assess what’s going on before … before leaping, lunging, whatever.”
    “This is your big hope for our son?” I asked. “That he blends?”
    “If it keeps him from getting his ass kicked, then yes, I want him to blend.”
    I thought about a painting class I took in college to meet my fine arts requirement. Our professor raved about a classmate’s ability to blend color. I don’t know if everyone actually agreed, but they all nodded approvingly at the canvas as I thought it was a pity that one could no longer see where one image stopped and another began. For me, blending always meant losing individual identity for the sake of the big picture. It wasn’t at all beautiful to me. It was the terrifying prospect of disappearing. That semester I discovered a passion for creating sculpture from junkyard salvage. I could create something beautiful from garbage, while still never losing site of what each piece was originally. Blending was fine for some, but for people like Logan and me, it was a sacrifice of self.
    Jason drifted elsewhere too, certainly not remembering my painting class.
    Returning us both to the present,