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just jealous. You know women like a guy with something they can hold on to. They find a little bulk comforting.”
    â€œAnd what twisted talk show told you that?”
    â€œThe one in my head,” David said. “So, does she have a boyfriend or what?”
    â€œI don’t think so. She’s always alone at school.” Kind of like me , Jonathan thought. He looked toward the counter and saw Kirsty paying for her coffee. He tried to see her the way David did, as an eight, but it just wasn’t there. Like all girls, he compared her to Emma O’Neil, and to his mind, Kirsty just didn’t come close. Maybe no girl could.
    â€œShe’s making my pants tight,” David said.
    â€œThanks for sharing,” Jonathan said. “Why don’t you go over there and tell her? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear it.”
    â€œNo. I have to play it cool.”
    â€œAs in…watching her until she leaves and never seeing her again?”
    â€œYes,” David said. “Exactly. It’s foolproof.”
    Jonathan couldn’t argue against the point. That was basically his tack with Emma. Just sit and watch and dream.
    Kirsty carried her coffee to a small table in the back, where Jonathan could see her over David’s shoulder. She sat down and immediately opened a book. She lowered her head to read, and her hair fell forward like a curtain to hide her face.
    â€œWhat’s she doing?” David asked. “She’s scoping me, right? Looking at the Hulk of Love?”
    â€œShe’s reading.”
    â€œShe’s way into me,” David said, obviously joking. “Hey, we have a new entry into the Dictionary of David. She’s way into me : SWIM.” He laughed. “Yeah, and she’s swimmin’ with the sharks now, boy.”
    â€œWhales maybe.”
    â€œUnkind,” David said. “Harsh and unkind.”
    â€œSo, what’s up for tonight?” Jonathan asked. He was tired of talking about Kirsty Sabine.
    â€œThe usual, I guess,” David said, draining the last drops of coffee from his cup. “Rent a couple of DVDs, maybe play some PS3.”
    â€œAre your parents home?”
    â€œAre my parents ever home?”

3
    Monday afternoon Jonathan walked into English class and felt an uncomfortable tug in his chest. A substitute teacher stood at the front of the room, drawing on the blackboard. She was a fine-looking woman, wearing black slacks and a red blouse. But seeing her just made him think about Mr. Weaver. He’d watched the news over the weekend and saw the reports of Mr. Weaver’s death, but it didn’t seem quite real. Not until now, not until he saw the man’s replacement scratching out couplets with colored chalk. He felt awful.
    Emma O’Neil was sitting in her chair when Jonathan entered the room. He passed by her, hoping she’d say hi, but her head was down. He couldsee a sheen of tears on her cheeks. She was mourning for Mr. Weaver, and it made Jonathan feel worse. He crossed the room to his desk near the back, sat down, and rested his chin on his hand.
    In his thoughts he didn’t go to his chair. No. In his mind, where he could muster bravery, he stopped at Emma’s desk and knelt down beside her, put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “Mr. Weaver is in a better place.” This made Emma cry, purging the rest of her sadness as she pushed in close to take comfort from Jonathan’s embrace. He felt the spiky locks of her hair on his cheek, smelled her perfume, which he imagined smelled like flowers. “I’m here if you need to talk,” his brave mind-self whispered.
    The daydream warmed him. He wished he could be the person he imagined. Emma looked so miserable, and he wanted to do anything he could to make it stop. She shouldn’t be unhappy.
    Once the other kids arrived and took their seats, the substitute, Mrs. Taylor, said,