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boy!”
    I suddenly remember what my da told me to do when someone intimidates me or makes me nervous. Imagine them naked. I’ve got a pretty good imagination so I close my eyes and conjure up a picture of Attila the Hundle sitting there with his skinny white legs and his pot belly hiding his little white johnny wobbler.
    But it doesn’t work. I’m still scared.
    â€œWell?” says Attila the Hundle.
    The room temperature dips even more. The cold is fierce. Frost covers the Socials textbook on the desk in front of Attila the Hundle.
    He stares at me, waiting.
    I forget what he asked me.
    Then he says, “Defacing textbooks and not doing homework are not acceptable behavior at Lonsdale Junior High.”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    He glares at me. “And you have two unexplained absences from school.”
    I say nothing.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy what, sir?”
    â€œWhy were you absent from school?”
    I’m thinking I should maybe tell him that since Ma died I haven’t felt like doing much, including coming to school, but that sounds like an excuse, or like I’m fishing for his sympathy, so I say nothing.
    Attila the Hundle stands and walks to the window again, hands pushed into the trouser pockets of his dark blue suit. He wears a jacket and a blue shirt with a red tie. He’s got thin gray hair and a small gray mustache.
    He lets the silence fill the office. Then, after a while, he sits down again behind his desk and opens the folder lying there.
    â€œYou’re from Ireland, I see. Dublin. Hmmn. Is this the way books are treated in Dublin?” Pause. “You have a sister in third grade at the elementary school.” Long pause. “You don’t like it here at Lonsdale Junior High?”
    â€œYes, sir, I like it just fine.”
    Liar.
    I can hear the end-of-lunch bell ringing outside in the hallway.
    Attila the Hundle says, “I think perhaps I will have a word with your parents.” He stops, leaving a slice of silence for me to help myself to, but I take nothing. He probably expects me to beg for mercy.
    I can’t even gather enough energy together for a shrug.
    Silence. I stare at the name plate on the desk:
Norman P. Hundle. Vice-Principal.
    Norman P. Hundle, Vice-Principal, says, icy-like, “Very well, then. I will contact them right away.”
    Silence.
    â€œYou may go, boy.”
    I get up and move to the door.
    â€œBoy.”
    I pause.
    â€œI don’t wish to see you in here ever again. Your behavior from now on must be exemplary. If I hear another complaint it will mean automatic suspension.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAnd, boy!”
    He points to the textbook, pulling a face as though the book is made of dog turds. “You can take this with you.”
    I return and grab the book off his desk. As I leave I’m thinking a suspension would be just grand — a gift, you might say. I could ride my bike instead of listening to Dill Pickles or my other teachers ranting on about stuff I don’t have the slightest interest in. Life would be a lot more interesting if I could get three or four suspensions a week.
    But then what would Da say?
    I decide not to go back to class. I will give myself a half-day suspension. I grab my jacket from my locker and I’m out of there. A blast of fresh air and bone-warming sunshine is what I need. I gallop down the hill toward the waterfront, my back to the school, my face to the sun.
    I sit on a bench at Lonsdale Pier all afternoon, watching the boats and the seagulls. Then I have to run back up the hill because I’m late picking up Annie.
    I can see her standing at the top of the steps as I get closer. I wave to her but she doesn’t wave back even though I’m pretty sure she sees me, which means she’s mad at me. Oh, well.
    â€œYou’re
so
late, Charley. Where were you?”
    â€œSorry, Annie. But I’m here now, okay? That’s the main