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years. As a young boy it was noted that his diction was too refined; he didn’t sound like somebody who was brought up in Nebraska. His vocabulary was much too vast. “Nobody from around here uses words like that,” people would say. “Do you think he dyes his hair? No boy’s hair is that blond all by itself.” And then there was his attitude.
    Michael knew that part of the reason he didn’t have any friends and was ostracized by his peers was because everyone thought he considered himself better than everyone else. It didn’t matter that he never once voiced this opinion, it didn’t matter that this wasn’t how he felt; all that mattered was that one group of kids interpreted Michael’s timidity and intelligence as arrogance and they then shared their assumptions with another group of kids and soon Michael had earned a reputation of being an egotistical jerk. An unjust reputation, but one he didn’t have the strength to fight.
    “Heard your mother’s back in her own padded cell.”
    He didn’t need to turn around; he knew without looking who made that remark. Mauro Dorigo had been taunting Michael since third grade, from the first day Mauro moved here from New York. Michael tried ignoring him, he tried tattling on him, he tried running from him, but Mauro ran faster, and when he caught up with him, he surprised him with a roundhouse punch that gave Michael his first black eye.
    Mauro was a tough kid who grew up on the streets of the Lower East Side. The only way he knew how to take care of himself was with his fists, and the best way he knew to make sure no one messed with him was to mess with somebody else first. So on his first day at his new school in Nebraska, he searched the school yard for the weakest-looking kid and stopped when he cast his eyes on Michael. He had nothing against Michael at the time; it was just that he had that scared look about him,almost like he was waiting for someone to pounce. Mauro was more than willing.
    Seven years later, not much had changed. Mauro was still more overweight than muscular, but he had the advantage because fear still clung to Michael. Fear that at any moment someone was going to attack, physically or verbally. That someone was usually Mauro.
    “I hear they’re going to name the loony bin after her, she’s spent so much time in there.”
    Now a group had gathered and some kids laughed, others whispered. He knew they knew what had happened to his mother; everyone always found out, so there was no sense in denying it.
    “Yes, it’s going to be called the Grace Ann Howard Wing,” Michael said. “The ribbon-cutting ceremony is scheduled for next week; you should put it on your calendar.”
    When he turned to walk away he caught a glimpse of some of the kids’ startled faces; they looked impressed. Yes, they definitely were impressed with Michael’s comeback. He knew he shouldn’t joke about his mother’s condition, but what else was he going to do? Mauro was right. By the end of the year, his mother would be making another trip to the mental ward; might as well own up to it. But Mauro always had to have the last word.
    “So, Howard! I guess that makes you a gaytard!” The kids who seconds ago were impressed with Michael’s wit switched allegiance and were once again back onMauro’s side. “If your mother’s crazy, you must be a retarded homo!”
    Fire erupted in Michael’s cheeks and he felt his mouth go completely dry. Laughter boxed his ears and he briefly thought he was going to faint right there in the corridor. But somehow he kept walking, walking, walking; he just needed to get to the end of the hallway so he could turn the corner and escape. Once he could get away from the laughter, away from the words, he would be fine.
    He rounded the corner and took a deep breath. He pushed his way through the crowd of students and ducked into the first room that looked empty, chemistry lab, and leaned against the teacher’s desk.
They’re just words,
he