OriginalFor the record, Billy Finster didn't have any friends. Every morning, he walked to school alone. He sat in his chair, never talking to his classmates or raising his hand. Billy always wore his favorite baseball cap, the one with a B on the front, pulled down as far as it would go. When the lunch bell rang, Billy would wait for the halls to clear before pulling a sandwich and a soda from his hall locker, sitting on the cold, tile floor, and eating alone. Billy never said hello to the nameless kids who ran by, he never said anything to the boys who made it a point to walk over him, and he never complained if someone kicked his feet.
So no one paid much attention to Billy.
One day, he was sitting on the floor against his locker and eating a pastrami sandwich, when Christopher Thompson, who was very busy telling someone what to do, nearly tripped over little Billy's foot.
Now, Chris was not like Billy at all:
Chris liked being popular. Chris was on the football team, which meant that everyone knew exactly who he was.
Chris also liked having yes-boys who followed him everywhere and agreed with him on everything. He had five in all.
Chris liked picking on other kids.
And Chris did not like being tripped.
“Hey, you're in my math class, right?” he asked little Billy.
“Yeah,” Billy mumbled, looking down as far as his chin and neck would allow. He wanted to run and hide.
“What's wrong with you?” one of the yes-boys, piped in. He glanced over at Chris to make sure he hadn't spoken out of turn.
Chris spoke again. “You got a good grade on the last test, didn't ya?”
“I got a C-plus,” Billy told him.
Liar. He'd gotten an A-minus.
“Whatever,” Chris said. He was getting Cs in most of his classes, but Mr. Geer's math class was tough and if he didn't pass everything, Coach would kick him off the team. “You got last night's homework?”
“Nuh-uh,” Billy said.
Liar. He had it in his locker.
Chris cocked his head a little. His eyes narrowed a bit. “How come?”
“I wasn't there when Mr. Geer handed it out.”
“He's lyin',” Gregory, another yes-boy, said. “He was there. I saw him.”
“Shut up!” Chris shot back. Gregory had spoken out of turn. Chris looked down at Billy again.
“Where was you, Billy?”
“I was out.”
“Out doing what?”
“Stuff.” Billy tried not to shake, but he was too scared to say anything more. He wasn't used to other kids talking to him, especially bigger kids.
Not good enough, Chris thought. “What stuff?”
“I had to—you know—I just took a crap.”
“You had to take a shit that bad?” Greg asked. One of the other boys snickered.
One look from Chris and Greg backed off. He was the slow one.
Billy finally got the courage to look Chris in the eye. If he wanted his homework that bad, fine! Billy didn't need it. Just please leave him alone.
But Chris wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking down the hall, first one way, and then the other. They were alone.
And Billy was too late.
Chris' fist came down hard. Billy collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. Then all five yes-boys joined in, punching and kicking Billy very hard and for a very long time.
Billy told the school nurse that he'd fallen down the some stairs. She'd been around way too long to believe him. It wasn't her job to ask questions, though. Her job, you understand, was to put a band aid where it hurt and avoid lawsuits as best she could. Obviously, Billy wasn't a squealer, but student conduct was the principal's concern, not hers, and the principal wasn't concerned about little Billy with the B on his hat. Not if his parents weren't suing. Not the least little bit.
Too bad for Billy.
