“Well,” I say. “Thank you for being annoying.” “Hey.” He frowns. He gets to his feet, dusts off his pants. “I’m not annoying.” “You most certainly are annoying,” I tell him. “Especially for a child your size. Why haven’t you have learned to be quieter by now? When I was your age I only spoke when I was spoken to.” James crosses his arms. “Wait a second—what do you mean, for a child my size? What’s wrong with my size?” I squint at him. “How old are you? Nine?” “I’m about to turn eleven!” “You’re very small for eleven.” And then he punches me. Hard. In the thigh. “Owwwwwww,” he cries,
...more
