Free 20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill

under the table and tied him around one of the table legs, in a squeaky granny knot, head, arms, body, and all. When Mr. Milton asked where Art had gone, Cassius said he thought he had run to the bathroom.
    "Did he?" Mr. Milton asked. "What a relief. I didn't even know if that kid could go to the bathroom."
    Another time, John Erikson held Art down during recess and wrote KOLLOSTIMY BAG on his stomach with indelible marker. It was spring before it faded away.

    The worst thing was my mom saw. Bad enough she has to know I get beat up on a daily basis. But she was really upset it was spelled wrong.
    He added:

    I don't know what she expects—this is 6th grade. Doesn't she remember 6th grade? I'm sorry, but realistically, what are the odds you're going to get beat up by the grand champion of the spelling bee?
    "The way your year is going," I said, "I figure them odds might be pretty good."
 
    Here is how Art and I wound up friends:
    During recess periods, I always hung out at the top of the monkey bars by myself, reading sports magazines. I was cultivating my reputation as a delinquent and possible drug pusher. To help my image along, I wore a black denim jacket and didn't talk to people or make friends.
    At the top of the monkey bars—a dome-shaped construction at one edge of the asphalt lot behind the school—I was a good nine feet off the ground, and had a view of the whole yard. One day I watched Billy Spears horsing around with Cassius Delamitri and John Erikson. Billy had a wiffle ball and a bat, and the three of them were trying to bat the ball in through an open second-floor window. After fifteen minutes of not even coming close, John Erikson got lucky, swatted it in.
    Cassius said, "Shit—there goes the ball. We need something else to bat around."
    "Hey," Billy shouted. "Look! There's Art!"
    They caught up to Art, who was trying to keep away, and Billy started tossing him in the air and hitting him with the bat to see how far he could knock him. Every time he struck Art with the bat it made a hollow, springy whap ! Art popped into the air, then floated along a little ways, sinking gently back to the ground. As soon as his heels touched earth he started to run, but swiftness of foot wasn't one of Art's qualities. John and Cassius got into the fun by grabbing Art and drop-kicking him, to see who could punt him highest.
    The three of them gradually pummeled Art down to my end of the lot. He struggled free long enough to run in under the monkey bars. Billy caught up, struck him a whap across the ass with the bat, and shot him high into the air.
    Art floated to the top of the dome. When his body touched the steel bars, he stuck, face-up—static electricity.
    "Hey," Billy hollered. "Chuck him down here!"
    I had, up until that moment, never been face-to-face with Art. Although we shared classes, and even sat side-by-side in Mrs. Gannon's homeroom, we had not had a single exchange. He looked at me with his enormous plastic eyes and sad blank face, and I looked right back. He found the pad around his neck, scribbled a note in spring green, ripped it off and held it up at me.

    I don't care what they do, but could you go away? I hate to get the crap knocked out of me in front of spectators.
    "What's he writin'?" Billy shouted.
    I looked from the note, past Art, and down at the gathering of boys below. I was struck by the sudden realization that I could smell them, all three of them, a damp, human smell, a sweaty-sour reek. It turned my stomach.
    "Why are you bothering him?" I asked.
    Billy said, "Just screwin' with him."
    "We're trying to see how high we can make him go," Cassius said. "You ought to come down here. You ought to give it a try. We're going to kick him onto the roof of the friggin' school!"
    "I got an even funner idea," I said, funner being an excellent word to use if you want to impress on some other kids that you might be a mentally retarded psychopath. "How about we see if I can kick your lardy ass up on the roof