Free One Fat Summer by Robert Lipsyte

to put a rock through your windshield, Willie,” said one of the Smith boys.
    Willie Rumson strutted up. I was flat on my back and he was outlined against the pale blue sky. He looked about ten feet tall.
    â€œNext time you pull his ladder, make sure he’s still on it, Jim,” said Rumson.
    â€œWon’t be a next time,” said Jim. “You ain’t going back to Dr. Kahn on Monday. Right?” He put both boots on my wrist.
    â€œAnswer the man, faggot,” said Rumson.
    â€œDrop dead,” I said.
    â€œYou hear that?” Jim sounded almost as surprised as I was.
    â€œI’ve killed better men than you for a hell of a lot less.” Rumson lifted his boot over my face.
    â€œHold on,” said Jim. “Don’t stomp his face.”
    â€œCan’t hurt that stomach,” said Rumson.
    â€œJust put your foot down,” said Jim. “If he goes crying to Kahn and Kahn tells my dad, I’ll get my head knocked off.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll just kick his ribs in.”
    â€œKick his ribs, but just a little. Don’t break em.
    Another car pulled up. I couldn’t see it, but I heard its squealing brakes and felt the gravel spray from its tires on my face.
    â€œWhatcha got there, Willie-boy?”
    â€œA juvenile delinquent, Uncle Homer. Tried to throw that rock through my windshield.”
    â€œLet ’im up.”
    Jim Smith got off my wrist. A big, powerful hand grabbed my other arm and jerked me to my feet. “He’s a heavy one.” My face came up to his badge. He was very tall and wide. “Drop that rock, young fella.”
    I dropped it.
    â€œNow why would you want to break Willie’s windshield? You could cause a accident, somebody get killed.” He wore the uniform of a town policeman. He had sergeant stripes on his sleeves. “Huh? What you say?”
    â€œI…I didn’t…”
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œRobert Marks.”
    â€œSummer people?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNow you get on home, next time I hear about you, your folks’ll have to come down to the station, pick you up. Understand?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œNow get going.” He spun me around and booted me in the can.
    I jogged all the way to the foot of my hill, and I never looked back. I heard laughter behind me.It sounded like Willie and his Uncle Homer were sharing some big joke. About me.
    Mom and Michelle looked up suddenly when I walked in. I could tell I had interrupted some deep discussion. But when Mom said “Is everything all right, Bobby?” I knew the discussion wasn’t about me. If it was about me she would have looked a little guilty and offered me a snack before dinner. That was a relief. For a minute I thought maybe Homer had called her up.
    â€œI’m going to take a little nap before dinner.”
    â€œThat’s fine.”
    â€œDad be home soon?”
    â€œNo, he’s tied up in the city.” She bit her lower lip. “He won’t be able to make it up this weekend. Business.”
    Michelle stared out the window.
    Best news all week. Give me some time to think. Rumson, Dr. Kahn. Jim Smith, Homer; some mess. If I had to deal with my father, too, forget it.
    I went into my room and I did what I always do when the going gets tough. I went to sleep. I didn’t wake up until Saturday.

10
    Without Dad, it was very quiet in the house. I kind of liked that. He always has something to say about everything. The weather, Mom’s meals, my clothes, Michelle’s makeup, an opinion for every occasion whether you ask him or not. And he’s always organizing something, he just can’t stand to see people lying around. Wasting your life, he calls it. Get out and do something, anything, he says. Mow the lawn, take a swim, read a book. I don’t think he ever stared out the window in his life. Or had a daydream.
    I just loafed around all day Saturday, looking at