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The next day he called Rob and said, “I am just a blob of unconsciousness.” And Rob said, “We all are, Dad. We all are.”

Also on that next day Artie brought to school a cardboard box he had found in his garage; he wrote CELLPHONES in magic marker on both sides of it and set it on his desk. Rick Roper did not show up for class, and, in truth, Artie did not give that fact much thought. Artie shoved the pillowcase into the back of the desk’s bottom drawer.

Rhonda Lazarre—when her class came into the room—said with genuine surprise, “What happened to the pillowcase, Mr. Dam?”

“I got rid of it.”

“But why?” she asked. From the looks on the faces of some of the other kids, Artie could tell that what had happened between him and Rick Roper had made its way around the school, although some of them regarded him with slight surprise. He said only, “It was time.”

But after the bell rang and the class was leaving the room, Artie called out: “Rhonda.”

She turned, her face glowing with surprise. Artie reached into his desk’s bottom drawer and took out the pillowcase. “Do you want this?”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Dam!”

He said, “You are entirely welcome.”

As she left the classroom, he saw her briefly put the pillowcase to her face.

Darling child, he thought. You darling, darling child.

The next day, after the final bell rang, Artie stayed in his classroom for two hours, sitting at his desk with the door closed. There were almost three more weeks of school before Christmas. He thought about his father and his mother, and he thought about Maria too, and how she had wanted their father’s genes passed down. Many times he shook his head, starting to stand up and then sitting down once more. He thought of the incident in the clothing store, which he had never really—for more than a few minutes—stopped thinking about since it had occurred. Through the window he could see that it had grown dark outside.

As Artie finally roused himself and stepped out of his classroom, he saw Danny Marino to his left, writing on the hallway wall. Artie saw the fear—oh, it was fear!—on Danny’s face when he heard the door open and saw Artie, and Artie understood that Danny had thought that he was alone at this time in the late afternoon. Artie walked up to him slowly; he saw on the wall—a painted maroon wall—the huge letters in blue magic marker that said FUCK YO. Artie slipped his hands into his pockets and stood there, while Danny’s face turned very red. Artie said, quietly, “Come on in, Danny,” and nodded toward his classroom door.

He could see that the kid was scared to death, and Artie said, “No, no, just come on in.” Danny followed him into the classroom, and Artie closed the door. Artie sat down in a chair and gave a tilt of his head for Danny to do the same, and Danny sat down across from Artie. His face had a look of defiance on it now. Artie said, “You’re lucky the security camera is broken,” and Danny’s face opened with a kind of horror, and he said, “Oh man.” He put his hands over his face and shook his head. “Oh fuck, man. I totally forgot about the security cameras. Fuck.”

Danny looked down; his legs were apart, his elbows were on his knees, his fingers together and picking at one another.

“But the camera’s broken here on the second floor. I only know that because I overheard the janitor reporting it in the office earlier today.” And then Artie leaned forward slightly and said, “I’m not going to tell anyone that I saw you do that.” He sat back in his chair. “Just in case you thought I was going to turn you in, I’m not.”

It seemed to Artie that a very small part of Danny relaxed then. Danny glanced at Artie quickly, and then away. “Why not?” he finally asked, looking at Artie again, just briefly.

Artie shrugged. “I guess because I don’t blame you.”

Now Danny looked fully at him.

Artie added, “I don’t blame you for wanting to say fuck you to the world.”

They sat together in silence, and Artie thought this through. He tried to think it through. But it wasn’t until Danny spoke that Artie said anything.

Danny said to him, “Why?”

And Artie looked at him and said, “Why what?”

“Why do you not blame me for wanting to say fuck you to the world?” Danny spoke this in a monotone, and Artie gave a small shrug and said, “Because I want to, too.”

Artie stood then, and he walked out the door and looked at the writing there on the wall, and then he stepped back into his classroom and said, “Okay, we have a job to do.”

“What?” Danny asked.

“Get rid of it, that’s what.”

“Oh yeah,” Danny said, and Artie gave him a genuine smile; the boy looked down. But then Danny looked up and said, “How?”

“Watch me.” Artie went to the closet in the corner of the room and, rummaging through the shelves, pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol; there was dust on the top of it.