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"Your name is Camille?"
"Yeah, and your name is Dean. Come inside, cootie boy, I want pie."
He laughs in my face, and my scowl returns. I like his laugh. He makes me want to laugh, but I don't because I'm really getting pissed off. I should be home watching my shows instead of practically being bullied here.
For a moment, the thought crosses my mind to ask him if he'd like to watch TV with me, but I veto that idea as soon as he does what he does next.
Loser boy pulls on one of my pigtails, yanking my head to the side. "Let's go, Cam. Don't want to miss out on the pie." He runs inside the house, turning his head over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at me.
I rub my head with a frown. I'm tender-headed, and that hurt. Mom says it's never okay to be violent, but Dad says it's okay to hit if it's self-defense and as long as I'm not the one that strikes first.
The loser boy better watch the heck out because he's going to get a knuckle sandwich when he least expects it.
I decide I will never, ever be friends with Dean because he's a big meanie. With my small hands balled in fists at my sides, I decide to run inside and tell on him.
Stupid Dean.
He doesn't deserve any of my mom's delicious key lime pie.
I plan not to tell on him, at least not until I get to eat some pie first. With my luck, Mom might make us go home, and we don’t have pie at home.
After eatinga slice of the key lime pie, the adults go into the living room for a glass of wine and to catch up. Spencer ran back outside to play on the swing set and jungle gym while I took it upon myself to explore the house and find Dean.
Dean isn't hard to find. He's in his room, where he ran off to right after we finished our pie. He's sitting at his desk writing on a piece of paper, and silently, I tiptoe over to him and punch him right in the arm, just like my cousin, Roger, taught me.
Dean removes his headphones and spins in his chair to look at me with a scowl. "Ow! That hurt!" He rubs his arm. "What was that for?"
"That's what you get for pulling my hair." I cross my arms, scowling back at him. The little punk pulls on my pigtail again, and I gasp. "Do it again, and I'll knock you into next week!"
"You punched me, so now we're even." I slug him in the arm again.
He doesn't understand what even means. "No, now we're even. And we're not going to be friends because you're mean," I say matter-of-fact, earning a laugh from him.
"We're going to be friends, Cam. We're going to be best friends, you'll see. How old are you, anyway?"
"No! We'll never be friends. I don't want a bully as my friend. And I'm eight. How old are you, meanie?"
"I'm eleven. You're such a baby. Isn't it past your bedtime?" h mocks me. Ugh. He's making me so angry! How can he say we’ll be friends when he won’t stop teasing me? Raising my right hand, I flip him the bird and stick my tongue out, just like Roger taught me to do to bullies at school.
"I'm going to tell your parents. You're in my room, in my house, being mean." He stands, and I sit down in the chair at the desk that he was sitting in. I shove my hands in the pockets of my overalls and swing my legs.
"You started it. I'll tellyourparents," I counter with a nonchalant shrug, trying not to let him see how afraid that makes me. I don’t want him to tell my parents I punched him.
"No! You started it. You were bossing me around."
With a sigh, I say, "I'm sorry I was mean. I wanted to watch my cartoons today, and instead, my parents made me come over here. Don't tell on me, please. You said we'll be friends, and friends don't tell on friends."
Dean walks over to his bed with a smile and sits on top of it. "Okay, fine. I won't tell, but you better keep your hands to yourself. Where did you learn to punch and flip people off?"
"My cousin, Roger. He's fifteen. He says I can only do it to bullies, and you were being a bully." I shrug my shoulders, turning to face his desk and snoop around, finding the paper he was drawing on.
"Hey! You can't go through my stuff." He runs over, taking the paper from my hands.
"What are you drawing? I like drawing too."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I don't care."
"Listen, butthead! We're friends now. You have to be nice, and friends share stuff like this. Now, what are you drawing?" He sighs, giving in and returning the paper to my hands.
