“HEY!” SHE SHOUTS AGAIN, her eyes no longer smiling. “What did you do that for?”
But he has no idea what he did that for—only that he wants to keep the circuit open, the current flowing, but has no words, and so has settled for this, this provocation. “My grandmother bought me that coat,” she says, “It’s the only one I have. How could you do such a thing? That was mean. It was worse than mean. It was cruel. Do you have any animals? Because if you do I bet that you’re mean to them as well. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Wayne.”
“Wayne.” She glances at her friend and then back to him. “Wayne what?”
“Spitzer.”
She nods, thinking. “Okay, I’m Tilly, but that was mean!”
He stares at her, unsure what to do next. “Well maybe I’m just a mean boy,” he says, and faces forward, as though Mr. Odell’
