Roddy took a half step back, his younger brother already gone, too smart to be part of the collateral damage.
Back when Anne Marie had first started offering trades, they were small—she’d want an extra dessert or to get out of walking the dog. Last year, though, she’d found Roddy’s wallet in the back seat of the car and upped the ante, offering to trade it back only if he did her week’s chores. From there, Anne Marie did what the oldest child always does: took advantage of her younger siblings. Today, however, was the first time she’d use it for something sinister.
“I’ll do your work-wheel for two weeks.”
“You called me a skank. For that alone—”
“Three weeks,” Roddy countered.
“For a Game Boy?”
“A month, okay? That’s my—”
“Anne Marie, just give him the stupid game,” Missy interrupted.
Roddy turned. So did Anne Marie.
“What’d you say?” Anne Marie challenged.
“A.M., please,” Roddy pleaded, “just tell me what you want.”
For the rest of his life, Roddy would never forget the look on his sister’s face, a thin slit that looked like a grin, but carried no joy in it. “Take your shirt off.”
“Wha?”
“You think I don’t see you doing push-ups before bed? Show Missy your new body. Your shirt. Take it off.”
“Anne Marie, that’s not funny,” Missy insisted.
“You said he was cute. Here’s your chance to see him.”
For a moment, it looked like Missy might argue. But in ninth grade, especially among teenage girls, there’s a fine line between outrage and self-preservation. Missy sat there in the beanbag, staring at Roddy.
“We’re waiting,” Anne Marie said, waving the Game Boy.
Roddy stood there, his skinny body barely filling his Shrek T-shirt, which was now damp with sweat. In front of him were Anne Marie and Missy. Behind him, his younger siblings, Darren and now Paulette, were back in the hallway. On any playground, when something bad goes down, no one wants to miss it.
“I’m counting to three,” Anne Marie said, reaching toward her nightstand for an open can of Diet Coke. She held the can over the Game Boy, ready to pour. “One . . .”
“Don’t!” Roddy begged. “Please . . .”
“Two . . .” She tipped the can more.
Roddy could feel his fists tightening, could feel the Bad Roddy poking through, telling him to go for her throat. He’d done it before—on Mother’s Day, when Anne Marie was teasing him for not having a real mom—but all he got was a black eye. Anne Marie was in high school, four years older. He’d be bigger than her soon enough. But not yet.
“Two and three-quarters . . .” Anne Marie counted.
“I-I’ll— I’m doing it!” Roddy said, grabbing the hem of his Shrek T-shirt and giving it a tug.
He shut his eyes to make it go faster. All it did was turn the world into slow motion. The air felt frozen as he exposed his stomach. The very worst part was the burn of everyone’s stares, slicing him at every angle, cutting deeper as he continued to lift his shirt, revealing his belly button. Anne Marie whistled with a catcall. Someone else let out a laugh.
At eleven years old, it was the first time in his life that Roddy wished he were dead. It wouldn’t be the last.
“Eww, does he have a hard-on?” Anne Marie asked.
He didn’t. Not that it mattered. Humiliation complete.