The Lost Boy

telling you guys about. Check out the clothes and the shoes, too. He looks like his mother dresses him or something. The kid’s a walking dork!”
    Without thinking, I spread my arms and examined my outfit. I felt proud of my blue shirt. My pants had a patch on each knee and my Keds sneakers were a little scuffed, but they were still new as far as I was concerned. After inspecting myself I studied the other boys, who all seemed to have better clothes and fancier shoes. Some of them were wearing thick, black turtleneck sweaters. I stared at myself again, feeling ashamed. But I wasn’t sure why.
    In class I became a nervous wreck whenever I was called on by the teacher. Sometimes I’d stutter in front of everyone. Afterward, the football boys would imitate me as I slid down into my seat, trying to hide from their remarks. During English I’d always write a story about how my brothers and I had become separated and struggled to find each other. I always drew pictures of my brothers and me being separated by either a body of dark water or black jagged cliffs. In every drawing I’d borrow my teacher’s crayons and draw big smiles on every face, and a giant happy-face sun that shone above my four brothers and me.
    Once while walking home from school, a couple of the football boys teased me about using crayons. I wanted so badly to tell them off, but I knew I’d probably screw that up, too. I ran off, my feelings hurt. Soon I met up with another kid from my class named John. Like me, John stuck out. He had scraggly, long black hair and thin, worn-out clothes. John had a very distinctive walk, and I suddenly realized that no one seemed to pick on him. As I ran up to John, I noticed a cigarette in his hand.
    “Hey, ” John said, “you that new kid in school?”
    “Yeah, ” I replied, feeling proud as we began to stroll along.
    “Don’t worry about those guys, ” John said, pointing behind him. “I know what it’s like to be picked on. My dad used to beat up on my mother and me. He don’t live with us anymore.” I quickly zeroed in on his rough attitude. John went on to explain that his parents had just divorced and his mother had to work full-time in order to feed his other brothers and him. I felt bad. At the end of the corner we said good-bye. As I made my way up to Lilian’s home, a cold feeling reminded me of how much I had dreaded returning home from school.
    I met John the next day in the schoolyard during recess. He seemed extremely upset because our teacher had scolded him in front of the class about not turning in his homework. John boasted to his two other friends and me that he was going to get even with the teacher. He seemed to guard his words as I leaned in closer to hear his plan.
    “Hey, man, you’re not going to fink on me, are you?”
    “No way!” I assured him.
    “All right. You see, you have to be a member of my gang to hang around me. I tell you what. You meet us at the parking lot after school. I’ll tell you the plan then.”
    I accepted John’s challenge, knowing I was getting into trouble. In class he would always act tough; even the rich football boys stayed away from him. As I daydreamed in class that day, I thought a thousand times about chickening out. I told myself that when the bell rang at the end of the day, I’d stay behind and be the last person to leave. Then I’d sneak around the parking lot, missing the boys. The next day I’d simply tell John that I had forgotten.
    When the bell rang that afternoon I flung the lid to my desk open as if I were frantically searching for something. I heard the kids’ feet shuffle as they flocked out of the class. When I felt I was safe, I slowly closed the lid to my desk … and saw John standing in front of me. I let out a sigh, accepting the fact that I had to go with him. John flipped up the collar of his black vinyl jacket. At the parking lot, John’s two friends fidgeted as they, too, tried to look cool.
    “This is it, ” John bragged. “I’ve decided the new kid here is good enough to join our gang. He’s going to flatten the tyres of Mr Smith’s new car. And I mean
tyres,
as in two or more, ” he stated as he stared into my eyes. “That way Smith won’t be able to use his spare tyre. Pretty smart, eh?” John laughed.
    I turned away from him. I knew that when I stole candy and toys from the stores, I was wrong. But I had never hurt anyone’s personal property before, and I didn’t want to now. I could feel