"You say that word to your sister?" Dad shook Jimmy so hard that his shoulder popped.

Jimmy was mad. "I didn't do nothing."

Dad opened the door and dragged Jimmy across the yard into the garage. He propelled Jimmy facefirst against the pickup fender and told him to drop his pants.

Jimmy let his jeans and briefs fall around his ankles. Then he gripped the rim of the wheel well, palms up. He would not cry.

He heard Dad take the piece of fiberglass fishing rod from its nails. It whished through the air twice. Jimmy shut his eyes and clamped his teeth. He would not cry.

The rod hissed a third time and bit into his buttocks. He sucked air through his teeth.

"You gonna teach your sister nasty words?" Dad asked.

"No," Jimmy said. Eat shit.

The rod hit the backs of his thighs. Jimmy yelped before he could stop himself. Dried mud inside the wheel well crumbled between his fingers.

"No what?" Dad asked.

"No sir," Jimmy answered. He heard his saliva drip onto the fender. Queer bait.

The rod hit his thighs again, with an even hotter sting. His nose began to run. Tears squeezed past his eyelids.

"You gonna backtalk me any more?" Dad asked.

"No sir." Fuck Nixon.

"Carl." It was Mom. Jimmy knew better than to look around. "Jasmine says that James didn't say that word to her. She says it was another boy, being mean."

"I ain't whipping him for talking dirty," Dad said. "I'm whipping him for talking back."

Mom's shoes crunched on the concrete as she left.

The rod whished through the air twice.

Jimmy cried.

When Dad was through, he put the rod back on its nails and said, "Turn around."

Jimmy did as he was told. His legs and bottom burned as if matches touched them in a hundred places.

Dad put his thumbs in his pockets. "Was some punk bothering your sister?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you whip his ass?"

"No, sir."

Dad looked at him for a long time. "Guess I raised a sissy," he said then. "Didn't I?"

Jimmy had to answer. "Yes, sir."

Dad went to the door. "Pull up your pants," he said, and went out.

Jimmy lay in bed reading a Green Lantern comic book. He had already read it ten or fifteen times, but he wanted to keep its events sharp. The new issue was on the rack at the IGA, and he would buy it on Saturday after Mom gave him his allowance.

He was sweating in his windowless room, and the sweat made his welts sting. In a few weeks, when it was hot enough. Mom would let him sleep on the couch in the living room.

After he finished the comic, the welts hurt worse. He wondered how Dad would like it if he were the one who was whipped every time he said something wrong. Jimmy looked at his own fishing rod in the corner. Maybe in a few years, he would see if he could give as good as he got.

He sat up and pulled the rod onto the bed. It was a six-foot length of thick black fiberglass. Its Zebco 404 reel was loaded with a hundred yards of twenty-pound test monofilament. At Christmas, Dad had said he'd chosen the sturdy pole and strong line so that Jimmy could catch some really big ones. So far, though, they had only gone fishing once. Dad had gotten disgusted with Jimmy for having trouble threading a worm onto a hook. "If you ain't going to fish right," Dad had said, "you might as well not fish at all." Then he had thrown their stuff into the pickup and driven them home. Several times over the next week, Jimmy had dug up worms near the septic tank and practiced. But it had been for nothing.

The door opened. "That's it, James," Mom said. She pulled the string to turn off the light. "Time to go to sleep."

Jimmy put his fishing rod back in the corner. " 'Night, Mom."

She stood framed in the doorway. "You aren't bleeding, are you, honey?"

"No." The cut on his thigh was small. His jeans had been stuck to it, but it had only bled a little when he'd pulled them down.

"All right," Mom said. "Just be sure to be respectful from now on, and you won't be spanked any more."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's a boy. Good night, dear."

" 'Night."

She closed the door, and Jimmy lay still, listening. As usual, Jasmine threw a fit at having to go to bed. Also as usual, Mom soothed her until she settled down. Then Mom and Dad had a fight. Jimmy scrambled the words in his head.

When the fight was over, Dad watched the end of the Thursday Night Movie and Mom took a bath. Jimmy tried to hear the movie through the noise of running water. There were sirens and gunfire. Usually these sounds put him right to sleep, but tonight his welts kept him awake.

He was still awake after Mom and Dad had gone to bed and Dad was snoring. Jimmy waited until he was sure that Mom must be asleep too, and then he got up. He dressed without turning on the light. When his shoes were tied, he opened his door just enough and slipped into the kitchen. He closed it so that there was no click.

At the back door, he paused. Dad was still snoring, so Jimmy took the key from the nail over Mom's wringer washer. He couldn't unlock the deadbolt without making noise, but he didn't think Mom and Dad would hear. If Jasmine did, she might wake up crying for fear of monsters. But that wasn't unusual. If she kept it up long enough, Mom might come to tell her it was only a bad dream. Jasmine had lots of bad dreams, and Mom no longer looked in on Jimmy just because his sister was bawling.

Jimmy unlocked the bolt, opened the door, and stepped outside. He closed the door and relocked the bolt, then crept around the house into the front yard. When he reached the road, he jumped into the ditch and ran toward town.

He could see the water tower ahead. It was like a silhouette of the Tin Woodman, black against the purple sky.

Dogs in town barked at Jimmy, and a few lights came on. The dogs didn't scare him. He and dogs got along. Some of their owners, though, might call Officer Johnston, the Wantoda cop. Johnston loved grabbing kids out after curfew. But only one car passed Jimmy before he reached the Boyles', and he was able to hide behind a parked van. The car wasn't Johnston.

The Boyles didn't have a dog. A white cat ran from Jimmy as he came up the driveway, but he wasn't startled. The house was dark, as were all the houses on this street. He went to the backyard gate, stopped to listen, and climbed over. The chain-link rattled as if in a breeze.

Jimmy crawled through the grass like a lizard. He kept close to the flower bed that Mrs. Boyle had lined with chunks of granite. He would be chigger-bit, but that was better than being seen. Some of the windows above him were open, so he was careful to be quiet. He slithered behind the house, hoping Todd's window wasn't open too. He wanted to break glass. He had been invited over here once, before Todd had turned into Boss Stud, and he remembered that Todd's room had blue carpeting on the floor and a portable TV on the dresser. If the TV was still there, maybe he could hit it with the granite boulder he would heave inside.

A wail made him freeze. It came from the window directly above. Jimmy remained still until he heard voices from deeper within the house, and then he crawled over the rocks into the flower bed. He pressed against the house's foundation. A yellow rectangle shone onto the grass where he had been.

"Are you dirty, sweetheart?" Mrs. Boyle's groggy voice asked. The wail continued. "No? Hungry?" A moment later the wail stopped.

The foundation was cool and gritty against Jimmy's cheek. Petals tickled his nose.

Mrs. Boyle began singing. "Hush, little baby, don't you cry. Mama's gonna sing you a lullaby…" She was accompanied by creaking wood.

Jimmy got to his knees. Then he stood. He could just see over the windowsill. Flower-print curtains hung on the other side of the screen. There was a gap between the curtains, and he could see Mrs. Boyle in a rocking chair beside a white bassinet. The top of her robe was open and pulled to one side. Baby Tina Boyle was sucking on the exposed breast. When Baby Tina stopped for a second, the nipple stood out bright red.