Stranger in Dadland by Amy Goldman Koss Page A

rubbed his stubbly chin. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “I never noticed.” How could he not have noticed? I wondered briefly. But I suppose that just because Beau waspaying close attention to my dad, it didn’t necessarily mean Dad was paying attention back. Then, without even meaning to, I told him about Alex.
    “Edgar White,” Dad replied. “I guess everyone’s got one.”
    “Huh?”
    “A bully. Mine was Edgar White. I’ll never forget that name. I spent years hoping I’d run into him again so I could punch his lights out.”
    I waited for him to go on.
    “I vowed I’d never be picked on again. Started lifting weights and slugging away at the punching bag, pretending it was his face.” Dad smiled. “Edgar White’s what made me start working out, so I guess something good came of it. Until then I was this skinny.” He held up his finger. “Edgar White was big and beefy. Mean as sin. Had three goons who did whatever he said.” Dad shook his head. “They got me on the way home from school once. Four against one.”
    “What did you do?” I asked.
    “Fought for my life.”
    “Alex never actually touched me,” I said. “Just took my books, called me Worm. But it was for a whole school year.”
    Dad shook his head again. “Hard being a kid,” he said. “I forget that.” He took the last, cold piece of pizza and chewed awhile. Then he said, “I thought bullies were a thing of the past, that kids were smarter now, more civilized and sophisticated than in my day. I see how much more articulate and thoughtful you are than I was as a boy, and I hoped life was different for your generation. Better.”
    “I wish,” I said.
    Dad nodded. “Well, maybe it’ll be better for
your
son,” he said. “Or your grandson.”
    My son
? The idea made me laugh. But then I imagined myself as an old guy with a busted knee and my nerdy kid telling me he’s getting picked on by bullies. I guess I’d tell him about Alex. Maybe mention Edgar White too.
    “Dad,” I said, “can I ask you something?”
    “Fire away.”
    “Remember that guy Chris who called? When I forgot to give you his message?”
    Dad nodded.
    “How come he didn’t know you had a son?”
    Dad shrugged and looked like he was going to joke about it, but then he stopped himself and said, “I’m sorry, John. Everyone’ll know I have a son from now on.”

chapter fourteen
    The next day Cora and Iris brought fried chicken, potato salad, garlic rolls, watermelon, and cherry pie. I ate like a pig. I was in no shape for swimming, but Iris insisted. She practically dragged me out the door, whispering that we should leave the two lovebirds alone.
    When we got outside, she said, “Thanks for breaking your father’s leg.”
    “No problem,” I said.
    We knocked on Beau’s door. Then the three of us headed down to the pool. I could tell Beau had an instant crush on Iris by the way he walked slumped over. Plus, he did some fancy dives I’d never seen him do before.
    It’s harder to tell with girls, but I thought Iris might like him too, because when we played Marco Polo, she always followed Beau’s voice. I didn’t mind
too
much. I was leavinganyway. Maybe Cora would start bringing Iris over, and she and Beau could hang out together, go to the diner, eat salt.
    I was glad that Eric didn’t show up to pick on Beau in front of Iris. But after a while, Beau’s mom came out on the balcony and called down, “Beau, Sweetie! Will you take the boys for a minute? I need a shower!”
    Beau didn’t grumble—not even about being called Sweetie in front of a girl. I
hated
it when my mom called me Honey or Cutie in front of
anyone.
    Beau hauled himself out of the pool and ran dripping up the stairs. Then he came back down with Marcel wiggling in his arms and Claude skipping along next to him.
    Iris said Beau’s brothers were adorable and she thought Beau was a terrific big brother. I could tell she liked that in a person. I guess Beau was right about