The Bully of Order by Brian Hart Page B

felt so peaceful, so content.
    â€œWhat’re you doin there, boy?”
    I jumped down at the sound of the voice and ran for the door, ran right into my mother’s legs. She had me by the shoulder and led me back to where her bag was and sat me down on a bolt of shingles. And there we stayed. Bored as I’d ever been.
    Each time I looked up there were more people. Most of them were families with fathers carrying the burdens of a picnic, but there were bachelors too. Roamers, mill workers, loggers, they filled in the cracks in the crowd and bunched up in knots around bottles and the few lonesome women with no families. I’d never been on a real steamship before, an oceangoer. I’d heard their birdy whistles and watched them move up and down the river but I’d never even touched one up close. The other children at school hadn’t been born in the Harbor so they’d arrived by steamship and knew all about them and how fast they went and how far, to China and everywhere.
    My mother was chatting with some of the women she knew from the bakery but I stayed silent and waited and when I saw my chance I snuck back to the water’s edge and threw sawdust and splinters into the murky slick, little boats that didn’t sink as long as I watched them. When the whistle blew I jumped, but I wasn’t the only one, and people laughed. It was just the stupid ferryboat that I’d been on a hundred times. They’d said it would be some other special ship for the Fourth.
    Me and my mother were ushered up the gangplank and helped down to the shining deck by the deckhands. They were wearing special white-and-blue uniforms with shiny silver buttons.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Ellstrom. Welcome aboard, son.”
    Yer a dopey dimwit and a slint-faced turd . I silently practiced my insults like I’d sharpen a knife.
    Mother chose a place at the stern rail and I watched to see who else would board because not everyone would fit. I’d been getting teased at school and it had made me cagey. Donald Church was the worst and he was in line with his family waiting to board but they were too far back and had to wait. A month ago I’d been different or at least unseen. The story of the ugly duckling told me that it was better before knowing, so maybe it would be better later too. But for now I was scared all the time that someone would yell at me, some older boy like Donald would pick on me.
    The lines cast off. People were talking and laughing all around. The whistle blew and I could feel the engine in my feet. Once we were away from the shore I slipped down the rail to look around. The boat was full of women and children. All the loners and Donald and the other complete families were watching us leave. I waved and people waved back, even Donald. Deep water off the rail, below, perilously dark.
    â€œWhy’re we goin?” I asked Mother, just to irk her, to get her talking to me.
    â€œYou like the Fourth.”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œDon’t get in a mood already, and try to stay close. I don’t want to have to spend the whole day looking for you.”
    â€œWill it be cold?”
    â€œNot much colder. There will be wind.”
    â€œCan we see whales? Zeb said his dad took him fishing and they saw whales.”
    â€œMaybe from the beach. We won’t be on the water.” She adjusted her hat and smiled, three small moles on her left cheekbone, a constellation. “I’m glad you and Zeb are friends.”
    â€œCourse we’re friends. We’re best friends. I’m smarter than him.”
    â€œWhy would you say that?”
    â€œBecause I can make him do what I want.”
    â€œThat’s not the way you should think of your friends.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s important to care for people. To be kind.”
    â€œI’m not mean to him. People are mean to me.”
    â€œThey’re just teasing. Don’t let them bother you.”
    â€œI