The Trouble in Me by Jack Gantos

by his scorn.
    Suddenly he changed the conversation. “You have blood running out the side of your mouth.”
    He let go of my hand and pointed at my face as if I didn’t know where my mouth was located.
    I reached up and touched my lip where Gary had punched me. “I just had my braces removed,” I explained, and wiped the blood on the back of my hand. “My gums are still sensitive.”
    â€œI have you pegged as a total fake,” Mr. Mercier concluded in a voice practiced at being cold. “A serial liar like Gary doesn’t hang around with little farts like you—little mama’s boys.”
    Suddenly Gary was up on his toes. He stood like a boxer shifting his weight from side to side with his hands low and close to his hips, but his face was stretched all the way forward in anger.
    â€œHe’s not a fake, Mr. M,” he declared, spitting his words. “He’s my friend, and he’s helping me become a better person.”
    â€œBetter for what?” Mr. Mercier asked. “Lying?”
    Gary stepped toward him, and right then I stood and put my hand on Gary’s shoulder, hoping to settle him down.
    Mr. Mercier shrugged off Gary’s performance. “Let me give you some advice,” he said toward me, “just in case you are blind or retarded in some tragic way. Gary is a criminal sociopath who makes things disappear—starting with the truth. He’s been in and out of foster care, juvie joints, and psych wards all his life. His brother, Frankie, has an IQ that doesn’t add up to the coffee change in my pocket. The parents’ nicknames are ‘Don’t Work’ and ‘Won’t Work,’ and only the sister, who is a dog groomer, keeps this family going on dented cans of baked beans and Alpo—and one of these days she’ll wake up and ride off on a bullmastiff.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said. “They seem to me to be a whole family that sticks together.”
    â€œYeah, like a box of rats are a whole family,” he said sarcastically, and frowned. “Look, you seem like a nice kid,” he said evenly. “Take my advice and walk out of this house and keep going.” Once again he reached out and gripped my hand. “Any kid that enters this house will never leave as nice as when he arrived. You might think Gary’ll end up being more like you, a mama’s-boy-chess-king, but you will be more like him—a career criminal in his early years.”
    Then he didn’t so much release my hand as throw it back at me—but this time it arrived with his business card folded into my fist. “You’re playing with fire, kid. Do yourself a favor and leave. Now.”
    I looked at Gary.
    Gary pointed toward the front door. “You heard the man. Go,” he said insistently. “Save yourself from me. You ever knock on my door again I’ll knock you unconscious.” He lunged at me with a mock punch.
    I ducked anyway. “What about the Sea Cadets?” I asked. “My dad paid in advance for that uniform.”
    â€œTell him to call the admiral for a refund. Now beat it.”
    I walked quickly out of his house, leaving the chess set behind, and crossed the crackling grass shards toward my front door.
    I was embarrassed and angry. All I could do was think of vengeful little things like holding Gary’s head down in the canal and letting one of those Korean fish chew his face off. That would be satisfying. Or I could call the cops and have them dig up Gary’s side yard looking for bodies.
    I grabbed my front doorknob and held it for a moment. Then I froze.
    Was Gary pulling a fast one on me? I couldn’t tell. He had changed so quickly from almost punching Mr. Mercier to then threatening me.
    I went into our house and from behind our curtain I watched out my living room window and as soon as Mr. Mercier drove off in his Ford Falcon I went running back over to