One-half of Deux Lectrices, writing about the things I read.
Fortunately, my mom was somewhere upstairs. She didn’t see my bloody nose, scratched, bruised arms, and torn shirt.
All I needed was for her to start fussing over me and threatening to call the other boys’ parents. If that happened, Barry, Marv, and Karl really would kill me the next time they saw me.
What a positive message! If children are beating you up constantly, to the point where you're bruised and bleeding, DON'T ASK PEOPLE FOR HELP. Christ no, that's for wimps. Just ride it out. Maybe they'll get bored of beating on you!