Kindness for Weakness by Shawn Goodman Page A

math
and
wood shop.) “Quit humming, Bobby,” he says, which only makes Bobby do it louder.
    Goldschmidt tries again. “You’re disturbing my class, young man.”
    Crupier, aka Croop, a fairly new guard who tries to impress Horvath and Pike by being an asshole (says Tony), lets out a big sigh and hitches up his black leather belt. He walks over to Bobby real slow, boots clicking the concrete floor. Rapping his knuckles on Bobby’s desk, he says, “Since you missed Mr. Goldschmidt’s lesson, you can write an essay on shop safety. Go on, pick up your pencil.”
    Tony and Freddie sigh, like they both know where this is going.
    “Make me,” says Bobby without looking up.
    Everyone except Crupier and Mr. Goldschmidt laughs. Crupier’s face turns red. “Hey, big mouth!” he says. “Do what I say and start writing.”
    Bobby lifts his head up and glares at him. His eyes start to swirl with the berserk energy that might hold the secret to his ability to curse everyone out in such spectacular ways.
    “Why?” he says. “Why should I do what you say? You ain’t my father. I don’t even listen to my father, and he’s a good man. He gets up early and bakes shit for all of you fuckers so you’ll treat me better, even if I’m mad hyper and can’t learn for shit.”
    But Crupier isn’t listening. He grabs Bobby’s arm. “I told you to write that paper,” he says, trying to push Bobby’s pencil into his hand, but Bobby closes his small fingers into a tight ball.
    “I said I ain’t writing shit!”
    Crupier’s had enough. He hooks the boy’s arms and yanks him out of his desk. Then Pike jumps in, and they all go down to the floor.
    “Get off me!” Bobby yells. “Get the fuck off me!”
    His small body bucks and thrashes to get out from under the guards. The struggle lasts for what seems like several minutes, and I don’t know what to do. I look to the other kids for help, but they don’t seem to know what to do, either, except shift around in their seats clenching their own fists.
    Goldschmidt, who started it all, pretends like nothing is happening. “Class is still going on,” he says. “You should be doing your assignment.” The
assignment
is a stupid photocopied picture of a table saw. We’re supposed to label the names of the different parts, like the fence, and the blade guard, and the arbor.
    “Hey, mister,” says Wilfred, a tall kid with a wispy mustache and giant hands. “Is this a table saw or a band saw?”
    Bobby’s screaming is so loud. It fills the room. It pierces my ears and gets deep inside my head until it’s all I can hear, all I can think about. And still we sit at our desks, watching, consumed by what’s happening to this small and mildly annoying boy with a big mouth.
    “Shut your mouth!” says Crupier. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your damn mouth.”
    But there’s no stopping Bobby the Weasel’s mouth. He curses and makes threats like he’s breathing air, even with a guard on top of him. “You think you’re so tough, but you ain’t tough. You’re a bunch of pussies beating up on alittle kid to feel like big men. Why don’t you go to the gym and pump each other? I’ll bet that’s what you really want to do.”
    Laughter spreads from desk to desk until we’re all cracking up. Even Oskar, the spaced-out Dr. Seuss kid, laughs. We start cheering Bobby the Weasel, because he’s become a small hero, fighting for all of us with his inspired curses.
    “Shut up!” Crupier says, a vein throbbing on the side of his head, tempting to explode. I wish it would, because I know something bad is going to happen and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it. We sit at our desks and watch.
    “Make me, bitch!” Bobby says. “I’ll do this all day long. It ain’t nothing to me.”
    And for a second I think maybe Bobby is right, and no one can shut him up. Maybe he can take everything Crupier has to dish out. And if he can do that, then maybe I can