Chapter Twelve

Before I can live with other folks, I have to live with myself. ―Harper Lee

Oakland, California 2006

“Well, if it ain’t dirty and smelly.”

Damon had seen Stoney and his group gathered by the railroad tracks, a block from school, and he knew Jesse had too. Their leader sat on a guardrail, grinding a fist into his palm.

The image of Jesse’s face, twisted with rage, had stayed with Damon throughout the day. Now, as they approached the group of bullies, he felt the look forming on his own face.

“I could smell you two a blocks away,” Stoney chirped, hopping down from his perch.

Jesse closed the gap. “Want another ass-kicking?”

Jaw set, Damon clenched his teeth in hatred for their tormentor. His twin’s look had taken hold. Suddenly, he felt himself propelled in front of Jesse, face to face with the bully. His first blow was instinctive, a forearm to that pudgy smirking mug.

Damon hesitated for an instant, as if he had watched someone else deliver the strike. Then he breathed deeply, feeling himself surrender to his inner soul, and it all came thundering out—the pain, hunger, and sorrow—all of it released in an unrelenting fury upon his target.

When it was Jesse’s turn to pull him off, Damon staggered away, exhausted and confused.

Soon, the twins were walking home, side by side. It was Friday, but they didn’t feel much like a butterscotch candy.