![]() ![]() “Okay, Arnie,” said Billy, “You can let him up now.” Now he was Billy’s official hench-thug, which meant it was his job to hold me down while Billy smeared bugs in my hair. But Arnie was so awed by Billy’s fighting skills that he had become devoted to him. Most of the guys just stayed away from Billy after that. ![]() (My mother, who sort of drips sympathy, said that Billy’s size could explain why he had made it a point to beat up every boy in the sixth grade within a month of moving to our school.) That wasn’t quite as big as it might sound, since everyone in our sixth grade class was taller than Billy, usually by at least six inches. He was big-about a foot and a half taller than Billy. Why was Arnie helping him? Well, until Billy moved to town, Arnie had been our official class bully and kid most likely to spend time in prison. ![]() Billy was collecting a list of how many kinds of bugs he could mash in my hair. You know how it is: some people collect stamps, or comic books, or beer bottle caps. Why was Billy Becker squashing a bug against the back of my head? That was me, Rod Allbright, trying to say, “Let me go!”-which wasn’t easy with Arnie sitting on my back and pressing my face into the grass. That was Arnie Markle, providing sound effects for the final moments of the bug Billy was smushing against the back of my head. “Watch out, Pudge-Boy! Here comes number 23!” ![]()
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