"Joe! Wake up! I don't want to have to drive you again!"

Ha-ha, Joey fooled you. He's already awake.

He sits up, leans against his bed, lets his head fall back, holds his face in his hands, pushing his palms into his eyes. Tired. What's the point? Why should Joey go to school? Why should he get up?

"Joe! I'm not coming up there! You've got two minutes, mister! Joe?"

Joey stands, looks down at his scrawny legs, already wearing shorts because he slept in them. Takes off his t-shirt, throws it at the window. Picks a different t-shirt up off of the floor. Puts it on.

"Joe! Dammit!" Joey stumbles out of his room.

Downstairs, he sits at the table and looks at a glass of orange juice. His mom flies in past him.

"Joe, you're not going to miss the bus."

"Orange juice."

"Gulp it down or dump it out, you have to leave now."

Joey almost knocks it over. Instead he stands up and walks towards the door and toes on his sneakers. Clammy against his bare feet. He opens the door and shuts it. He's gone.

Joey is at school. Joey hates school. Joey wishes everyday as he rides the bus that when he gets to school it will be gone, or taken over by gypsies, or just gone. Fifth grade was bad, but sixth grade is worse. Much worse. It's got social studies. God, if you're up there and you're listening, please save Joey from social studies.

Mrs. Hatchings is droning about Africa. She is using words like denizen, and indigenous, and habitat. She is too tall to be a teacher. Joey can see up her nose.

Hey, Joey, wouldn't be funny if Mrs. Hatchings was in Africa? "Africans! You must learn how to add fractions! You cannot survive in the real world unless you learn how to add fractions!" Joey unsuccesfully stifles a smile.

"Joe!"

"What?" Joey says dully, looking up at, at. Hatchings.

"Joe, pay attention." She snaps over her shoulder, turning again to that map of Africa.

"Yea, dork." Lewis says behind him, smacking him in the head.

Lewis sucks. Maybe Lewis should just go to Africa with her. The whole class can go with them and have a safari and be eaten by lions and tigers and elephants. Everyone except Suzie Perkins. Soozeee. Suze.

Joey knows how to find out where she lives.

***

The first time was at dusk after an afternoon of being rebuffed at the b-ball courts for air-balls and hacks. Joey hated b-ball but no one wanted to play baseball, not ever. So he never got the ball except on a lucky rebound or if he ran faster to retrieve it on an out-of bounds and if he had it, well it just got stolen anyway and he usually fell on his scrawny white ass.

He was walking home, kicking a round stone about the size of his palm. The dusk was warm and promised that school would arrive soon, but not for another month. Joey stopped and took a deep breath, smelling the cut grass and the sweat on his arms. He looked down at the rock, at his toes, then looked up. He was standing between two houses, one of the blue ones and the big white one with the perfect window. It always had its curtains closed. The driveway was perfect, too, and like his own at home had absolutely no oil stains, no chalk marks. Joey picked up the stone and hefted it in his hand. Not quite the shape or weight of a baseball, but close, and a damn sight better than that stupid b-ball. Joey strolled until he was in front of the big window sitting smug on the house behind the wide green lawn. The sun was behind the houses reflected in the glass, it's rays giving them an aura that made them look divine. Joey wondered if his father would like that. Matter-of-factly, he threw the stone at the window.

It tumbled through the air in slow motion, and Joey felt his breath come and go once, a long, full pull, and a slow, luxurious exhale, and then the rock smacked through the window. Punched through it. Made a neat hole, and, Joey noticed as the sun winked down, a few cracks emanated from the hole, too. Joey grinned a little bit, and walked calmly home. Nobody chased him.

Strike three, Joey! He's outta there!

***

Joey is on the bus home. Joey is tired because he was up late all night. Joey can't seem to sleep. He tries to catch a few on the bus but it's too bouncy and his seat partner is blabbering about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. again.

"And that's when Donatello kicked him right on the nads!"

"Bullstink, There's no nads in cartoons." The guy who sits in front of them looms over the seat back, hands resting on his arms.

"Sure there is! This guy bit his lip and doubled over! Man, if-"

"No nads. That was probably just his stomach."

Joey, you oughta kick someone in his nads, very hard, very right now.

"What did you say, Joe?"

Joey didn't realize that he had said anything out loud. He says, "I think I'm gonna barf up a lung."

The guy in front quickly sits down.

Joey is at home. His shoes are off and sitting next to the door, thank you very much. The T.V. is on. Joey really wishes it wasn't, but his mom likes Jeopardy. He can here his dad talking on the phone in the other room. Joey says, "Who's a big butt-head?"

"Joe? What did you say?"

Joey looks at the T.V. "I said, what is Africa."

On the screen, smug Alex Trebek says, "No, I'm sorry, you're thinking of Tenazuti, which is in Australia. The correct answer is Tenazeeti, which is in Africa. Steve, you're in control."

Joey's mom harumphs.

"Joseph! Please come in here."

Joey tries to overcome inertia, and just barely makes it. He walks into the dining room, where his father is scratching on a pad of extra white paper. "Yeah dad?"

"Joseph, your mother tells me you've been giving her a hard time in the mornings."

Joey visibly rolls his eyes, and inhales slowly

"Joseph, this is serious. We can't have you just lollygagging around in the morning, making yourself late." He goes back to scribbling on his pad.

Joey concentrates very hard on not laughing at "lollygagging."

"I want you to set your alarm fifteen minutes early." Joey's dad flips pages on his pad of paper. "You may go."

Joey waits an amazing five seconds before he lets out a seriously long sigh as he wanders towards the stairs.

***

It became a weekly event, sometimes twice weekly. Joey wished he had a tree, because when one sneaks out of the house, one is supposed to climb down a tree. But he didn't, so he just waited until his folks were asleep and he walked out the front door, barefoot, always barefoot. He usually touched his neighbors tree for good luck, then went to the creek, the one that ran behind the park. That's where he got his best stones. Round ones, smooth ones, just the right weight. Then he wandered around town, looking for the best house. He practiced on telephone poles along the way. The town was dead at two a.m. Eventually he found the right house, the one that said, hey, Joey, I can take it, let's be pals, show me your rock. Then in a smooth, over hand motion he launched the stone, and watched it fly. So graceful. So smooth. And then the smack, or the punch, or the smash. Some windows broke, some shattered. One bounced the rock back at him. But most of them just accepted a neat round hole. That was the best.

***

Joey is lying on his bed. Joey can't sleep. Again. He wants to go out, wants to go out bad. But he can't. He ran out of houses. He'd get caught. The police were patrolling, people bought dogs. They were waiting up for him, they had rocks of their own. He can't. School is in session, and throwing stones is a summer-time activity. He can't. But Joey wants to. He wants it more than anything. He wants it more than sleep. He wants it more than a starving man wants dinner, more than a crazy man wants walls. Joey wants to go out and break some windows. But Joey can not, because Joey knows he can't. But he wants to.

Joey rolls on his bed, side to side. Joey's got a fan going to make distracting sleep noise. It doesn't work. He plays a rhythm on his chest, an old song, faster and faster. Nope. He knows the perfect solution- he starts to think about social studies, about Africa. But then he starts to think about Suzie and he's awake again. Joey, maybe you should just go over to Suze's house and put one through her window, round, perfect, no breaks no shatters. This is awful.

Suddenly Joey sits up, and snaps his fingers comically. Food. That's it.

He sneaks downstairs, into the kitchen. Joey will fight fire with fire. He will commit a crime to not commit a crime. He'll eat himself to sleep. Yeah. Joey pads over to the refrigerator, Forbidden Territory. No eating between meals, and never take food out of the cupboards or refrigerator without permission. Usually, permission, too, is Forbidden Territory. Joey opens the door, and then presses the switch to keep the light off. By the light of a street lamp through the gauzy kitchen curtains, he can see the remains of the roast beef that will be his father's lunch. Would have been. He pulls it out and sets it quietly, so quietly on the floor. He opens a drawer. It makes noise. Joey is not scared. His is arrogant in his crime. Half a green pepper, he gets that, too. He finds the cheese. He finds the butter. He shuts the door, and then quiet as a rat in a house of big momma and papa cats he gets the bread, gets a knife out of a drawer. On the floor he slices roast beef, slices green pepper, slices bread and makes the worlds coldest, most illegal Philly steak and cheese. It is good. It is keeping him completely awake.

***

Joey, never run. If you run you'll look guilty, and then you'll get caught. And if you get caught, you won't be able to do it anymore. You're not doing this to get attention, not doing this to be chased, you're just doing it to do it, okay? So don't run. Adrenaline is for Mountain Dew commercials, Joey. You're not in it for the thrills. You just throw stones because it feels good to throw stones, and that's the end of it. Walk away, but don't be cocky. Walking doesn't paint you innocent. Walk away, hide if you have to, but don't run. You're not a criminal, Joey, you're not playing games with people. Your just breaking a few windows, that's all, no real harm, they can afford it. So don't act guilty, and for god's sake, Joey, don't ever run.

***

The feast is over. Joey is full. Philly steak and cheese. Some graham crackers. A can of fruit-cocktail, and he almost lost his nerve at the racket of the can opener. Some raw spaghetti, crunch crunch. Chug from the milk bottle, and even two cans of diet Pepsi, the remainder of the second can nestled between his knees, in his room. He's looking at the mirror, in the dark, from his bed. Maybe Joey can go and get a board and take it to the park, chuck rocks at it. Maybe he can try a few parked cars, give a shove or two first to make sure they don't have alarms. Maybe he can look up Lewis's name in the phone book, and go and break every single window in his house. Maybe he can find Suzie's house, and break just one, little, tiny window.

Joey finally made it to sleep. He's having a dream. He's standing in front of the school, a big bucket of creek-fresh rocks at his feet. He picks one up and throws it. The school is too far away to see in the dark, but he can here the glass break. He throws another one, and hears it shatter, too. He walks towards the building, and sees Mrs. Hatchings and his mom. They're picking up stones and throwing them back out of the window. His dad and Lewis are outside, picking up the stones and putting them into a bucket. They ignore him. Joey throws another one, and sees it punch neatly through another window. Joey's mom and Mrs. Hatchings are finding more stones than he has ever thrown. Joey throws more and more until his bucket is empty, and then goes and takes one from his dad and Lewis. They don't even know he's there. Joey goes back to the sidewalk, but when he turns around the school is gone. He's standing in the creek, and Suzie's there. She's throwing rocks at trees, but she keeps missing. Joey starts forward to show her how, but he wakes up. It was a good dream.

***

Once in the summer when Joey didn't think he could stand a day of b-ball insults, he wandered over to the creek in the park. He was bored. He took off his shoes, and waded into the ankle-deep stream. Icy cold, despite the summer. He fished into the stream bed and pulled out a stone. Round. he chucked it at a tree on the bank, and nailed it.

"Hello?"

Joey looked downstream, and saw another kid standing there, rock in his hand. Joey wished suddenly that he had a rock in his hand, for defense.

"Who are you?"

The other kid walked toward him, dropping his rock and sloshing water to his knees. "I'm James. I'm visiting my gramma. Who are you?"

Joey looked at him. "I'm Joey."

"Hey, nice to meet ya, Joe." The other kid stuck out his hand.

Joey shook it.

"You come down to this creek alot, Joe?" James picked up a rock, chucked it at a tree. Deerect hit.

"No, not really." Joey cautiously selected a rock, and threw it. Perfect.

"Yea, well there's nothing to do at gramma's. She doesn't even have a T.V."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

The two picked up rocks and hit trees, sometimes missing, usually hitting them. After a while, James said, "Ya wanna play horse?"

Joey shook his head. "Naw. I don't like basketball."

James frowned. "No, I mean right here, with these rocks and trees."

Joey shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

They spent all afternoon throwing stones. They played horse and pig and elephant, and then twenty-one and cricket. Joey liked James. James was fat like Lewis, but he never said dork or doofus or dumbass, pronouncing the b. Instead, he said things like, "Nice shot, Joe," or, "Pretty close, Joe," or "Good throw, Joe." and he laughed whenever he made that rhyme.

After a while, they found their shoes and sat on the bank, watching the breeze in the branches.

"Well, I guess I better get back before gramma has a cow."

Joey nodded his head, rolled a stone around on the grass. "Yea, I guess I better go too."

James stood up and brushed the grass off his shorts. He stuck out his hand, a very adult thing to do. "See ya around Joe."

Joey shook it. "So long. You visit your gramma often?"

As he walked away, over his shoulder, James said, "Not really."

***

"Joseph!"

Joey is already awake, but he walks downstairs slowly and stiffly. "What?"

His father is in the kitchen, pointing at the floor." What are all these crumbs?"

They're crumbs, that's easy, so Joey literally scratches his head. "I don't know."

"You have no explanation for this?" His dad is dressed in his business suit, although he's neglected to put on his socks.

Joey looks at the crumbs, blinks. "A mouse?"

"Joseph, get the broom and sweep this up right now."

Joey gets the broom, and starts sweeping as his dad sits and puts on his socks. "You know the rules, Joseph. After dinner you sweep the kitchen floor, and take out the trash on Wednesdays."

Joey, don't remind him that you did sweep the floor last night, and that he watched you do it. "Yes sir."

His dad finishes tying his shoes, and stands up. "Well, at least you're out of bed on time." He walks out of the room.

Joey finishes sweeping and drinks his morning orange juice.

It's recess. Thankfully, Joey didn't get picked for b-ball. He's wandering around the deserted backstop, looking at the broken beer bottles the teenagers leave when they can't hang-out at the 7-11. He picks up a chunk and looks at the sun through it. The green is warm and friendly. He looks though it at the kids on the b-ball court. They look like little leprechauns. A breeze reminds Joey what the bottle shard smell like, so he drops it.

It's Mrs. Hatchings turn on recess duty, and she stomps over to Joey. "Joseph! Drop that immediately!"

Joey looks at his empty hands. "Okay," he says.

Mrs. Hatching towers over him like some sort of stop sign in a dress. "I don't want to catch you over here ever again."

Joey squints up at her. "Can't we play baseball if we want to?"

Mrs. Hatchings inhales and blows her whistle hard and loud, signaling the end of recess. She's five minutes early. "If you play with this broken glass again I'll make you write sentences." She stomps away, rounding everyone up.

Joey picks up the glass and walks towards the school-building. He's the last one, and before he goes in, he throws the shard at the wall. No one notices. It makes a nice tinkle.

Joey walks into his house. He's been down by the creek all afternoon. He's got a rock in his pocket. He toes off his sneakers, and pads through the living room. His mom and dad are on the couch next to each other, mutely watching a show. Joey stands behind them. He could throw his rocket right between their heads, and tag that T.V. He could do it. Right between their ears. Blammo, the T.V. would spark and whine and he could probably even run up to his room before they grabbed him. Hide under the bed, or in the closet. If he had a tree, he could jump out the window. Suddenly, Joey's mom yells, "Joe!"

Joey jumps, but doesn't make a sound.

"Joe!" She yells again.

Joey waits for another second, backs up a little, and says, "Yeah?"

His mom slowly swivels her head around, and looks at him. "Go take out the garbage, please."

The show isn't even on a commercial. Joey pretends he's not frowning and walks into the kitchen to get the garbage. Today must be Wednesday.

Joey is standing all alone at the pitcher's mound. It is dusk. This baseball diamond hasn't been used in years. The backstop is leaning at an odd angle, and there's grass on the base lines. Joey's got a rock in his hand. It's a little oblong, but mostly round. He eyes the man at first, who has a bit of a lead, but not too much. Joey winds up and fires one, straight through the batter's box. Steeerike! Joey trots down to the backstop, and throws the ball back to the pitcher. He returns to the mound. The man on first leans a little, a little. Joey throws to the first baseman. He runs over to first base and gets the rock. The runner slides in. No out. Joey runs back to the mound.

It's the bottom of the ninth. His team needs just two more outs, and they can all go home. It's been a hard game. Joey nods off a signal, accepts the next one. He goes into his wind up, and throws a fastball.

Craack. A hit! Joey races to the backstop, gets the rock, and throws it towards left field. It's a grounder, moving fast. Joey runs toward second base, and dives to snag the ball before it bounces past him. He tosses it to the second baseman, milliseconds before the runner slides in. Joey makes the tag, then throws it over to first base. The runner is flying like a freight train, and Joey receives the ball at first just as the runner runs through him. There's a lot of dust in the air, folks, we can't see if the runner was safe or not. Joey stands up, still on the bag, the ball clutched firm in his hand. All eyes turn to the ump. "Owwwut!"

That's the ball game. Joey's covered with dirt, chest heaving. He drops the rock and walks home.

It is nighttime. All the windows are curtained except the one in Joey's room. He's looking out of it at the stars, cupping his hands around his eyes to discourage the glare from inside. Joey would like to be a star. High, bright, white and clear. No, Joey, you idiot, that's the name of one of your dad's CD's. The Canadian Brass. You want to be a trumpet? He looks over at his alarm clock. Digital, red. Set for the correct time- where? Not here. Maybe Africa. He already set the alarm to go off in the middle of the day, when no one is home. Joey is feeling goofy. He's been too long without sleep. He lets himself roll away from the window and lies on the carpet, peering lazily under his bed. Socks. A broken Hungry Hungry Hippos game. A shirt. Dust. Some scrawny looking crackers. An empty can of pop. A dead bug. Joey gets up off the floor and looks at himself in the mirror over his dresser. Bare white chest, pale, thin. Tousled brown hair, too much for his head. Or not enough head for his hair. He raises his left arm, makes a muscle. Sticks out his bottom lip. I'm grim, he thinks. I'm grim Joey. I'll pound you, but I won't like it. I'm grim Joey Brown. Watchout.

There's a quick knock on his door, and his mother sticks her head in. She looks briefly at him, then at the walls and the floor. "Joe, clean your room." her head disappears and the door shuts.

Joey returns to the mirror, and flexes his other arm. "I'm grim Joey Brown. Better watch out. I know where you live."

***

Joey wants to be good to his mom and dad. He wants to be good in school. He wants to talk about Mighty Morphin Power Rangers on the bus, and find Africa fascinating. He wants to come home and play catch with his dad, and swish the b-ball when he plays b-ball on b-ball weekends. Joey wants Suzie to like him, wants to beat Lewis at arm-wrestling. He wants normal things and he wants them almost as bad as he's ever wanted anything in his whole life. But.

Joey is standing in front of the big white house. The window has been repaired, and in the light of the street lamp it has never looked so perfect. Joey is holding a perfect round stone in his hand, and it feels good. And what Joey wants the most out of it all, more than he wants his mom or dad or Suzie or Lewis or anyone else to like him, more than he even wants to fall asleep, is to chuck this stone with all his might and punch it through that big, beautiful window.

***

And so he did.