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the Constitution.”
    â€œWhat constitution is that?” I asked. I couldn’t believe we’d have trouble passing this.
    â€œThe Constitution of the United States. Freedom of the press. Freedom of speech.”
    I’ve never liked O’Brian much anyway, if for no other reason than he’s an opinionated, arrogant turd-burger who’s always tormenting Nortie about swimming being a sissy sport, and I welcomed the opportunity to take him on. “Who read that to you?” I asked. “You pick that up your second time through Civics?”
    â€œPeople are entitled to an opinion,” he said. “The law says so. Just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean you can wipe it out. That’s what the commies do.”
    I was getting hot because I didn’t like that peckerwood calling me a commie and because he was winning the argument already and because he makes me sick. I said, “Maybe the law should say people need to keep some opinions to themselves.”
    â€œMaybe it should, but it doesn’t.” For once in his life O’Brian was making sense and I hated it. I was on thin Constitutional ice and I knew it. I mean, the ACLU is forever sticking up for the Klan and the John Birchers and every other jerk-off organization the bigots of our great land can hide behind. So I decided to see if I could pin old Marty down a little—maybe make him say something racist that the black kids could take back to their friends and get him roughed up a little.
    â€œSo what’s your beef, Marty?” I said. “If we take the part out about disciplinary action against any distributors, you willing to make a unanimous statement against that rag?”
    Marty hesitated too long before saying, “Yeah, sure.” Roy and LaFesha picked up on it too, but they just smiled and looked at the table again. When we finally took the vote on the statement only, O’Brian changed his mind and abstained. He said it was to keep me humble, but I had to ask. “Marty,” I said, “were you the guy that brought those papers in?”
    He wouldn’t say no. He told me it was none of my damn business what he did or what he thought, then he looked to Roy and LaFesha and said, “Nothin’ personal, you guys. I just like to get under Dupree’s skin once in a while.” Both Edwards and Severs told him it was nothing to joke about, but O’Brian just shrugged and said, “Hey, Coach, it’s my vote.”
    Boy, one of these days I’d like to get a shot at O’Brian. I know he can catch a baseball coming down the pipe eighty miles an hour; I wonder if he can catch my foot before it gets to his ear at about that speed. Unfortunately, Max won’t turn me loose with all these killer moves he’s taught me on the karate mat. He told me once, and that was enough, if he ever caught me using them anywhere it wasn’t absolutely necessary, he’d never have anything to do with me again. I believe he means it, and that makes O’Brian absolutely safe from my wrath unless he tries to do me in. There havebeen many occasions when I think it’s a crying shame.
    I talked to Max the day after the Council meeting, right before his English class—Max is one of those utility teachers who teach in several departments—and unloaded some of my outrage on him. I was secretly hoping he’d be as incensed as I was and free me to kick O’Brian’s head off his body, but he just looked up from his desk and said, “Walker, how do you think issues like this get to be important?”
    I said I didn’t know what he meant.
    He said, “The world is full of fools and crackpots—people who were never given any tools to fill their lives up, and who consequently have made their lives so meaningless the only way they can feel good about themselves is to look around and see who they’re better than. When they can’t