
I choose. I choose! Yeah, I totally choose!
Here's the link for any other YA geeks out there who want to participate in this free-spirited "challenge."
"I can't [stop him]. He knows I can't. I'm a computer geek, a comic book geek, a study geek. Even in the Fast-Track classes, I'm apart... 'Just ignore them,' my mother used to tell me, when I was a kid, when I was younger, when the other kids would tease and make fun. 'Why do you care what they think? Just ignore them and they'll go away.' They didn't go away, though. She was wrong about that... What great advice: 'Ignore them.' So I did, even thought they didn't go away, and pretty soon there was nothing to say, nothing to do, because how are you supposed to suddenly stand up to them after years of silence and nothing?" (pp. 15-16).That's the thing that got the most to me--how empty our advice, as adults, must seem to kids who are in tough situations. Ignore it and it'll go away? Why do we think that's good advice? Do we really think that some other juvenile kid won't love to pick on a weak and silent target? Is it because our kids who, honestly, are weaker would lose in a fight? It's because we know deep down that violence won't solve anything--even if your kid fights back and (miraculously) wins, well, you haven't won. That kid who was damaged enough to want to bully your kid in the first place is now damaged and looking to settle the score. Unfortunately, you've got a school full of hormone-riddled teenagers, none of whom has a fully-developed pre-frontal cortex, and they're going at each other like cannibals. The whole thing sucks, seriously, and Lyga takes a beautiful look at the whole thing.
"[His mom] pokes my right shoulder [where the kid has been repeatedly hitting him] and I want to scream, want to bellow in agony. 'What's that? What is it, Donnie?' I hiss in a breath through clenched teeth, my arm suddenly numb with fire where Mitchell Frampton pummeled it yesterday. 'What is this? What happened to you?' I look at what she's looking at, a massive bruise that discolors my arm from the point of the shoulder muscle up to the clavicle. At the center it's a deep purple that's almost black, lightening to a sickly jaundiced yellow at the edges. I don't know what to say. Or, actually, I know exactly what to say, and that's the problem. What happened to me, Mom? I followed your advice, that's what happened. I followed it for years and it's just that for once someone decided to go beyond name-calling and sniggering and flipping me off and sticking porn in my hands and the occasional shove or push, so someone finally left a mark that even you can't avoid seeing. But there's no point in saying that. I'm fifteen now. What would she do? Call the school? Call Frampton's parents? My word against his, and even if they believed me, so what? He gets suspended a few days and comes back worse than ever," (pp. 23-24).