Johnny brought his truck to a stop.

And James and Mathew jumped off the swing.

Zach Wolfson had entered the Hobarts' yard. Claudia didn't know it, but he had come straight from the Felders' house, where he had paid Mel a dollar to ask Susan the three dates. (I realized later that Zach had not been among the kids hanging around Mel when I had charged out of Susan's house after Gina.) "Pay attention to your baby-sitter . . . you babies," teased Zach.

"We are not babies," replied James hotly.

"Yes you are." "No we're not." "Yes you are." "Well, I'm not," said James. "I'm even in advanced maths in my new school." "Advanced maths? Maths? You can't even say the word right." "What word?" "Math. It's math, not maths. . . . James, can you say math?" James didn't miss a beat. "Zach, can you say How would you like your head bashed in?" "Sure," replied Zach. "How would you like your head bashed in?" James had fallen into his own trap.

He turned and marched out of the backyard. When he came back, he was carrying an old wooden crate and a boxing glove. He set the box on the ground near Zach.

"Watch this," said James. He put the glove on and smashed his fist clear through the top of the crate, almost to the ground.

Claudia knew better than to ask James if he was okay. She knew that he and Zach had to have this out (whatever it was) between themselves and on their own terms.

Zach's eyes widened. "Whoa," he said. "What was that? Crocodile Dundee stuff?" "No," replied James.

"Karate?" asked Zach.

"No. I'm just strong. Very strong. Think how you'd look if that crate had been your face." Zach winced. Then he backed away. He looked a little frightened.

But James said, "I could teach you to do that." "You could?" "Sure. All you need are big muscles. Do you have big muscles?" "Well . . . well, maybe I would if I worked out. . . ." James nodded knowingly. Zach was a bully, but probably not a bad kid.