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No Chance For a Boy

“I will not take no for an answer!” The voice resounded through the hallways with the force of an avalanche. Four classrooms away Pistol and Tugs shivered at a shared imagined visual of Mr. Geddings bearing down on poor Amos with fervor and red-faced determination.

Tugs shook his head, “It ain’t right.”

“A whole mess o’ life ain’t right. That don’t mean we’s supposed to do somethin’ about it,” Pistol whispered back harshly.

“The boy don’t stand a chance,” Tugs persisted, “Don’t nobody all alone with ol’ Fat Lip Geddings.”

Pistol huffed, “Don’t nobody, not no boy, not no two boys, and not no three boys, so there! You hush now.”

Tugs scrunched his light brown face, tender and sweet, round eyes of dark brown searching for answers. He stood and hitched his overalls up. Frustration yielded to determination which gave way to epiphany.

“Ah no, I know that look,” Pistol moaned, “You a darned fool, you is, boy.”

“Don’t call me boy, and wait here, real quiet like. I gots me an idea.”

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