In the open field just outside Pratt that was soon to be a gravel pit, boys hurled rocks at each other, a stream of pebbles spitting dust clouds in the air. One boy stood out, with a strong arm and determined look. The maroon splotch on his cheek stayed there even when he rubbed it with the back of his hand. Like war paint. He had perfect aim. Recognizing him from school, Midnight knew he was smart and popular and that his name was Corey, but they’d been in different classrooms that school year.

It didn’t take long to see that a couple of boys were aiming for Corey. Spotting a jagged rock in a pile of gravel, Midnight squatted to pick it up and hurled it at the boys going after him. Evening things out. Making it a fair fight. He imagined Daddy smiling, proud of him for the first time in a long while. Patting him on the back for being a fighter.

A brief look of shock crossed Corey’s face when Midnight began helping him. They fought the enemy side by side. The other boys were bigger and older, their red-hot faces twisted in anger as they lobbed rocks at Corey and Midnight. Midnight laughed every time he and Corey put the right spin on a rock and it hit one of those jerks in the mouth.

“Go back where you came from,” a husky boy with a bruised, bloody jaw shouted. His brown hair spiked like blades of grass.

“Make me,” Midnight shouted, unsure where he was supposed to go, adrenaline jittering in his veins.

“Nobody was talking to you,” the boy said, making it clear his command had been for Corey.

“So?” Midnight said.

“So shut your mouth.”

Another kid piped up, pointing at Corey. “Yeah, go back to Africa.”

One of the seven continents, Midnight recalled from social studies class, but he didn’t know much else about it. Corey was from Indiana, not Africa, so none of it made sense. But the air had a charge to it and nothing needed to make sense.

Other boys crowded around them then, waiting, eager to see if the fight would take a more interesting turn. Soon, the commotion got the attention of the whole neighborhood. Scruffy-faced grown men in wifebeaters showed up swinging baseball bats, vowing to defend their kids. Women waved their arms and screamed. Then, out of nowhere, a gunshot blasted the air. Midnight whipped around to see who’d fired the shot. A tall Black man stood a few feet away, a gun pointing to the sky.

“You leave that kid the hell alone, or I swear—” the man said, a crazed look in his eyes. Everybody scattered like roaches, not waiting for him to finish his sentence or make good on his threat.

Corey stood frozen, looking up at his defender, as scared as anyone. Then a switch must have flipped inside him, because he dropped the rocks he’d been holding and started running.

“This isn’t over,” one of the older white boys yelled.

Once Midnight caught up to Corey and they’d put a few blocks between them and the open field, he said, “That guy with the gun was kind of nuts, huh? You know him?”

Corey shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

“Did you see all the blood on that kid’s face?” Midnight said.

“Yeah.” Corey slung his T-shirt around his neck and looked at the dusty insides of his hands like they weren’t his own. “I didn’t mean to make him bleed like that. He and those other boys just kept saying stuff and then they started throwing rocks at us. I just hope I don’t get in trouble with my mom and dad.”

Midnight shrugged. “But it was fun, right?”

“I guess. Well, I need to head home,” Corey said, vigorously wiping his hands on his jeans.

Wiggling his toes in his sandals, Midnight felt restless, energized by the fight, not ready for the day to end. “It’s not that late.”

“I still have to go.”

“Okay.”

He watched Corey walk down the street and disappear behind a storefront.

Midnight ran home to tell his father about how the fight had gone down and the rocks he’d thrown at the biggest boy out there. He left out the part about the gunshot, in case Daddy used that as a reason to dole out punishment instead of praise.

“You did, huh?” Daddy slouched in his chair, his eyes on the TV.

“Yeah. It was a huge deal. You should’ve seen everybody there. I found this rock that was sharp on the edges and I threw it as hard as I could. Just at the right angle to hit his face.” His words came fast.

Daddy glanced away from the flicker of the TV screen to take in Midnight’s mussed hair, the spots of dirt on his face. “How does the other kid look?”

“Bloody. Really bloody. You should’ve seen it. Blood coming out of his nose and mouth. I think his eyes, too.” As he talked, the story grew.

Daddy’s lips twitched, as close to a smile as he got these days. “That’s my boy. Way to give ’em hell, Patrick.”

Midnight’s heart grew to three times its normal size, and he thought it might burst.

Now, on the front lawn of Corey’s house, just like that summer years ago, they were hopped up on adrenaline, this time with hurt feelings, too, their blood racing. Nobody wanted to be weak or to even be called weak. As if reading each other’s minds, Corey and Midnight lunged at Sebastian like synchronized fighters and pounded him with kicks and punches. Not to be left out, Pancho jumped in, throwing blows at anyone in close range. Midnight pulled hoods, stuck his fingers in mouths and up noses, kicking at legs and backs and faces.