of time for recess, and they knew that. If they wanted to play anything while they were out here, they had to start soon.
I glanced in Doc's direction before speaking. Still not used to the invisibility thing. "Do you think it was selfish of me to want to play something other than kickball?" I asked as the game got underway.
"I'll answer that," Doc began, "if you answer my question first."
"What's your question?"
"Do you think it was selfish?"
Sometimes Doc's shrink routine gets on my nerves. He knew the answer to this one; he just wanted me to say it. "Perhaps a little," I answered. "I mean, who was I to tell them what they had to play?"
"Didn't you earn that right by getting the ball?"
"Yes, but none of them wanted to play my game."
"So, you believe you should've given it to them."
I watched as Nick beaned Aaron in the head with the ball. "I . . . don't know. What do you think?"
I could hear the smile in his voice. "I think you were six years old."
"What does that mean?"
"Our senses of right and wrong are not fully developed at such a young age. Although it would've been more generous for you to join them in a game of kickball or just give them the ball, you were only a child."
"So are you suggesting that children shouldn't be held accountable for their actions?"
"Held accountable, yes. But at the same time, mistakes should be expected and forgiven. They don't know any better."
My eyes caught sight of him at that point; Timmy Jentson was running up behind Herbie. As Jeremy Scheckel threw the ball, Herbie jumped away. The ball bounced once before Timmy grabbed hold of it.
"Okay!" he yelled, raising his hand above his head. "Does anyone actually want to play this stupid game?"
A few voices shouted that they didn't, while others yelled that it was stupid. No voices of support. Not even from Nick and Aaron. Herbie ran over to Timmy and reached for the ball. "Give it back!" he demanded.
Timmy ignored him. "We'll still have enough time to play an inning if we hurry!" Some of the children cheered, and they all started running to the baseball diamond on the other side of the field.
Herbie wasn't giving up that easily. I don't quite recall what I was thinking, but knowing myself as I do, I'm willing to bet that what Herbie did next was more about preventing Timmy from winning rather than saving the tagball game. He ran up alongside Timmy and brought his hand down hard, knocking the ball from his grip. Before Timmy could react, Herbie snatched it up and started running away.
"Give that back, you little twerp!" Timmy shouted, racing after him. Herbie ran with everything he had, zooming aimlessly across the playground. But Timmy's legs were strong, and he caught up with relative ease. He swung his meaty forearm like a club, bludgeoning Herbie across the back of the head. The blow sent him sprawling across the grass as the ball bounced away. Timmy lumbered overhead, showing no interest in retrieving it.
Doc's voice came from my right. "I have to ask you a question. Would you like to stop this?" A crowd of students began to gather to watch the boys.
I certainly hadn't expected that. "What?"
Doc spoke quickly. Timmy was already pulling Herbie up by the shirt. "Would you like to stop this?"
"You'd let me do that?"
"You are free do to as you wish," Doc said. "I was just curious what you wanted to do."
Herbie was screaming, "Let me go!"
Timmy had a generous amount of shirt in his clenched fist. "I told you to give it back! I warned you!"
Herbie struggled to get free, but Timmy was too strong. I knew that if I wanted to intervene, the time was now. But what would happen if I altered my history? What effects might it have? All I needed to do was deactivate the invisibility belt to scare them off, but what consequences could be brought about by such a change in history?
In that split second of hesitation, my decision was made for me. Timmy's fist rained down upon Herbie like a flesh sledgehammer. One punch. Two punches. Three. Four. Herbie held his hands up in a vain effort to protect himself. Five. Six. Blood ran from his nose and onto his shirt. Seven. Eight. Nine. His eyelids were starting to droop. With the tenth punch, Timmy threw him to the ground. Nick and Aaron made no move to save him. The other kids made "ooo's" and "aah's" and some even laughed.
But Timmy wasn't finished. He climbed on top of Herbie and pressed a knee into the side of his head, grinding his bloodied face into the grass and dirt. I wanted nothing more than to run to his side—my side—but what effect would a timeline disruption have? What could happen?
Finally, four adults came running from the cafeteria. Doc's sympathetic voice accompanied his hand on my shoulder. "Herbert, I'm so sorry." The bell rang, sending children scurrying. Timmy didn't ease up until Mr. Wendel, one of the gym teachers, pulled him up. Mrs. Degato's face turned white when she kneeled down beside Herbie.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "Someone get the nurse right away! Hurry!!"
Herbie wasn't moving other than the rising and falling of his chest with each breath. Doc took my arm and started to pull me away as more teachers came running. I couldn't take my eyes off of the little boy on the ground. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I really wanted to go wring Timmy's neck. I had no idea how badly he'd beaten me until now.
"How, exactly, was this supposed to help me?" I asked.
"Even though you may not realize it," Doc began, "you learned something here today."
"Really?" I snorted. "Like what?"
"Being told the answer to a question doesn't teach nearly as much as the journey to find it on one's own. What you learned today will become clear to you in time, Herbert."
"Can't say I'm too happy with that answer."
Doc had to stifle his laughter to avoid attracting attention. "No one ever is, Herbert. No one ever is."
"So are we done here?" I asked. I had seen more than enough.
"We leave whenever you're ready. Are you?"
I took a long look at the little boy on the ground. He was sitting upright now, and the nurse was holding a rag to his nose. "I'm ready."
We headed back across the field toward the spot where we left the Chronopod. Along the way, Doc asked, "Going forward, how did the events that transpired here affect you?"
I had to think about that one for a moment. Whenever this incident comes to mind, I always find myself feeling foolish for thinking that Timmy could have been reasonable. Foolish for thinking that Nick and Aaron would help defend me. Foolish for thinking I had a right to tell the kids what game to play. "I think my trust in people was a bit damaged," I finally said. "Rather than trying to stand up for myself in difficult situations, I started backing down. I'd give the more aggressive people what they wanted. I let people steal my lunch—when I was lucky enough to have one, that is—and push me around in the halls and stuff. And although I continued to be friends with Nick and Aaron for a short time, I kept my emotions distant. I stopped relying on their companionship so that I wouldn't feel so bad when they didn't want to play at lunch."
"What about new friends?" Doc asked. "Did it hold you back from trying to make new friends in the future?"
"It's possible. Nick and Aaron at least stuck with me until middle school, but when sixth grade arrived, they turned their backs on me. I didn't go out of my way to make friends after that, though I did have some acquaintances. By the time high school came around, I'd given up completely. So I suppose the altercation with Timmy might have been the starting point of my descent into isolation."
Doc was in full shrink mode at this point. "How about when you saw other kids being bullied? What did you think? How did you react?"
"It bothered me, of course. I mean, looking back, I probably should've done something to try to stop it because of how I wished people would've stopped Timmy when I needed help. But I was too busy trying to do anything I could t
o not be noticed by the troublemakers of the school."
"How about nowadays? When you see adults saying or doing hurtful things to each other, how does that make you feel?"
"Oh, now I'll be the first one to say something about it. When I was a kid, I was afraid of the abuse. I didn't know what the other kids were capable of, but I knew I wasn't strong enough to take them on. But now I'll put myself in the middle of it because I'm not afraid anymore. I've been beaten, cut, broken, burned, and everything else; I'm not worried about what some guy at work is going to say if I tell him to stop picking on the new guy or something like that."
"That's good to hear," Doc said. "So what happened to Timmy after the fight?"
"He got suspended for a while. When he came back, they put him in a different lunch period with the fifth graders in hopes that he wouldn't be bold enough to pick fights with them."
"And?"
"It didn't end well. From what I heard, he thought he was such a tough guy that he got in a tussle with a few of them. They followed him off school property one afternoon and beat the stuffing out of him. They messed him up pretty bad. Broke his nose, too."
"That's a shame. You'd think he'd know better than to pick fights with so many people. Eventually, it was bound to backfire on him."
"He was an idiot," I muttered. "He got what he deserved."
"Do you really feel that way? Or is that anger speaking?"
I let out a long breath. He always knew. "Anger. I know I shouldn't think that way. I just get so frustrated with people who just