" Why did you stop being a dog?"
He shrugged again." I don't know. I've forgotten."
" Why did you draw this picture?"
He looked at Dr. Holland. The giants never ceased to confound him." You told me to."
" I see," Dr. Holland said.
Perhaps Dr. Holland said that when he didn't see at all.
" Why did you hit all those boys?"
" They were teasing Bobby Hyzen. He can't help the way he is. He would change if he could. But he can't."
" Why did you draw this picture instead of one of Bobby Hyzen?"
" Because I wish I could find him again, the boy just like me."
The end-of-school tone sounded, alerting everyone that buses were arriving.
" Can you sign it for me?" Dr. Holland pointed to the lower left-hand corner.
He put his new name down.
" Clark?"
" I don't want to be John Doe anymore." His last set of foster parents explained the meaning of his name.
" Why Clark?"
He didn't want to tell Dr. Holland that it was because it was Superman's secret identity. Not because he was afraid Dr. Holland would laugh, but because he'd write it down and someone else might find out. He was discovering many of the mistakes he thought he left behind at the last foster home and the last school somehow showed up to haunt him. It would be best not to say . . .
A jump forward in time, an angry sixth grader in another office, fingering a broken nose that was rapidly healing.
". . . what's this about you wanting to be called Parker? What kind of name is that?" vice principal Henry asked.
He'd decided that Clark was a stupid name. Aliens that looked exactly like humans? Only one man on the whole planet smart enough to know it was going to explode but too stupid to send a guardian out with his baby? And that whole kryptonite thing was stupid— how could that much stuff get to Earth?— and a little unnerving. Did he have his own personal kryptonite? Besides, the new Superman movies made his choice way too obvious.
He chose Parker over Peter because he'd seen how Peter Johnson suffered once kids realized all the nicknames for penis. Just like Spider-Man, he had inhuman abilities— but what had been his radioactive spider?
" I don't want to be John Doe," he told the vice principal." I don't like the name; it's like a big sign that says I don't know who I am."
" You can't change your name until you're of legal age."
Ah, yes, the magical age of eighteen, when he was free of so many annoyances." Anthony Cercone Junior goes by Tony, and everyone calls James Walton J.J."
" That's what their families call them. We all need to stay on the same page, John."
" I can have my foster parents call me Parker."
" What about your social worker, and your case files, and the state? Your foster parents are being paid to take care of a John, not a Parker."
He'd come to recognize insurmountable obstinacy. Luckily, he only had to deal with it until the next set of foster parents and the next school.
Flashes of junior high school followed, an endless flow of fighting in the halls, in streets, and on playing fields. Hockey was an excuse to legally hit the other kids. Wrestling. Basketball. Football. Atticus's natural skills got him onto sports teams. His aggression got him thrown off. An angry teenager, he refused to see that his actions dictated much of how the system treated him. One too many fights landed him in juvenile hall, and the fights became a necessity for survival.
When Hellena tested Ukiah, he had been aware only of his thoughts. Now he could see how she directed the search, suggesting a topic and then pulling up the strongest response. What had brought up the funeral of his adopted sister's pet rabbit? He would have to ask Hellena, if things went well. He sensed regret growing in the Pack, though, as they saw a near future where his brother's murder would taint their relationship with Ukiah.
There were areas where Atticus resisted invasion, somehow turning aside Hellena's probes. What he let her search through were fights in dark alleys, crowded barrooms, and even illegal fighting rings for bare-fisted fighters.
"Ru," Ukiah murmured to Hellena. "Have him remember Ru."
. . . Was there anything louder, drunker, randier than a party of college boys? Atticus couldn't decide if coming tonight had been a mistake. With the recent gay bashings, he didn't like his roommate walking alone, but Atticus was the only straight person at the party. And apparently there was some confusion over that. On the theory that a moving target was harder to hit on, he drifted through the party. Perversely, he felt like Goldilocks, critiquing each area: too loud, too crowded, too drunk, way too intimate.
Where the hell was Ru? Atticus felt a prick of jealousy that probably someone else was with his roommate. Ru had been moody and withdrawn since winter break and the whole mess with the stabbing.
At the time Ru had been surprisingly calm and efficient. He said the mice were cute. Instead of being upset about Atticus not being human and able to come back from the dead, Ru seemed to focus on the fact that he was the first person Atticus ever told his secret to. He invited Atticus home during the break, and introduced him to his parents and three little sisters. What had happened? Even with Atticus's perfect memory, he couldn't pinpoint the sentence or the gesture where it all went wrong. And it hurt like hell. Ru was the best friend he'd ever had, and it really felt like he was losing him.
No one was in the backyard. While there was afire going in a brick grill, it was dark and cold: a perfect spot to sulk. Ru found him there a short time later.
" Hey!" Ru breathed out a haze of wine, snuggling against Atticus's back." What are you doing out here?"
" Sulking." Atticus immediately wished he'd said something else. For a moment, things had been right, with Ru playfully affectionate. He liked the closeness they had, despite what it was doing to his image.
Ru, though, pulled away." Whatever for?"
" The mice weirded you out— didn't they?"
" Why would you say that?"
" Because . . . Nothing, just forget about it."
" You sorry you told me?" Ru asked warily, putting more distance between them.