Thock, the sound of Reggie’s rock hitting the window and bouncing off. It adds to the mini mountain range collecting against the side of the house.

“Your go,” Reggie looks to me with the meaning plain on his face. Don’t piss this one, Don.

I roll the rock around in my hand a few times. It was the biggest one I could find by the curb, and it’s heavy. I can already feel the nerves building up in my arm. A few times I raise my hand to throw but pull back. It always feels so stupid, like I’m trying to play baseball without a batter. I know it’s supposed to be the wrong thing to do, but does it have to make me feel bad already?

This time for sure. I can feel the rock’s weight as I draw my arm back, the grimy texture of dirt under my hand. The window looks more fragile the longer I look at it. This one’s gong to crash some crystal. I can see the coffee table inside the house with a vase on it, fine china, a picture frame. The floor’s hardwood, recently waxed by the looks of it. One big push, I swing with my whole arm.

Somehow I can’t let go of the rock soon enough. It leaves my fingertips in a weak arc and doesn’t even reach the window, just rolls over to the rock pile. I pissed it again. Reggie groans.

“Damn it, you’re such a wimp.”

“My hand was sweaty,” I say. It is, both of them. It feels like the blood left my fingers. Reggie bends over and gets another rock. He pushes it at me. It looks like a petrified lump of shit.

“Don’t piss this one,” he says, and he means it. If I screw up one more, I can see him later throwing rocks over at my house. He doesn’t think there’s anything more fun than this. I used to agree, before he started making me throw rocks too. Before I had my thirteenth birthday. Before I realized what a jerk Reggie is.

It feels more like a dirt clod than a rock, but Reggie’s not going to wait anymore. That’s okay, then, if I throw it harder. The dirt will break up and maybe smudge the window a little. I hardly even try to aim as I pull back and let it go. It’s a miracle it even heads toward the house.

Chock, the dirt clod hits the window hard because it has a rock in it. It leaves a little shit stain behind as it falls and joins the mini mountain range. There’s also a white mark. A chip. No, a crack. I put a crack in the glass. Reggie hoots a little.

“All right, finish the job,” he says. I look away from the window.

“What?”

“It isn’t broken. Go push on it.”

I don’t know where he gets these ideas from. It looks like he expects me to do it to make up for pissing out before. This was never part of the game before, though. He can’t be serious. I look at him but he isn’t changing any.

“You’re serious,” I say.

“You gonna piss out again?”

Maybe I should, except I know what will happen then. All right, I’ll give it a push. It isn’t going to make a difference. If he sees I can’t do it, he’ll try to do it himself. Better him than me.

This close I can see further into the house. The kitchen’s off to the right. All the counters are clean and polished. There’s a metal water dish and a food bowl on the floor. I can’t read the name on the bowl.

“Push, damn it,” Reggie says from the sidewalk.

The glass creaks, then snaps. I feel the shards fall from my hands before the sharp red lines sting across my palms. Oh, shit! Reggie hoots one more time before sprinting off. I yell after him as the blood starts welling up between my fingers, feeling like acid. Very clearly inside the house there is barking, loud and gravely. I don’t take another look. The shredded crisscross of my hands makes me dizzy. The red is so bright. My pulse is in my fingers, aching out blood at a fast, light tempo.

Something dark lunges up at the broken window and howls at me. Its breath is hot and smells like wet cardboard. The dog’s trying to get at me. I can’t even see it as everything starts to go dark around me. What’s left in front of me goes intensely white. My neck feels rubbery and the weight on my knees is sickening. I fall to the ground.