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The swingset’s new. It doesn’t look that new, kind of rusting around the edges, but like heck is Bucky going to say that around the nuns. His palms are already raw from getting hit by Sister Frances’ ruler. He didn’t mean to sass her. Apparently being bored because he can already multiply by threes is being ungrateful. Bucky doesn’t want to know what the nuns would call questioning the sudden appearance of a rusty swingset in the schoolyard.
“Race you to the swings,” Steve yells as soon as they get out on lunch break. As if he’s got a chance. Steve’s eight, a full four months older than Bucky, but he only comes up to Bucky’s shoulder. Sometimes in the winter Steve can’t leave his room for a month ‘cause he can’t breathe. Running races against him makes Bucky nervous. He’s known Steve since the day he was born. He can’t afford to break his best friend.
Steve’s tougher’n any other kid Bucky knows, though. There’s no use in telling him no. Bucky grins instead, probably looking what Mom would call “cocky.” “You’re on, Stevie,” he says and then takes off at a run.
It’s not much of a race. The schoolyard’s shoved between the school itself and a row of buildings where people worse off’n Steve and Bucky live. The swingset takes up most of the yard. Bucky vaults over the only empty swing and grabs the metal chains. Steve’s still puffing along, mouth set all stubborn. Bucky wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Steve would sock him right in the mouth. Bucky’s ready to lose another tooth, but he doesn’t want it to come out that way.
As Steve reaches the edge of the swings’ range, Bucky drags the swing back by its chains. “Heads up!” he yells. Steve’s head jerks up right when Bucky lets go. It’s enough for Bucky to get a good look at his surprised blue eyes before the swing crashes into Steve’s face.
Steve crumples. A girl on the swings screams. One of the boys jumps off, all worried, but Bucky laughs and stays where he is. Steve plays dead all the time. He’s great at it. Scares the life out of the nuns. Just in case one of them’s looking this way, Bucky says, “Wave your hand if you’re okay!”
Steve’s hand doesn’t move.
Bucky’s stomach drops to his shoes.
“Hey, Steve, get up,” he says nervously. Steve doesn’t respond. Bucky edges his way around the still-moving swing. His mouth is dry. “Steve. Stevie,” he says, sing-song, to rile Steve into moving. Nothing happens. The boy who jumped off his swing goes to crouch by Steve. Bucky balls his hands into fists. “Steve, c’mon. Stevie. It’s not funny!”
The boy from the swings makes a sharp little sound. “Teacher,” he says, then yells, “Teacher! Steve’s hurt real bad!”
One of the nuns is there in an instant. As soon as she touches Steve’s back, he starts to shake. Bucky feels like puking. He swallows hard. The nun swears like Bucky’s never heard a nun swear before. “Steven, let me see it,” she demands, tugging at Steve’s shoulders. “What happened?”
“Bucky threw the swing at him,” the girl on the swings says accusingly. Bucky’s face heats up. He didn’t mean to—
“James! Sit on the steps. Now!”
Sister Frances’ voice cracks across the schoolyard. Bucky scrambles to obey. His heart pounds in his throat. From his vantage point on the steps, he can see the nun by Steve force his head up. His whole right eye is doused in blood.
Bucky’s legs shake.
“Take him to Father Callahan’s office. See if he can find Steve’s mother. She’s a nurse…” The nuns’ voices wash over Bucky. Nothing seems real, like if he scraped up his hands on the cement stairs it wouldn’t hurt.
“—knew those damn swings—”
“—hush, Mary, the children—”
“Come on, Steven, let’s get you inside.”
One of the nuns tries to pick up Steve. Big mistake. He hates being carried. Doesn’t like that he’s little. He thrashes ‘til they set him down. The nun takes his hand instead as she leads him up the stairs, past Bucky, into the school. Steve’s got a hand clamped over his bleeding face. He doesn’t look at Bucky as he goes past. There’re tears all wet on his cheeks.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” Sister Frances booms. “Did you see that? Did you see what you did to him?”
Bucky starts bawling.
“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I don’t wanna hurt Steve—don’t wanna hurt Stevie—” All he can think of is all that blood on Steve’s face. Steve can’t stand to lose much blood. He’s not got a lot in him in the first place. If he bleeds too much—if he gets real sick— “I was just foolin’ around.”
“He could lose that eye.”
Bucky’s breath comes in one big terrified yelp. Steve without an eye—how’s Stevie supposed to take care of himself with only one eye?—And then Bucky’s crying harder than ever. “I don’t want him to lose an eye. How’s he gonna see? If he can’t see, he’s gonna die!”
Sister Frances makes some kind of shocked sound, but Bucky isn’t listening to her. He’s crying so hard he’s bent over his knees, like Steve gets when he can’t breathe. Bucky can’t breathe. He’s choking on snot and tears and the thought that Steve might not ever play with him again. Not ‘cause he’s mad. ‘Cause he might be dead.
Bucky’s not supposed to kill him. He’s supposed to be his friend.
Bucky cries until he can’t cry anymore. Somewhere in there, as his tears peter off, he realizes dimly that Steve won’t die even if he loses that eye. Not right away, anyway. He’ll just be down one eye and hopping mad. The thought still makes Bucky feel sick.
By the time he’s done crying, there’s a crowd of kids watching him. Bucky scowls and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He wants to punch every one of them, even the girls. He ain’t a baby. He’s just scared for Steve, is all.
Sister Frances hauls Bucky up by his collar. “All right, then,” she says, pushing him into the school. He stumbles on the threshold. “I’d tan your hide if I didn’t think you’d just done your own penance there. Now apologize to Steve, do you understand?”
Before Bucky gets what she means, Sister Frances pushes him into Father Callahan’s office. Father Callahan’s not in there, probably busy with church stuff, but Steve’s sitting on the desk with a wet rag held to his eye. Blood stains it. He looks kind of teary and way too pale. Bucky’s stomach churns.
“’M sorry, Steve,” he mumbles.
Steve shrugs. “S’okay, Bucky.”
Steve doesn’t look okay. He looks even more sickly than usual. Bucky’s not hysterical anymore, but he’s still scared that Steve’s maybe gonna lose that eye because Bucky acted stupid. Better’n him dying, at least. Bucky couldn’t stand him dying.
Bucky can’t just stand there. He runs over and hugs Steve. It’s a one-armed hug because they’re boys and in the second grade besides, but it’s enough for Bucky to know Steve’s breathing mostly right. Steve hugs back, one-armed ‘cause he’s holding that rag on his hurt eye.
“It’s okay, Bucky,” he says again, real soft, the way Bucky knows his mom’s taught him to talk. It makes Bucky’s throat choke up again. He ducks away and punches Steve’s shoulder to make himself feel better. Steve punches back, grinning. “I should sock you in the eye, ya jerk.”
“All right, that’s enough.” Sister Frances drags Bucky away by his shirt. “Or you’ll both have a paddling. Incorrigible boys. Steve, what did Father say about your eye?”
Steve shrugs. “It’s going to swell up pretty bad, but as long as my mom checks on it after school, I’ll be okay.”
Sister Frances scowls. Bucky doesn’t think she knows how to smile. “Back to class with both of you, then, and no complaining.”
Bucky bites his lip to keep his complaints in. From the looks of it, Steve does the same. They kind of missed lunch. Neither of them kicks up a fuss, though. Steve keeps the rag on his eye as they follow Sister Frances to their classroom. Bucky elbows Steve hard. Steve elbows him back. “Boys,” Sister Frances growls without turning around. Steve stops. Bucky doesn’t.
All the other kids stare as they settle in for their history lesson. “Baby,” a couple of them hiss at Bucky. His face burns. It’s still tacky with tears.
So’s Steve’s, though. He gets all riled up as the whispers continue through Sister Frances’ talk of Abraham Lincoln. The first time one of the other boys grabs Bucky’s arm to emphasize the taunt, Steve sits ramrod straight.
The second time it happens, Steve hauls off and gives the guy a black eye to match his own.
“Steven Grant,” Steve’s mom all but yells when she comes to find Steve with rulered-raw palms and a messed-up face at the end of the day. “What happened?”
Bucky looks down at his shoes. There’re holes in the toes. Here comes the second-worst part of hurting Steve: disappointing Steve’s mom. Bucky’s mom will spank him good when she finds out what he did, but Aunt Sarah will just look sad. Probably’ll tell Bucky he knows better, too. Bucky can’t stand that any more than he can stand seeing Steve crumpled up like that again.
Bucky’s about ready to cry when Steve slings an arm over his shoulders. “Buncha kids were picking on Bucky,” Steve says firmly. When Bucky looks over at him, his mouth’s set all stubborn.
Steve’s mom sighs. “And you couldn’t stand for that, of course.”
Steve’s grip on Bucky tightens. “’Course not. He’s my friend.”