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“Fighting again, Jimmy?”
Bucky looked up. Dad stood a halfway up the steps, which put them almost eye to eye. When Dad saw his swollen nose, he grinned knowingly. “Shoulda seen the other guy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Chip off the old block.” Dad ruffled Bucky’s hair as he walked past. “Smells like your mama’s cooked up something good. You better come in and wash up.”
“Yeah, Dad.”
He did mean to go in. But he continued sitting on the steps, chin on his fists, staring down the street. A Rolls Royce rolled past, one of those new Phantoms with the long hood. That brought him to his feet, leaning over the rail to watch it tool down the street, so sleek, and he actually took a couple steps down the stairs to chase after it. He’d miss supper, but supper happened every night. A Phantom in Brooklyn, on the other hand…
But his ankle throbbed when he stepped on it. He’d twisted it when he and Steve fell in the gutter.
He climbed back up to the top step and sat down heavily again.
The door opened. He turned, starting to get to his feet, but his mother waved him to keep sitting. “Well,” she said, leaning against the rail and looking at the sunset. “So you haven’t bled to death after all.”
“You worried?” he cracked.
“I told you to go outside till your nose stops bleeding, and then you never came back,” she said, and shook her head in mock concern. But then she looked down at him, serious now, and said, “What’s wrong, Bucky?”
He shrugged. “Boy stuff.”
“Ah, so you’d rather talk to your father.”
He shook his head. She waited.
“I beat the snot out of Steve,” he said finally.
“Ah,” she said softly. She gathered up her skirt and sat down beside him on the top step. “And why’d you do that?”
“’Cause he wanted to fight Johnny Reinhardt. Reinie got held back two years so he’s fourteen even though he’s in our grade. And I told Steve he couldn’t, he’d get the stuffing knocked out of him, and next thing I knew – ” Bucky mimed a punch to his own nose. “So the good news is, he didn’t fight Reinie after all. He was too busy fighting me.”
“Telling Steve he can’t do something,” Mama said. “Like a red flag to a bull.”
“Why’s he gotta be like that?” Bucky asked, plaintive. “I probably beat him up about as bad as Reinie would have, ‘cause he just wouldn’t say uncle. I finally tossed his books in a trashcan and beat it when he stopped to get them out. I couldn’t figure out how else to end it.” He rubbed gingerly at the dried blood under his nose. “He probably thinks it means he won.”
“I don’t think Steve cares very much about winning,” Mama said.
“I wish he cared about winning,” Bucky muttered. He hugged his knees. “Maybe he’d pick on guys his own size.” He glanced at his mother. “Reinie wasn’t even bothering him. He popped Reinie good the one time he did, and Reinie gave him a black eye, but that was okay, that’s a good reason to fight. Why’s he gotta stick his nose in everyone else’s business? He knows he’s just gonna get it busted.”
“It’s the way he is,” she said. “Just like you can’t help yourself from trying to stop him.”
“Well, someone’s got to. Or someday he’s gonna get his jaw broken,” Bucky said. “Or his arm busted, or he’ll brawl his way right in front of a speeding ice truck, and it won’t even be his fight, it’ll be that someone stole a lollipop from a baby and Steve just had to rush in, fists flying. Probably they’ll write a nice inspirational obituary. Someday we’re gonna walk past a burning house and he’ll run in to save a kitten and he’ll have an asthma attack from the smoke and burn to death and die.”
“Oh dear. And the poor kitten? It’s going to die too?”
“’Course he’ll save the kitten. I probably ran in after him and he told me to save it and leave him behind.”
“And you listened?”
“You know he’d never get over it if I chucked him over a shoulder and carried him out,” Bucky protested. His mother was smiling. He couldn’t help smiling too, kicking his heel against the steps. “He’d be wounded straight through the pride. Probably die of it.”
“No one ever died of wounded pride. Not even Steve Rogers, and I’m sure he’s tried.”
Bucky sighed. She put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “You can’t change the way people are,” she said. “You can only decide whether it’s worth it to put up with them.” She stood up. “Now come on. If we stay out here any longer, the meatloaf’s going to burn.”