CHAPTER 1

My little brother isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. You know what I mean. I’m not saying this to put Jeff down or anything, but he’s
always been a bit slow. It’s not that he can’t do things, it just takes him longer. Sometimes it takes him a lot longer.
And sometimes he just doesn’t get it, at all. Like I’ve been telling him for years – stay away from Tank. Tank is the bully around this part of

Edmonton. He’s got a real name, Tankowicz or something like that, but we all call him Tank. Like most bullies, he’s a bit crazy. I think his old man
must have dropped him on his head, but who really knows? Tank likes to pick on kids. He won’t get near me, but he picks on kids who are smaller or
dumber than he is. Anybody with half a brain would just stay clear of a guy like that. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. You just stay away. The bully is on one side of the street, you get on the other. KISS – keep it simple, stupid. That’s just what I told Jeff, my little brother. “If
you don’t hang around with Tank, he won’t bother you.” I must have said it a hundred times. So what does the kid do? Jeff goes off and
hangs around with the Tank and his scummy friends. Like I said, my brother isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. So maybe I shouldn’t have been
surprised when he came in like he did. My little brother was a mess. “What happened to you?” I asked. He just stood there wiping his nose, but the

story was written all over him. He had a bloody nose, a ripped shirt and no jacket. Dirt covered his hands and face. He looked like he’d been in a fight
with a truck and come out second best. “They hit me,” he said. “Who’s they?” I snapped back. “My friends.”  “Some friends,” I said with a snarl. “It was Tank and his guys, right? How many times have I told you not to hang out with them?” “Yeah, but –” “Yeah but nothing,” I said, cutting him off. “You get a new Oilers jacket and right away those punks want to grab it from you.” “They borrowed it,” Jeff said, as if he really believed that. “Tank will make the guy give it back.” “Yeah, right. Those guys have about two days to bring it back or they’ll be dealing with me and the cops – in that order.” This was the kind of thing that always got me so angry. Now my brother was sitting there, no jacket, beaten up. How could I let that kind of thing keep going on? “So how did you get roughed up?” I asked him.

“Were you hanging out in the storm sewers again?” “Yeah, but don’t tell Mom, please, Larry?” I shook my head. The storm sewers were maybe
the stupidest place to hang out. They’re really big sewer pipes, almost big enough to stand up in. They run under and around our neighbourhood,
going down to Mill Creek.Most of the time they’re dry as a bone, or maybe with a little bit of water at the bottom. But when a storm hits, they’re killers. Water pours into them from the streets and storm drains. If you’re in the sewers, the water can wash you right into the river. And that’s if you’re lucky. I knew Tank and his gang made the sewers their clubhouse. They used them for some stupid games – like hide-and-seek, only dumber. It also gave them a place to scare the little kids. What better way to steal lunch money than tell a kid he’ll be trapped in a sewer? I mean, it’s worth fifty cents just to avoid the trouble. “Listen, Jeff,” I began,“we’ve got to have a talk, a serious talk.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jeff replied, looking guilty as anything. “Let me go get cleaned up first. My swimming is … like, five o’clock.” So what could I say? My brother needed to get the blood off, and he did have a swim team practice at Queen Elizabeth Pool in about half an hour. Of course, it was my job to drive him. I got my licence about two months ago, but I drive Jeff around more than I drive myself. Still, it takes some pressure off
Mom and Dad, and I get to use the new SUV when I’m taking Jeff someplace.My parents think the big SUV is safer than our old Chevy. Just goes to show how much they know.
Jeff got cleaned up while I found his gym bag up in his room. I did the kid a real favour. I traded a dry bathing suit for the wet one he’d left in the
bag. My brother isn’t too smart about clothes and friends, but he’s a great swimmer. Really, he might make the city team if he takes a couple of
seconds off his hundred-metre crawl. But Jeff doesn’t stop to think about throwing his wet suit in the dryer. Sometimes I think his mind is on
some other planet.
It took Jeff ten minutes to get cleaned up. Then he spent another ten minutes packing his stuff. At last, we got into the car and drove down Whyte Avenue, a bit faster than we should have. “Are you mad, Larry?”my brother asked me. “Yeah, I’m mad. You’re stupid to hang out with
those guys and stupid to play in the sewers. It serves you right that they stole your jacket.” “Mom said you’re not supposed to call me
stupid,” Jeff replied. He seemed a little hurt by the word, or maybe he was just pretending. And he was right, really, but I didn’t want to admit that.
“Anybody else who calls you stupid, I’ll kill him,” I replied. “But I’ll call you stupid when you do something stupid, like hanging out with Tank.
So stop, that’s all I’m saying.” “They’re my friends,” he replied. “They’re not your friends!” I shot back. “They’re just using you. They steal your clothes, take your lunch money and make fun of you. Today, they beat you up. That’s not friends, that’s nutbars.” “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replied.
“So promise me you’ll stay away from them.
There are lots of decent guys to hang out with. That guy Evan in your class – he’s okay, maybe a little weird, but okay. Go play some video games
with Evan. Go hang out with the guys on your swim team. Just remember, Tank and his guys are bad news.” Jeff said nothing. “Besides, I don’t feel like having to scrape your body off a sewer grate some day. Just stay away from trouble.” “You’re right, Larry,” he told me. “You’re always right.”
But Jeff didn’t promise me a thing.