Everette Plen: My english teacher Mr. Selkirk says I have to write something, and it has to be long on account of the thing that happened over winter recess. Which in my opinion doesn't amount to much, it's not like I meant for Danlee to get hurt, and I don't think that what happened was 100% my fault, or even a lot my fault. Even though I don't deny that I was there.

So, I guess I deserve to get suspended like the rest of them, I mean, maybe I could have stopped it, maybe, but now the suspension is over and Selkirk says I've got to write something, and because he says so, my dad says so, and that's that.

I know what's going on, Selkirk thinks that if I write about what happened, I'll understand what happened, which makes no sense if you stop and think about it, because if I don't understand what happened, how can I write about it? Besides, I've done worse, much worse and never written a word about it. The fact that I never wrote about it had no effect, good or bad. So writing about it or not writing about it isn't going to prove a thing.

I've got a good handle on who I am if I may say so myself, compared with most 12 year olds I mean. I'm not saying that I'm done growing up, I know I've got a long way to go, sixth grade isn't the end of the line. My dad says that when he looks back to when he was a kid, he doesn't know whether to laugh cry. I know there's going to be a Julian Twerskyin the future whose going to look back the same way and maybe shake his head. That last sentence should make you happy Mr. Selkirk. But when I look back right now, I'm just saying that what happened with Danlee Dimmelisn't the worst thing I've done, I'll give you a perfect example.

Last year Lonnie and I were out back in Ponzini, doing nothing, just yacking it up. Now I guess I should mention that Lonnie's my best friend, except calling him my best friend, doesn't tell how tight we are. My dad says that if Lonnie told me to jump, I'd ask how high. He's being sarcastic, my dad, but he's right in a way. Because here's the thing, Lonnie wouldn't tell me to jump unless he had a good reason. So yeah, I'd ask how high, he'd ask me how high too if I told him to jump. It doesn't mean a thing, I've known Lonnie since I was two and he was three, and some of the things that have gone on between the two of us, he'd brain me if I ever wrote about.

But, I'm sure he'll be alright with me writing about the thing with the bird. Oh and I should also mention that Ponzini is what we call the lot behind the old apartment building on Parsons Boulevard, where Victor Ponzini lives.

Why we started calling it Ponzini is another story and it doesn't matter for the bird story, so lets just say that Lonnie was the first to call it that, and it caught on with the rest of us, but it fits. It looks like a Ponzini kind of place.

If you wanna picture it, picture a layer of brown dirt, on a layer of gray cement about the size of a basketball court. It's got weeds growing out of it, and its got broken glass around the edges, and it's got a half dozen rusted out wrecks that were once parked in the under ground garage, but got pushed out back when their owners skipped town. Its got rats which should go without saying, but the rats only come out at night, in other words, its foul and useless. Kind of like Victor Ponzini who once squealed on Lonnie for cutting class, I mean, why is that [Ponzini's 00:03:25] business? That guys a fifth grader and nothing but a tub of lard, but at least he knows it, which is about the only thing he's got going for himself.

So Lonnie and I were hanging out at the far end of Ponzini just shooting the breeze, when I noticed about a dozen pigeons had landed between two of the rusted out wrecks. I nodded at the birds, and Lonnie glanced behind them and I said "what do you make of that?" But in the time it took for the words to come out of my mouth, another half dozen pigeons swooped down and landed. It was crazy, like a scene from that Alfred Hitchcock movie where a million birds get together and attack a town for no reason. There was no reason for them to show up in Ponzini either. There's not a thing for them to eat, I mean, it might make sense if someone had scattered bread crumbs for them, but there was nothing. It was as if one pigeon took it into it's head that the far end of Ponzini would be a good place to rest for a minute. And then the entire Air Force joined in-