I Believe.

I believe that parenting should be a licensed skill; if you don't pass the test you don't get the kid.

He came to school everyday with some type of injury or another, from great big, purpling bruises on his forearms to a split lip or sluggishly bleeding cuts. Never all at once, of course, but he was always injured. I never really thought much of it at first; he was a very active kid and most of the boys in our class had minor hurts from sports practice every day. But unlike all the other competitive, athletic boys in my class, Andre wasn't on any sports team. He was much like me – a real bookworm. That's how I got to know him, actually.

We both wanted to borrow the same book from the library – Redwall by Brian Jacques. He picked up the book before I did, and I perked up, like I always do when someone else shows interest in the type of books I enjoy reading. We started talking, or maybe it's more correct to say I talked and he listened, making little sounds of agreement or disagreement at odd intervals.

Before I left the library, I'd picked out another book to read, one he suggested after I discontinued my monologue in order to breathe. It was a science-fiction book by an author I'd never heard of before, and only a long time after I read the book did I understand what an uncanny parallel it held to Andre's own life.

The book I read was titled Starfish by Peter Watts. In the book, an odd collection of child molesters, rapists, psycho-maniacs and violent crime artists get stuck at the bottom of the ocean – a place that eventually becomes their sanctuary. Among them was a young woman who'd been abused since childhood.

Andre reminded me of Lenie Clark.

The two of us, Andre and I, became close that year. 'Friend' isn't what I would call him – I had more of a superior-inferior relationship with him than the equality that 'friend' implies. It was more 'protector and protected' between the two of us. We sat together at lunch and I got him to come to school early every morning so he'd be out of the house before his father and older brother woke up.

By the time the year had ended, I'd broken my promise to him that I wouldn't tell anyone else about his abusive family. He insisted they were getting better, but I didn't believe it. I told the guidance councilors at school, and after that, Andre didn't talk to me.

He was around in school for another few weeks, and then just stopped showing up one day. I don't know what happened to him. I'm not sure I want to know.

Starfish has a special place in my heart now, though the main character for me never will be a blonde girl – it's always a slightly scared looking boy with dark hair and a few bruises the size of an adult's hand dotting his body.