Now that it was getting on November and December, the snow came around, ever colder and ever deeper. I shivered under my thread-bare clothes, but what else could I do? I didn’t mind much, really. Then at the end of one day, at my locker, Dennis slammed it shut as he usually did. He appeared alone for a change. He grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me against the wall of metal. “You listen here String-Bean,” he hissed, “You might think everyone loves you and all, but they really don’t. No one really likes a Tennessee String-Bean, you got that? Not a one. Not even that preacher you hang around, probably spits on the ground you step on…”
That did it. “Don’t y’all talk ‘bout the Reverend like that, you hear?” I shouted, throwing his mitts off my shoulders. He was surprised at my nerve, but smirked in a disgusting way.
“Aw, you wike the Wevwend, don’t y’all?” he sneered. “We’ll see how much you like him later.” Throwing me to the ground, he stormed off.