I stood there, looking at the boy I'd just slapped with all the might of a senior football player. Was I angry? I certainly had been, to say the least. The kid needed to watch his mouth around those who were bigger and better than him. Then again, was I really all that much better? I didn't know, and it pained me to think about it. What had I done that wasn't right? Anything?

I suddenly thought of Paul, my little brother. I stared at his glasses. His eyes. I was superior to him because I knew what he didn't. Now even my little brother could've been dumb enough to stare at a solar eclipse so long that he went blind, even at five. Paul wasn't a dumb kid. I knew that. Still, he still couldn't be worth as much as I. Dad made that clear through his complete devotion to me. If there was no reason for him to be dedicated to my football career, he wouldn't be.

Maybe he'd pay more attention to Paul if I wasn't the one with more potential, a greater drive to succeed. Paul had stepped down from the position of power he gained from being related to me, hanging out with the losers with no future that went to Tangerine Middle School. Antoine Thomas was among that crowd, and maybe that's why he despised me. He was just jealous. I had the better future ahead of me.

But had I done anything wrong? My thoughts drifted back to the topic of my brother's eyes. Those eyes had gotten him kicked off the Lake Windsor Middle School soccer team, and they had gotten him into the vile crowd he hung out with. Why did he need people like that, anyway? I had Arthur, always there to do what I wanted but didn't feel like doing. That's enough for me. I'm not a selfish guy, am I?

Oh right, Paul's eyes. I knew that it was my doing, getting those bug glasses over his once perfect eyes. It amazed me, the power I held, the power I'd shown so many years ago. With Castor, the old Arthur, I had sprayed his eyes with paint until he lost vision forever. I'd affected his whole future. He would be a different boy if it wasn't for his eyes, and both of us knew it. Surely it wasn't the wrong thing to do, though. Mom and Dad never said anything about it. If I'd done something wrong, I'd be like Old Charley Burns, gone from their eyes forever. They're perfectionists, and I'm their perfection. I've never done anything wrong.

Still, I didn't feel right. Was it regret? Guilt? I wasn't sure. I'd heard about those feelings in TV shows, but never actually felt them. Then again, maybe slapping Tino wasn't the right way of settling the issue. I had just given myself an enemy. Just then, Paul met my eyes. I looked behind those glasses, and I saw nothing but fear, hatred, and confusion.

Wow. My own brother hated me. Maybe I wasn't so perfect after all. Maybe my life wasn't free of sin. Slowly, I trailed back towards Arthur Bauer's car, lost in thought.

Maybe it wasn't good, where my life was going. But that wouldn't stop me from living; that wouldn't stop me from going along with it. I was on top of the world in at least one sense, and I planned to stay there. The Tino kid's blood was on my hands, in more ways than one. And it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.