He doesn’t know I’ve been watching him back. I feel badly about it most days; I watch him get shoved out of the way, I watch his books get smacked out of his hand, and I watch his underwear get pulled so far out of his pants it’s a wonder the fabric doesn’t rip. Part of me wants to interfere and consequences be damned, but the other part of me gets irritated. Why does he have to be such a pushover? It’s not as though he’s...