Last year, I did something stupid. I'm not going to tell you what it was, just that it was stupid. It was also against the law. I never did it again, and I was lucky the police didn't come after me for it. But that doesn't mean I'm not still stupid sometimes.

Like the day I threw a chunk of cement and smashed the Bee Man's hive.

I was having a terrible day. I had gone all over town on my bike, looking for a summer job. There were no jobs. The mill closed last year. Most of the people in town had worked there. When it closed, all the adults who used to work there took all the jobs that teenagers used to do. Mowing lawns, delivering papers, taking care of pets. Fast food jobs, cashier jobs. Every job.

And the jobs that weren't taken by adults were going to be filled by the other kids. Not me.

The owner at the car wash folded his arms, gave me a mean stare, and told me, "I don't hire kids like you."

Great. So I rode around all that hot morning just wanting to punch myself in the head for doing that stupid thing. Would people ever forget it? Not likely.

I was riding my bike down the street behind ours, past the Bee Man's house. The road there is broken and bumpy. Maybe it never gets fixed because the road crews are afraid of his bees.

The Bee Man is this weird old guy.

He has about a hundred beehives in his yard. They look like wooden boxes piled on top of each other. Millions — maybe billions! — of bees live in them.

He wears a big hat and baggy old clothes. No one has ever seen his face. He covers it with a veil to keep out the bees. He carries a little metal thing that looks like a teapot. Smoke comes out of it and he puffs the smoke over the bees. I have no idea why he does that. It's just part of his weirdness. You can hear him humming, and the bees humming, from down the block.

I was riding my bike past his house and WHAM! a yellow and black bug zoomed out and stung me on the leg. I saw it! It moved over and stung me again. And again!

I was already mad about the jobs, but this was just too much. I was as mad as a bee myself. I jumped off my bike and threw it down. I yelled. I swore. I grabbed a huge chunk of broken road and threw it over his fence. Right at a box full of bees.

Smash! The beehive fell to the ground.

Bees came boiling out! I jumped on my bike and rode away as fast as I could. My leg was killing me! It felt like it was on fire!

Mrs. Biel came out of her house on the other side of the road and yelled, "Jacob Brown, I saw you! I'm telling your mother what you did! You belong in jail after what you did last year! And now this! You'll be sorry!"

Oh great, I thought. What if she called the cops?

Another stupid thing!

I got home and went inside. My leg was puffing up. It was already bigger than my other leg. It hurt like crazy. 

There was a note on the kitchen table.

Hi Jacob,

There is lunch in the refrigerator. I got a call from the donut shop. They want me to come in tonight and work until they close at 9. You can make your own supper.

I love you,

Mom

My mom was not stupid. She had never done anything against the law. She had two jobs. Answering phones at the dentist's office during the day was one. Then there was working at the donut shop at night.

The morning of the Big Hive Smash-Up, she told me that I better find a job for the summer. We were running out of money.

Ever since my dad died last year, our money has gotten tighter and tighter. Now, Mrs. Biel would probably call my mom at the donut shop and tell her what I did. Right before she called the cops.

Great.

I looked in the refrigerator. There was some bread and some baloney. A couple of apples. Some milk. And that was about it. I made a sandwich with one piece of bread and one piece of baloney. That was so there would be enough left for my Mom.

I spent the rest of the day lying on the couch with my leg killing me. We didn't have TV. Or internet. Cable cost too much money. And I'm not much of a reader. I called some of my friends, but none of them answered.

It was probably the longest day of my life.

That night my Mom came home at 9:30. She opened my door. I pretended to be asleep. A crack of light hit me right in the eye.

"Jacob?" she said. Her voice was sharp. "Wake up. I need to talk to you."

I rubbed my eyes. I could tell she knew I was really awake. There was no point in faking it. I sat up.

She came in and sat down. She smelled like sugar donuts.

"Jacob. Mrs. Biel told me you broke one of Cliff Finley's beehives. What did you do that for?"

"Finley? Who is Cliff Finley?" I asked.

"You know who he is. I called him and talked to him. Do you know how much that beehive cost?"

"How much?"

She sighed. "I have no idea. But whatever it is, I can't pay for it. He says you can work for him until it's paid for. You're going over there at nine tomorrow morning."

"I can't work for him! He's crazy! He'll kill me! He'll make all his bees sting me!"

"If you don't go, he'll call the police. You can't afford to get in trouble again. If you get a police record with your bad grades in school, you'll never get a job."

The next morning at nine o'clock, I was on his doorstep. My leg was still hurting so much that I couldn't walk straight. But I went.

I knocked, but no one answered. I hoped he wasn't home. All around me, bees were buzzing and tickling flowers. I tried to stand as still as I could. I hoped they wouldn't notice me.