I finally got in to see this Stern. He wasn’t an old man at all. He looked up from his desk, flicked his eyes over me once, and picked up a pencil. ‘Sit over there, Sonny.’
I stood where I was until he looked up again. Then I said, ‘ Look, if a midget walks in here, what do you say—sit over there, Shorty?’
He put the pencil down again and stood up. He smiled. His smile was as quick and sharp as his eyes. ‘I was wrong,’ he said, ‘but how am I supposed to know you don’t want to be called Sonny?’
That was better, but I was still mad. ‘I’m fifteen and I don’t have to like it. Don’t rub my nose in it.’
He smiled again and said okay, and I went and sat down.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Gerard.’
‘First or last?’
‘Both,’ I said.
‘Is that the truth?’