Excerpt from The Bully of Order by Brian Hart, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

My mother was chatting with some of the women she knew from the bakery but I stayed silent and waited and when I saw my chance I snuck back to the water's edge and threw sawdust and splinters into the murky, slick, little boats that didn't sink as long as I watched them. When the whistle blew I jumped, but I wasn't the only one, and people laughed. It was just the stupid ferryboat that I'd been on a hundred times. They'd said it would be some other special ship for the Fourth.

Me and my mother were ushered up the gangplank and helped down to the shining deck by the deckhands. They were wearing special white­ and­ blue uniforms with shiny silver buttons.

"Hello, Mrs. Ellstrom. Welcome aboard, son."

Yer a dopey dimwit and a slint-faced turd. I silently practiced my insults like I'd sharpen a knife.

Mother chose a place at the stern rail and I watched to see who else would board because not everyone would fit. I'd been getting teased at school and it had made me cagey. Donald Church was the worst and he was in line with his family waiting to board but they were too far back and had to wait. A month ago I'd been different or at least unseen. The story of the ugly duckling told me that it was better before knowing, so maybe it would be better later too. But for now I was scared all the time that someone would yell at me, some older boy like Donald would pick on me.

The lines cast off. People were talking and laughing all around. The whistle blew and I could feel the engine in my feet. Once we were away from the shore I slipped down the rail to look around. The boat was full of women and children. All the loners and Donald and the other complete families were watching us leave. I waved and people waved back, even Donald. Deep water off the rail, below, perilously dark.

"Why're we goin'?" I asked Mother, just to irk her, to get her talking to me.

"You like the Fourth."

"I guess so."

"Don't get in a mood already, and try to stay close. I don't want to have to spend the whole day looking for you."

"Will it be cold?"

"Not much colder. There will be wind."

"Can we see whales? Zeb said his dad took him fishing and they saw whales."

"Maybe from the beach. We won't be on the water." She adjusted her hat and smiled, three small moles on her left cheekbone, a constellation. "I'm glad you and Zeb are friends."

"Course we're friends. We're best friends. I'm smarter than him."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I can make him do what I want."

"That's not the way you should think of your friends."

"Why?"

"It's important to care for people. To be kind."

"I'm not mean to him. People are mean to me."

"They're just teasing. Don't let them bother you."

"I don't care."

"Of course you don't."

"But sometimes I care."

"They'll give it up. You'll see. You just need to outlast them. Don't let them get under your skin and don't let them know when they do."

Easy for her to say. She was pretty, everybody said so. Everybody watched her. She had her hand on my shoulder and I leaned against her and felt the boat roll.

We passed log booms and shacks and slash fires, newly built and painted houses and shops, bright and streaky with colors that seemed to run into the air and leach into the mud.

We docked at the mill pier because that's where the ferry always stopped. We got off and went along the plank road to the wharf where the real holiday steamers were assembled to take us to the beach. Ribbons and streamers were everywhere. Sleek, shining ships filled the harbor. People crowded the streets. I could smell the bakery even though it was closed. We used to live here when I was a baby. I don't remember much of that time. Mother was looking off up the hill toward the middle of town where the buildings were biggest. The bakery was too short and low to see with everything else in the way.

Excerpted from The Bully of Order by Brian Hart. Copyright © 2014 by Brian Hart. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.