A month passed. I felt better. My father told me that it was time to go back to lunch at school, but with a plan, one centered around the notion of respect. The only way to command it from my tormenters was to fight back. “But Dad,” I said, “if I hit them, they will crush me.” “They might,” he said, “but you will have gained some respect, and they may turn their attention to someone else.” It seemed like a remarkably stupid idea. But my father lived through a war and fought his way to respect among the thugs in every village school. I decided to give it a go. I went back to school. Soon thereafter, I found myself standing behind Paxton who displayed biceps bigger than my head. I figured I had only one shot. I tapped him on the shoulder and swung as hard as I could, hitting him square in the chest. What aim. What perfection. What wasted energy. With no more than a flinch, Paxton looked down at me, fury in his face, and grunted “What’s up with you?” With tears running and lips trembling, I sputtered “I can’t take it anymore. You, Joffe, and James are constantly hitting me and locking me in the lockers. I can’t take it!” And then, as if his entire brain had been rewired, serotonin surging to provide self-control, dopamine flowing to shift his sense of reward, the hulk spoke: “Really? Okay, we’ll stop.” And just like that, Paxton, Joffe and James stopped. No more locker games, no more bruises. They even saw me as a useful resource, someone who could help them pass some of their exams. From victim to victory. I was fortunate. Many are not. Thousands of children throughout the world are persecuted in a similar way but never fight back or if they do, are crushed for trying. Some are pushed so hard that they commit suicide, tragedies that increasingly make headline news reports. The fact that bullies often torment their victims for personal gain, cause great harm, and often enjoy the experience — as did Lionel James — fits well with a common view of evil. On this view, w