"Yeah, right, Eu-gene," the boy snickered, "you can fly."

Eugene was sorry he'd told him. A crowd of boys formed. "Mihalowitz thinks he's Superman!" "Mihalowitz thinks he's a bird!" He pulled his cap down over his ears, pushed his way through to leave. The jeers poked at his back all the way home.

That night he flew over the boy's house and painted maple syrup on his bedroom window.