In middle school, the differences began to take on shape. Ethan did not speak like the other boys, did not brag about girls, did not laugh at the same stupid jokes, did not hide that he loved music, theater, books, people with something fragile and strange about them. At first the others commented only with glances. Then with imitations. Then with the usual American mixture of Christian morality and childhood cruelty that makes schools feel like little camps for social correction.