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crapoly, man, don't jump out at me like that. I just about killed you with my lethal hands."
    He stood up smiling, like I couldn't have done him a bigger favor than bashing him flat on the cement. I told him I was going to buy him a cowbell so he couldn't sneak up on me, and he lit up so red, you could find your way through a dark tunnel by the glow off his face. I have to say, it's cute, the way he reds up so fast.
    Then he got all nosy, asking what was in my wagon. I told him it was contraband from the crystal- methlab and pointed at the library. He asked what was in there really.
    "Um, llllibrrrarrrreeee," I said, pointing to that big sign in front of the building.
    Talk about sensitive. He flinched like I'd just smacked him twelve days from Tuesday. He walked off without even saying good- bye. So to make up for being sarcastic, I called after him and offered up a doughnut hole. He turned around and stared at that day- old doughnut hole like I'd offered him rat bait from a garbage can, which kinda ouched my feelings because I was just trying to make up for knocking him over and all.
    "Okay, I'm busted," I said. "The doughnut hole is laced with crystal meth. What are you going to do, arrest me here on the sidewalk? Not without a warrant, buddy."
    I shoved the bakery bag back in the wagon and started walking. I got about five steps away when he called out my name, so of course I had to turn around.

    "I'm not really an undercover cop," he said.
    We faced off like gunfighters on Main Street, fifty paces apart, staring at each other. He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking like he wouldn't know how to shoot even if you handed him a .357 snub with PULL THIS written in pink nail polish on the trigger.
    "I'm not really carrying meth," I said. "I'm just taking my laundry home."
    He nodded. I nodded. He gave me one of his little shadow smiles and walked off.
    Here's the other thing about Travis. He has the prettiest eyes. I'm not sure what color they are. Sometimes I think they're green, but then I think maybe they're brown or even dark blue. I can't get a good look because of how he half shades them with his lids or looks away. Someday I hope to get ten seconds or so to have a good stare and call them a color.

CHAPTER SIX
    Monday morning, Travis had just put the toast in when Grandpa's morning hack- and- spit show started. Then came the flick of the lighter, and smoke crawled under the bedroom door.
    "Don't suppose you made me any." Grandpa stepped into the kitchen, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
    Travis shook his head. He spread butter on his toast.
    "Nope, course not," Grandpa answered himself.
    He closed the bathroom door behind him and up with more gross morning noises. The house was too small, with every door opening onto the kitchen/living room area. You could put two of this house, or maybe three, into their old place.
    By the time Grandpa came out of the bathroom, Travis was at the sink, washing dishes.
    "Why are you up so early, anyway?"
    "Felt like it."
    "You've turned into a fair smart- ass, you know that?
    You get all your homework done this weekend, smart boy?"
    Travis shut off the water and turned around as Grandpa stubbed out the cigarette.
    "Since when do you care about my homework?"
    "Since I quit drinking. You know how many days I got?"
    "Days of what?"
    "Days sober, Travis. Do you notice anything besides yourself around here?"
    Travis opened the front door and let some air in so he wouldn't pass out from secondhand smoke.
    "Thirty days today," said Grandpa. "Thirty days without a drink."
    "Congratulations. When you going to quit smoking?"
    Grandpa shifted his cigarette to his left hand, made a pistol out of his right, squinted down the barrel of his finger at Travis, and shot. Then he blew his fingertip like he thought he was some old- time cowboy and gave a hard grin.
    "Get outta here," he said. "Before you ruin my good day."

    Travis had over an hour before school started, so he