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somehow. Maybe he knew my dad. A lot of people knew my dad from the phosphate mine, or the Rotary Club, or the Methodist Church, where he was on the board of trustees, or him running for city council a bunch of times only never getting elected.
    “I wish I could remember what that colored boy’s name was,” Walter Wratchford said. He shook his head pretty hard like he had water in his ear and was trying to get it out.
    I thanked him when I got out of the car. He said, “Don’t even mention it.”

THE WAY I FELT WHEN I WALKED IN THE DOOR was like I’d been gone a week, but it turned out to only be about two o’clock. Mom wasn’t home. Nobody was. I went in the bathroom and sat on the toilet backward the way I used to when I was little. Back then I did it so I could play with my army men on the toilet tank while I was doing a Big Job — that’s what Mom called it — only this time I didn’t play anything, but just laid my cheek on the cool porcelain tank until I was done.
    Wayne was the first one home. I was at the kitchen table eating crackers and rat cheese — Dad said that; Mom just said “cheddar”— but he didn’t say much of anything, just went straight to the refrigerator and took a big swig of milk from the carton. Then he burped my name: “Hey, Dewey.” It was disgusting, but also maybe a little funny. I don’t think he even noticed that I hadn’t been in school. That made me kind of mad, but also made me think that if Wayne hadn’t noticed, then maybe nobody else did, either. He fixed two peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and took off for JV football practice. I followed him to the front door. David Tremblay was waiting out front, sitting on his bicycle and holding Wayne’s. They traded: Wayne gave him one of the sandwiches and David handed over the bike. I could see Wayne already had a gob of jelly on the front of his shirt — that happened about every time he ate anything. David pointed at it and laughed. Wayne lifted up his shirt and licked it off, but it left a big grape stain. I would have been embarrassed about something like that, but you could just tell Wayne didn’t care.
    Mom and Tink showed up right then. I watched them all through the front window but couldn’t hear anything. Mom probably asked if they had a good first day of school. Then she probably asked if they had time for a snack, and when would they be home — even though David didn’t live with us, of course — and would they please, please promise to drink plenty of water at their football practice?
    Then she must have asked about me, because suddenly everybody turned to look at the house, even Tink, who had been leaning over, talking to the sidewalk, maybe to a line of ants or something. I should have waved at them — they must have seen me — but instead I ducked below the window and then crawled out of the living room and down the hall to my bedroom. I don’t know why exactly.
    I was hiding under the bed — another dumb thing to do — when Tink found me.
    “Here he is!” she yelled, even though Mom was standing right beside her. “He’s hiding under the bed!”
    I tried to kick her. “No, I’m not.” I said. “I’m looking for something.”
    Tink said, “What? Like a dust bunny?”
    Mom told her to never-you-mind, then said that I needed to come out from under there right now because I had some serious explaining to do. So I crawled out.
    She was holding the orange Ban-Lon shirt like it was a dead cat. I had stuck it in the dirty-clothes basket, under a towel, when I got home, hoping she would just wash it and not notice the mud and the holes I had burned with my magnifying glass. I don’t know how she found it so fast.
    Mom shook it. “What is the meaning of this?”
    The phone rang before I could tell her anything, or make something up.
    It was the school.
    When Dad came home, he asked if I had anything to say for myself before punishment. He had talked to Mom, so of course he knew everything by