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window. He hasn’t said a word.
    â€œWhat are
you
doing this summer?” I finally ask.
    Larry gives me a foxy look. “I’m going to be attending a few Show and Shines,” he says evenly. “You can tell me all about the rods, who the owners are, where they live. Then at night you can come with me to scout garages. Should be able to bag some whizzyparts. Thanks, pal. You’ve just given me my summer job.”
    My breath catches. I glare at him, hard. “Anyone tries to lift parts off Ned’s car or from the other hot rods and I’ll turn them in.”
    Larry’s eyes burn. “Get out!”
    I have lots of time to think as I walk back to the highway and stick out my thumb for a ride to town.

Chapter Eleven
    On Saturday morning I show up at the Barniers’, on time, to find Ms. Kirkpatrick sitting in their kitchen.
    â€œHello, Miles,” she says. She smiles and holds out some papers. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”
    Huh?
    â€œYour hundred hours are up! And you’ve done very well. Mr. and Mrs. Barniergive you all As for your performance.”
    â€œYou were marking my performance?” I look from one to the other.
    Ned laughs. “Not on paper.”
    I sit at the table wondering what will come next. Suddenly I recall something odd — I didn’t see the Mercedes outside.
    â€œWhere’s your car?” I ask.
    A sad look comes over her face. “It was stolen yesterday from the parking lot at the mall,” she says. “And the thing is, it wasn’t just an ordinary car. It was my father’s. He left it to me when he died last year.”
    I sit frozen, even though my hands are clutched tightly around the hot coffee cup.
That emblem would make a great belt buckle
, I hear the Lark say.
    â€œDo the police have any idea where it might have gone?” Ned asks.
    â€œThey said it’s likely in a big container being shipped to Russia or Central America.” Her voice chokes.
    Voices sound in my ears …
good belt buckle … got a Slim-Jim … let’s go!
    Ms. Kirkpatrick blows her nose, snuffles a bit and takes a sip of coffee. “The police said that my job makes me a good target for something like this. I deal daily with people who … well, who know the ropes, the who and how of thievery.”
    â€œAnd their friends sometimes aren’t so quick to learn right from wrong,” Ned interjects.
    I know my face must be burning. I can barely see the coffee cup in my hand. My eyes blur with the heat from my face, my ears ring and I can feel my blood racing, hear my heart pounding, and of course my feet are itching like crazy. I’ve got to get out of here.
    I hear Dad giving me his version of fatherly advice.
On the short track it’s every man for himself. You’ve got to understand the whole picture
. And Spider’s words:
You’re dead, kid, know what I mean? A slow learner
.
    â€œYes, sometimes friends aren’t so quick to learn.” Ms. Kirkpatrick interrupts the whirl of words zinging through my head. I feel like she is looking knowingly at me.
    â€œAre you feeling ill?” Mrs. Barnier asks me, care showing on her face.
    â€œYeah,” I say.
    â€œCan we give you a ride home?”
    â€œSure. I’ll make up my last few hours tomorrow or next week, whenever.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Ms. Kirkpatrick gets up to leave. “I’m driving a department vehicle,” she says. “No passengers.”
    Fine with me.
    I get into the backseat of the Olds and rest my head on the knitted seat covers. Mr. and Mrs. B take forever to get in and belted up. On the way home I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the Lark or anybody.
    We arrive at my house. I get out, thank them and go around to the back so they won’t see me using my key, realize no one’s home and feel they should stay with me. I want to be alone to think this