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claps each of them on the shoulder. “Nice work,” he says.
    The spectators who are left give the volunteers a round of applause. “Thank you,” someone in the crowd calls out.
    Terry takes a bow. What a jerk!
    Dad offers me a ride, but I tell him I’d rather skateboard.
    I’ve got one foot on my skateboard when someone taps my shoulder. I thought Terry didn’t know who I was.
    â€œHey, kid,” he says. It’s the first time he hasn’t called me squirt . “I want to offer my condolences about your old lady moving out.” But the look on Terry’s face isn’t too sympathetic.
    â€œThanks,” I tell him, “but I’ve got to go.”
    Terry shakes his head. “It must be a real bummer for you. I wondered why she was hanging out so much over by the beauty salon.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    As I take off on my skateboard, I remember how Dad said “Nice work” to the volunteer firefighters. Of course, he meant Terry too.
    I’m the one who deserved the compliment. They put out the fire, but hey, I’m the one who started it.

Chapter Eight
    It’s Wednesday, and I’m meeting Mom for supper at the Acropolis. I can’t say I’m in the mood to hang out with her, but I am in the mood for souvlaki on pita.
    Dad is watching the news when I leave. “Have yourself a good night, Franklin,” he calls from the cupcake sofa. He hasn’t mentioned Mom since she left on Sunday. When I told him I was meeting her for supper, he just nodded like a robot. Sometimes I don’t blame Mom for falling for somebody else.
    Everything about the Acropolis is blue and white, even the porch outside. Bob is standing there, sucking on a cigarette. He’s got spiky hair and a sunburned face that’s wrinkled from being outside all day. I don’t bother saying hi. He’s busy talking to himself. “That’s what I told her,” I hear him say, “but she wouldn’t listen. She never listened.” What a loser!
    I smell Mom’s perfume before I see her. She’s sitting by the window, drinking a glass of white wine. Her hair is perfectly straight. She stands up when she sees me come in. “Hey, Franklin,” she says, moving in for a hug.
    I duck to dodge the hug and sit down across from her. “Hey, Mom.”
    â€œHow’re you doing, Franklin? How’s your dad?” It bugs me that she sounds like she cares, even though I know she doesn’t.
    I don’t like the feeling of her eyes on my face. “We’re great. Just great.”
    Mom doesn’t get sarcasm. She gives me this sad smile. How, I wonder, am I going to get through this meal?
    Luckily, the waitress comes to take our order. Souvlaki pitas and a Greek salad for two, thank you very much, and yes, we’re done with the menus. “Is it just the two of you tonight?” the waitress asks. “Mom and son date night?”
    I nearly choke on my water.
    â€œThat’s right,” Mom says in a too-bright voice. “Date night.”
    Mom unfolds her blue and white napkin. There’s a stubby white candle in a blue candleholder on our table. The wick is low, but I study the flame, which is blue and steady.
    â€œI heard you went to Sunday school.”
    â€œWho told you that?”
    â€œJoan mentioned it.” Joan is Mrs. Ledoux. “She said you went out of your way to help a girl who had stage fright.”
    â€œI didn’t go out of my way. Mrs. Ledoux made me do it.”
    Mom smoothes the napkin on her lap. “I guess she left out that part.” She reaches a hand across the table. I pull my hands back and stuff them in my pockets. The last thing I want to do is hold hands with my mother.
    â€œYou know, Franklin,” Mom says, lowering her voice, “I worry about you. About the kind of person you’re becoming.”
    â€œIsn’t it a little