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I finished my hot chocolate and then headed for the door. "You leaving?" Kim called to me. She had a line of customers now.
    "I've got school," I said.
    "Come in Saturday when it's not so busy," she said. "I want to have a long talk with you."
    "I will," I said.
    I pushed the door open, but instead of going to school, I retraced my steps to the top of the hill and looked down the street to where the homeless guy had fallen. He wasn't there. I wanted to believe that meant everything was OK, but I couldn't. He might have crawled into the bushes. If he did, and he was hurt and alone, he could die in there and nobody would find him for weeks.
    I walked slowly down to the bottom of the hill. When I
reached the spot where he'd fallen, I stepped off the sidewalk and pushed my way through the tangle of blackberry bushes. "Anybody in here?" I called out.
    There was no answer.
    "Is somebody in here?"
    Still no answer.
    I followed a hint of a trail about twenty more feet, ducked under some vines, and found myself in a small clearing. Under a makeshift tent made of plastic bags were some cans of food, a pair of boots, an old coat, a sleeping bag, empty beer bottles, and a bunch of old magazines. Sitting on the ground next to that pile of junk were two guys—the guy I'd pushed and another guy who was older, skinnier, and had a long, gray beard. They were both smoking cigarettes.
    "You OK?" I said, looking at the guy I'd pushed. He just stared at me. "You OK?" I repeated. He kept staring.
    I reached into my pocket, pulled out the quarters that Kim Lawton hadn't taken, and held them out to him. He stuck his hand out. There was an open sore on his palm, and his hand was filthy. I placed the coins into his hand and he shut his fingers tightly around them.
    "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Then I turned and got of there as fast as I could.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    By the time I reached Lincoln High that morning, I'd missed all of first and half of second period. Mrs. Spiel-man, the attendance secretary, chewed me out. "You can't get credits if you cut classes," she said as she wrote out my pass.
    "I haven't cut many classes," I said. "Besides, school has only been going a couple of weeks."
    "Well begun is half done, and don't forget it."

    All morning I sat in the back of whatever class I was in and tuned out everything. During lunch I went to the commons area, bought a Coke out of the machine, sat in a corner, and drank it.
    I tried to tune out everything there too, but three girls came and sat at the same table. They'd talk a little, and then start laughing so hard their heads bobbed up and down. Then they'd talk some more, and then they'd laugh again. Just before the lunch period ended, I spotted Melissa Watts. She was talking to Rachel Miller, another girl in Arnold's class. I kept hoping she'd look over and see me, but she didn't, and then the lunch period ended.
    I thought about cutting my afternoon classes. The
Tiny Dancer
would probably be empty. My dad might be looking for a job, although it was more likely he was out looking for a drink. But what would I do when I got to the boat? Cutting school would just make the day longer.
    So when sixth period rolled around, I was sitting in my normal place in the last chair in the last row in Mr. Arnold's class. The starlings were still attacking the bugs in the lawn, and Arnold still wanted to talk about terrorism and Iraq and all that crap.
    I've got to give it to Arnold. The guy worked hard to make class interesting. But without Brent Miller in uniform right in the front of the class, kids didn't pay attention. Heather Carp was picking nail polish off her fingernails; Melody Turner was doodling in her notebook.
    Class ended with Arnold and Melissa arguing about countries I couldn't have found on a map and leaders whose names I couldn't begin to spell. A couple of times Melissa would look back at me, but I couldn't make myself care about Singapore or Indonesia. All I could think