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wasn't going to ask my dad about the moorage fee. There was no point, because I knew the answer. But when I got back to the boat in the afternoon and saw him sitting topside smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper like some retired rich guy, I couldn't stop myself. "Did you pay the moorage fee?" I said as soon as I stepped onto the boat.
    He looked up from the newspaper. "What?"
    "The moorage fee," I repeated. "It's due today. Did you pay it?"
    "Don't worry about the moorage fee, Chance. They can't touch us for three months. It's the law. By then I'll have a job."
    "What if you don't get a job?"
    "I will get a job."
    "Can you get unemployment compensation?"
    "No. I can't get it. My job wasn't that kind of job. And I can't get welfare anymore either."
    "So what are we going to do?"
    "I told you. I'm going to get a job."
    He held the newspaper up in front of him so that I couldn't see his face. I went down below, shoved my backpack under the navigation table, and made myself a cheese sandwich. As I was eating, he leaned down into the companionway. "I'm going out," he said. "I'll be back later."
    When I finished the sandwich, I sat at the table thinking. Three months. It wasn't long. What would we do then? Sell the boat? Who'd buy it? There had to be twenty boats for sale in the marina in better shape than the
Tiny Dancer.
Besides, without the boat, where would we live?
    I ran that day, but instead of going through the locks and up into Magnolia, I kept going on Market until I reached Little City Hall. I pushed around some brochures on a table, hoping to spot what I was looking for. Behind the counter was a guy with long hair and a beard. "Can I help you find something?" he said.
    "There's this family I know that doesn't have much money. I was thinking they might be eligible for food stamps. Is there some sort of application form?"
    "It's right there," he said. "Right where you're looking. In green."
    I picked up the form. "Thanks," I said, folding it and putting it in my back pocket. "I'll bring this to them."
    I ran back to the marina, the whole time feeling stupid for
lying. The guy had seen right through me. After I showered, I went back to the boat, sat down at the navigation table, and filled out the food stamp application. Then I addressed an envelope, stuck a stamp on it, and put it on the table where my dad would see it. The only thing left for him to do was write down his social security number, sign it, and drop it in the mail. But even as I left it there, I knew he never would.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    That Saturday I slept in for as long as I could, ate a little breakfast, and killed the rest of the morning watching television. In the afternoon I headed for my job at Ray's.
    Eight hours later, tired and sweaty, I made my way back to the empty boat. They gave me a free dinner at work, but I was hungry again, so I heated up a frozen pizza, turned on the television, and watched an old movie about gamblers that was supposed to be funny but wasn't.
    The movie ended at twelve-thirty. I flicked off the television, crawled into my berth, and fell asleep. I woke up around three in the morning. Immediately I recognized the sound that had awakened me: my dad was walking back and forth on the deck.
    I looked out the small, rectangular window. It was raining, and the wind was blowing. I lay on my back for a minute hoping he'd come down. Finally I threw the blankets back, pulled
my coat on, and climbed to the top stair. "What are you doing, Dad?" I said, leaning my head out. "You're going to get sick."
    He stopped pacing and looked at me. "Wouldn't it be something to be out sailing tonight, Chance? Wouldn't it?"
    "You're going to get sick," I repeated. "Come down below."
    He looked up at the sky and then he looked at me. "I'm going to get a job, Chance. You don't believe me, and I don't blame you, but I will. And I'm going to sail this boat someday too. You wait and see if I don't."

    He'd been drunk that night, but on Sunday