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looked at the box and then at me.
    â€œYou’re lucky you found it before the garbage truck got it,” Miranda said. “I warned you. If you keep leaving your stuff lying around, I’m going to throw it out.”
    â€œIf you touch my stuff again,” I told her, “you’ll be sorry.”
    â€œDon’t talk to me like that, Josh.”
    â€œHow would you like it if people did whatever they wanted with your stuff?” I said. I picked up the mug that was sitting in front of her—her special mug that no one was supposed to ever touch.
    â€œPut that down,” she said.
    I raised it over my head. Boy, I was just aching to bounce it off the wall and watch it smash into a thousand pieces.
    â€œPut it down, Josh.”
    I stared at her. Then I slammed it down on the table. It didn’t break. I flopped onto the couch, where I wouldn’t have to look at her, and turned on the TV. When she told me to do my homework, I turned it up louder. She got up and went into the bedroom. I heard her crying.
    She must have called Andrew because when he came home, he didn’t stop to talk to me. He went right into the bedroom. Maybe ten minutes later he came out again.
    â€œYou want to tell me your side?” he said.
    â€œShe threw my stuff out again. She has no right touching my stuff, Andrew.”
    â€œYou’re supposed to keep your stuff put away.” He shook his head. “Come on, Josh, you made her cry.”
    â€œShe started it,” I said. “She always starts it.”
    â€œThat’s your big line, huh?” Andrew said. “She started it. She always starts it.
You
never start anything. You never finish anything, either. That’s real mature, Josh.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, I never finish—”
    â€œThis is where I live, Josh. Miranda and Digby are my family. I want it to be a peaceful family. That means everybody, including you, has to live by the rules. If you make Miranda cry one more time, you’re going to have to find someplace else to live. You hear me, Josh?” His face was all red and his hands were fists.
    I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen Andrew so angry.

Chapter Eight
    Andrew was gone in the morning. The sink was filled with breakfast dishes. Miranda was in the bathroom, giving Digby a bath. I went to the fridge to get milk for my cereal. I hadn’t slept well. I kept thinking about what Andrew had said. Miranda and Digby were his family. If I wanted to stay with them, I had to live by the rules.
    If.
    Where else would I go? A couple of the guys I knew from the group home had spent time on the street. Most of them went on about how great it was. But one guy, a guy the staff liked a lot and who kept to himself and spent most of his time reading or doing his homework, said they were full of it. He said life on the street was great if you wanted to eat junk food and try to keep clean by washing up in restaurant bathrooms. He said it was great if you didn’t mind freezing your butt off under a pile of sleeping bags in an alley some place or bedding down in some squat that smelled like piss and some nights you were afraid to close your eyes because of the rats. Rats!
    I filled the sink with water, squirted in some dish detergent and started to do the dishes. I was trying to do something good. As usual, it turned into something bad. I heard a noise behind me. When I turned, the mug I was holding slipped out of my hand and crashed onto the kitchen floor.It was Miranda’s favorite mug. The noise I had heard was Miranda, coming into the kitchen. She stared at the mug. It was in pieces on the floor.
    â€œThanks a lot, Josh,” she said. Her face was crumpled up like she was going to cry. Over a stupid mug. “Do me a favor,” she said. “From now on, don’t touch anything that belongs to me.”
    I grabbed my school stuff and left the apartment. I wanted to slam the door—boy, did I