definitely didn't like storing them on the
Tiny Dancer.
But I did like the money. The money paid the moorage fee and the electric bill. The icebox was stocked with food, and so were the shelves above it and below it.
I suppose I should have been happy, or at least less unhappy, but it didn't work that way. From the first day the fat man talked to me, I knew I was being used by people who didn't care what happened to me. In the beginning, it had all been
exciting too, exciting like riding a roller coaster is exciting. Only when you're on a roller coaster, you know that in a minute you're going to get off and the world will return to normal. I hadn't gotten off; nothing was ever normal for me. Every time I saw a cop car in the marina parking lot or heard a siren in the distance, I thought the police were coming after me.
Twice I ran into Jeff Creager. Both times he made a point of asking about my job. "It's great," I said both times. "A lot better than washing dishes. A lot better." He laughed and wished me luck, but once he was gone a sick feeling would come over me, because I knew it wasn't better. It wasn't better at all.
We might have been able to make it, my dad and me, if I'd stayed at Ray's. When he lost his job, I thought the only money we'd have would be the money I earned. But it hadn't turned out that way. People on the marina know one another. Once the word got out that my dad needed work, men had hired him to help scrape or paint or clean their boats. It wasn't steady work, but it was work. By pooling the money he made doing those odd jobs with my paycheck from Ray's, we might have had enoughâespecially if we had hit up the food bank more often.
Sometimes when I was running, I'd think about how things might have turned out if I'd kept washing dishes. Instead of chasing Melissa away, I'd have been able to hang out with her. I could have eaten lunch with her at school, talked with her at the Blue Note on Friday nights, maybe even done other stuff with her. Then I'd give myself a shake. Who was I kidding? If I were still working at Ray's, I'd have no extra money in my pocket to do anything with anybody. Besides, Melissa lived in a different world; there was no way I was ever getting in.
CHAPTER TWO
The first Monday in April was cold and rainy. The boat rocked so much on Sunday night I hardly slept. There aren't many Mondays when I'm eager to go to school, but that was one. I wanted off that boat.
On Mondays the hallways at Lincoln are always loud. Kids are talking about their weekendsâthe sports they played, the dates they had, the beer they drank. But when I stepped inside Lincoln that morning, I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet, and too many kids were clumped together, their faces glum.
Melissa was in a corner with Annie and Natasha. We hadn't talked much since that night at the Blue Note, but as soon as she saw me, she came over. "Have you heard?" she asked, her voice shaky as if she were about to cry.
"Heard what?"
"About Brent Miller."
"What about Brent Miller?"
"He's dead."
I stared at her. "He's dead. How?"
"He was on patrol in Iraq. There was some sort of bomb on a bridge and two soldiers died. He was one of them."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. "It was on the radio this morning."
"The news gets stuff wrong all the time. You know that."
"Chance, he's dead."
The first bell sounded. "I've got to go," Melissa said. "I've got a calculus test, though I don't know how I'm going to do any calculus today."
All day I kept hoping to see Melissa so I could talk to her some more, but I didn't see her again until Arnold's class. Even then she came late, so I had no chance to speak with her before class.
Arnold looked old as he stood in front of us. The room was totally quiet as he pulled down the map of the world. "I know you've all heard the news about Brent Miller," he said, his voice weary. "I don't know much, but I'll tell you the little I do know. It happened outside of Baghdad.
Tiny Dancer.
But I did like the money. The money paid the moorage fee and the electric bill. The icebox was stocked with food, and so were the shelves above it and below it.
I suppose I should have been happy, or at least less unhappy, but it didn't work that way. From the first day the fat man talked to me, I knew I was being used by people who didn't care what happened to me. In the beginning, it had all been
exciting too, exciting like riding a roller coaster is exciting. Only when you're on a roller coaster, you know that in a minute you're going to get off and the world will return to normal. I hadn't gotten off; nothing was ever normal for me. Every time I saw a cop car in the marina parking lot or heard a siren in the distance, I thought the police were coming after me.
Twice I ran into Jeff Creager. Both times he made a point of asking about my job. "It's great," I said both times. "A lot better than washing dishes. A lot better." He laughed and wished me luck, but once he was gone a sick feeling would come over me, because I knew it wasn't better. It wasn't better at all.
We might have been able to make it, my dad and me, if I'd stayed at Ray's. When he lost his job, I thought the only money we'd have would be the money I earned. But it hadn't turned out that way. People on the marina know one another. Once the word got out that my dad needed work, men had hired him to help scrape or paint or clean their boats. It wasn't steady work, but it was work. By pooling the money he made doing those odd jobs with my paycheck from Ray's, we might have had enoughâespecially if we had hit up the food bank more often.
Sometimes when I was running, I'd think about how things might have turned out if I'd kept washing dishes. Instead of chasing Melissa away, I'd have been able to hang out with her. I could have eaten lunch with her at school, talked with her at the Blue Note on Friday nights, maybe even done other stuff with her. Then I'd give myself a shake. Who was I kidding? If I were still working at Ray's, I'd have no extra money in my pocket to do anything with anybody. Besides, Melissa lived in a different world; there was no way I was ever getting in.
CHAPTER TWO
The first Monday in April was cold and rainy. The boat rocked so much on Sunday night I hardly slept. There aren't many Mondays when I'm eager to go to school, but that was one. I wanted off that boat.
On Mondays the hallways at Lincoln are always loud. Kids are talking about their weekendsâthe sports they played, the dates they had, the beer they drank. But when I stepped inside Lincoln that morning, I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet, and too many kids were clumped together, their faces glum.
Melissa was in a corner with Annie and Natasha. We hadn't talked much since that night at the Blue Note, but as soon as she saw me, she came over. "Have you heard?" she asked, her voice shaky as if she were about to cry.
"Heard what?"
"About Brent Miller."
"What about Brent Miller?"
"He's dead."
I stared at her. "He's dead. How?"
"He was on patrol in Iraq. There was some sort of bomb on a bridge and two soldiers died. He was one of them."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. "It was on the radio this morning."
"The news gets stuff wrong all the time. You know that."
"Chance, he's dead."
The first bell sounded. "I've got to go," Melissa said. "I've got a calculus test, though I don't know how I'm going to do any calculus today."
All day I kept hoping to see Melissa so I could talk to her some more, but I didn't see her again until Arnold's class. Even then she came late, so I had no chance to speak with her before class.
Arnold looked old as he stood in front of us. The room was totally quiet as he pulled down the map of the world. "I know you've all heard the news about Brent Miller," he said, his voice weary. "I don't know much, but I'll tell you the little I do know. It happened outside of Baghdad.
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