Part 4 (2/2)

His house was gone. His things were gone. There was rain. There was too much rain. There was a dead body. Images flew through Zavions mind like he was running a race. He needed to stop them. He needed to focus.

On one thing.

Now.

How was he going to repay Luna Market?

chapter 12.

HENRY.

There was no way Henry was going to school. He couldnt face anyone there. He wouldnt be able to concentrate in math on percentages, or in science about solids and liquids.

On instinct he headed for Waynes house.

The middle of the trail between Henry and Waynes went through a red pine grove. It was like walking on an old carpet. Henrys boots stopped snapping and shuffling, and he could hear the birds chasing after the wind, and the squirrels sc.r.a.ping their claws up and down the bark of the trees. He always loved this place, the quietest place on earth, the place that brought him straight to Waynes.

”Out of the way!” a voice screamed from behind him.

Okay, not quiet today.

Henry jumped, Brae jumped, and Henry swore the trees jumped too. He turned around. His up-the-hill neighbor, Nopie Lyons, bombed down the trail on his bike. His hair was in his eyes, a huge backpack pushed his chest onto the bike frame, and silver boots came up over his pants. He looked like a cross between a turtle and an electric mixer. Nopie was a freak of nature, and he was coming straight at Henry.

Henry dove out of the way just in time.

”Youre going the wrong way for school, Nopie!” Henry yelled as Nopie sped away.

Brae loped after Nopie.

”Cmon, Brae,” called Henry. ”Stay with me.” He remembered the last time he had seen Nopie. The time before the funeral. ”Please stay with me.”

chapter 13.

ZAVION.

”Does it have a bathroom?” Zavion leaned over to whisper to Papa.

Joe had driven them over the Suns.h.i.+ne Bridge and Skeet had picked them up and brought them the rest of the way here.

”Of course it has a bathroom. Two of them. And good water pressure too,” came a loud voice from above their heads.

A strong, minty smell came along with it. Not the sweet smell of gum or peppermint candy, but the sharp, fresh smell of real mint. Zavion turned his head. A woman with thick gla.s.ses, long gray dreadlocks, and knitting needles in her hands leaned over the railing of the stairs behind him. The needles were moving fast. A long scarf dangled by her side.

”The bathrooms are both blue,” she said. ”Very soothing. Easy to be in there when you have to do your business.”

”You remember Ms. Cyn, Ben?” said Skeet.

”Of course. h.e.l.lo, Ms. Cyn,” said Papa. He stood on his toes to give the woman a kiss on the cheek.

”h.e.l.lo, Ben,” Ms. Cyn said, tapping Papa on the nose with her knitting needles and continuing down the stairs.

Zavion looked around the room. Sleeping bags covered the floor and the two couches and even a chair. The walls were bare except for a large cloth banner of a boy sitting at the base of a tree reading a book. Just above his lap, another book floated open in the air. And above that, where the branches started in the tree, a sort of half-book, half-bird floated again. Then, finally, a bird, wings outstretched, flew high in the sky. Written across the tree, in letters that sat hanging from the branches like fruit, was the word grat.i.tude.

Zavion recognized the painting style. The banner was one of Skeets.

How cool would it be to jump into the banner? To be the book? To jump, fly, up, up, turn into a book-bird, fly some more, higher and higher, until he was a real bird, wings wide, soaring in the sky?

”You ever been in Baton Rouge before?” Ms. Cyn asked Zavion, interrupting his thoughts. She motioned for him to sit with her on the bench at the bottom of the stairs. She knit and chewed her mint leaves.

”No, maam,” Zavion said. He scanned the room. Skeet and Papa knelt on the floor with two men who Zavion didnt recognize. They were playing some sort of game with marbles. A little girl played on the rug near them.

”Well, welcome, then.”

”Thank you, maam.”

”You gonna tell me your name?”

”Oh. Yes, maam,” said Zavion. ”My name is Zavion.”

”Dont think I didnt already know it, Zavion,” said Ms. Cyn, and she laughed a deep, loud laugh.

Ms. Cyns needles flew in and out of the scarf. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a strip of yellow cloth. It was soft, like a piece of an old t-s.h.i.+rt. Zavion watched as she knit the cloth right into the scarf.

”Whatd you do that for?” Zavion asked.

”What did I do?”

”That piece of cloth. Whyd you put it into the scarf?”

”I did it there too. See?”

Ms. Cyn pointed one of her needles to another strip of cloth toward the bottom of the scarf. A dark orange rectangle, hard to see because the wool was almost the same color.

”But what are they?”

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