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He sat beside Sophie and began licking one paw and washing his whiskers.
    â€œThis is Midnight,” Sophie said. “I found him eating a piece of a chicken leg that somebody had dropped near the Dumpster behind our building.”
    I leaned down to pet Midnight, who pushed his head against my hand and purred.
    â€œI made a Found Cat sign,” Sophie said, “but nobody claimed him, so he stayed with me.” She scooped the little cat into her arms, and he snuggled against her, purring. “He is a very intelligent cat, and he thanks you for bringing him food and a toy.”
    â€œHe’s beautiful,” I said.
    â€œI was afraid Mama wouldn’t let me keep him because we have to share our food with him, but when she saw how happy he makes me—and Trudy, too—she said he could stay.”
    â€œI’ll try to bring more cat food next time,” I said. “Do you need cat litter, too?”
    â€œI use regular dirt, in an old dishpan. Midnight is a good boy and uses his pan.”
    She bent her head over the cat, who purred even louder.
    â€œWhy don’t you write down your phone number for me?” I said. “I could call during spring break, to see if you need anything. I can give you my number, too. Just be sure to talk to me, not my mom.”
    â€œWe don’t have a phone. It got disconnected when we couldn’t pay the bill.”
    â€œWhat about e-mail?” As soon as I asked, I realized what a dumb question it was. If you can’t afford a phone, you don’t have Internet access, either.
    â€œNo computer,” Sophie said.
    â€œI’ll figure out a way to get in touch with you,” I said.
    â€œThank you for helping us,” Sophie said. “Mama was on the verge of moving to Mexico, even though we don’t want to do that. Her parents are there—my grandparents.”
    It surprised me that Sophie had close family. Why didn’t they help?
    She must have read my mind. “My grandparents are poor themselves,” she said, “and can’t send us money, but they offer a home if we go to live with them.” Her dark eyes looked fierce. “I am an American girl, and so is Trudy. We were born here, and we should stay here.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But if Mama does not get well soon and find work again, we will have to leave.”
    â€œWhat about your dad?”
    Sophie shook her head. “He’s gone,” she said. “He . . .”
    â€œHey, Emmy!” Jelly Bean bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. “Chance says we’re leaving in sixty seconds.”
    â€œI have to go now, before Jelly Bean’s brother leaves without me.”
    I wanted to hear more of Sophie’s story. What did she mean by “gone”? Had her dad deserted the family? Was he dead?
    Instead of asking my questions, I waved good-bye, dashed down the stairs, and climbed in the backseat of the clunkermobile.
    â€œIt took you long enough,” Chance said.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œI’m gonna be late for the basketball game.”
    â€œSorry,” I repeated.
    The night before there had been a segment on the news about the rising cost of gasoline. It showed how much prices had gone up in the last few weeks, and it had occurred to me that Chance might appreciate it if he got some help filling the clunkermobile’s gas tank.
    Before I left home that morning, I had taken a five-dollar bill out of the shoe box where I keep the money I’m saving to buy a new bike. Now I fished in my jeans pocket for the money and handed it into the front seat. “This is for gas,” I said. “For driving us.”
    Chance looked surprised, but he didn’t say anything because his phone must have vibrated. He put the five dollars on the seat next to him and turned his attention to his latest text message.
    All the way home, I thought what it would be like not to have a phone. No