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forty-five.”
    Tick, tick, tick.
    Everything kept moving forward.
    Stop. Just push the stop button.
    But Mark’s lips moved. People walked by us in the hallway. The afternoon light grew dim. And I was stuck on play.
    That night they gave me Dr. Matthews’s pills with my food. My world lost its colors. The brightness turned to shades of gray and forms lost their edge. But my dreams were filled with red, black, and deep purple. Veins, tendons, arteries, muscles, and blood, pumping, flowing, and then clotting and stopping. I woke up when the room was soblack, I couldn’t even see my own hand. I stayed awake and listened to some girl cry down the hall. Another kid tapped a pencil or something against the wall.
    I counted backward, wondering if I could turn everything around if I concentrated hard enough, but I couldn’t. The sun rose, and I was two days away—farther from Jason than I ever thought I’d be.

9
    T he courtroom smelled like lemon furniture polish and old men’s cologne. It was too small for a jury. And the judge was a surprise. You always think judges are gonna be some balding fat guys with mustaches or something, but not this one. Jason and I used to talk about what jobs would be good for meeting hot women. Judge would’ve been one of them.
    Â 
    â€œYou know what would be cool?” Jason said one day when we were in seventh grade, out of nowhere. We were just hanging out in Jase’s room. “Teaching.”
    I looked at Jason. “Teaching what?”
    â€œArt…or something.”
    â€œC’mon! That’s so lame. What teacher have we ever had that’s hot?”
    Jason shrugged. “I dunno. I think Miss Simpson isn’t too bad. And Mrs. Carmichael is a pretty good-lookin’ old bird.”
    â€œMrs. Carmichael? She’s gotta be at least thirty-five! And way far away from being Hooters-hot. You need a job where you meet Hooters-hot chicks. Like a cop or fireman. Think Backdraft , not Stand and Deliver . Plus, when I get picked for Carson City’s hottest firemen calendar, the chicks will be all over me.”
    â€œHottest firemen calendar?” Jason shook his head and cracked up. “Whatever, Mr. December.”
    â€œDude, why not?” I did my Mr. Universe pose.
    â€œYou’re hopeless.”
    I punched him, and he put me in a headlock. “C’mon, Jase.” I tried to break free, but he had me tight. “It’s way better than playing school with Miss Simpson in her plaid vests.”
    He let me go. “Okay, seriously. Have you ever thought about what you wanted to do? I mean for real?”
    â€œNot Mr. December?”
    â€œKyle, I’m serious.”
    I thought for a while. “Not really. It just seems so far away. Plus, all I like are movies. And I don’t think having a managerial position at Blockbuster is a babe-magnet kind of job.” I shrugged. “What about you?”
    â€œAn artist.”
    â€œAn artist? Like painting and art galleries and shit?”
    â€œMore like graphic design and comics. Grandma Petersis teaching me to draw with charcoal. She said I had to get the basics first. It’s pretty cool.”
    â€œDude, so that’s what you’ve been doing. I mean, when you say you’re busy and don’t want to watch old movies.”
    Jason nodded.
    â€œWill you show me your stuff?”
    â€œIt’s not any good.”
    â€œC’mon, just show me.”
    â€œDon’t laugh.” Jason pulled out a notebook of chalky black drawings. At first they weren’t so great, but then by mid notebook, the apples really looked like apples. He had even drawn a picture of an old tennis shoe with the toe worn through. “Check these out.” He had a separate notebook filled with Marvel comic characters.
    â€œ You drew these?”
    He nodded. I flipped through the pages and started noticing familiar faces. “Dude, that’s