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for it. Careful to keep myeyes on the floor so they wouldn’t know what I was thinking, I tried to study the room. We were too high up for me to jump out a window, but if I could find some way to distract them, I might be able to run out the door and downstairs to the street.
    â€œCan’t you just let me go?” I asked John. I knew there was no sense in talking to Clarisse; she’d made up her mind about me. In fact she was rummaging through her purse, probably looking for her cell phone so she could turn me in. I knew I was running out of time.
    â€œHe didn’t take anything.” This time, when John turned back to Clarisse, I made a run for it. Getting out of the apartment and past all those boxes was a bit like dribbling around those orange cones in the gym.
    I could hear John stumbling behind me. And I could hear Clarisse shrieking on the telephone: “I’m calling to report a home invasion!”
    I flew down the stairs and out the front door, which no one had bothered to close.
    I was trying to decide whether to keeprunning or find someplace to hide when I felt someone grab my shoulder.
    â€œNot so fast, young man!” a voice said. I didn’t need to see the uniform to know he was a cop.
    â€œI got here as soon as I could, officer.”
    I could hear Clay’s voice from behind the door. He sounded nervous — like he was the one who’d got caught doing something wrong.
    They’d hauled me down to the local police station. The worst part was sitting in the back of the police cruiser. When we stopped at a light, I made the mistake of looking into the car next to us. Patsy was in the passenger seat; her mom was at the wheel. I turned away the second I realized it was Patsy, but it was too late. She’d spotted me. She looked like she was about to wave, but then, all of a sudden, she turned away. I figured she didn’t want to embarrass me.
    At least they didn’t throw me into a cell. Instead they made me sit in this little room that felt like the waiting room at thedoctor’s—only there were no magazines or coughing kids. It wasn’t anything like on TV . Nobody read me my rights or asked if I wanted a lawyer.
    One cop brought me a Coke and asked me to tell her what I’d been doing in the apartment. “It just sort of happened,” I told her and explained about the moving truck.
    â€œHave you done this kind of thing before?” she asked, without taking her eyes off mine.
    I took a quick breath. “Never,” I lied.
    Now I could hear her talking to Clay, saying that couple had decided not to press charges, that the police were going to allow me to go home, but that I had to be under Clay’s constant supervision. Just my luck, I thought.
    â€œHave you considered taking him to a family counselor?” I heard the cop ask Clay. I tapped the arms of my chair while I waited for Clay to say something.
    â€œWe thought he was doing okay,” he said at last. “We just figured he was having some adjustment difficulties. Getting-used-to-thenew-stepfather kind of stuff.” As if anyone could ever get used to Clay.
    â€œI know what it’s like,” the cop said with a sigh. “My boyfriend has a son. He’s only six, but the kid’s impossible. God knows what he’ll be like at fifteen.”
    â€œPut on your seatbelt,” Clay told her. “You’re in for a rough ride.”
    Gimme a break, I thought. The woman’s in for a rough ride? What about the kid? Let’s just hope his dad’s girlfriend is a little more normal than Clay.
    â€œSo what the hell were you thinking?” Clay asked me when we were in his car.
    â€œI wasn’t thinking anything.” Somehow I’d expected him to be nicer. He was obviously pissed with me.
    â€œYou must’ve been thinking something,” he insisted.
    That’s when I blew. “Okay,” I told him. “If you really want to