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allergic to cats.” After five minutes of direct exposure to a cat, I start to sneeze. After ten minutes, my eyes begin to water. After fifteen minutes, they turn red and itch so badly that I feel like scratching them out of my head.
    Mr. Schuster opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by a whoop of laughter. I looked around and saw a gang of boys swarming out of the parking lot and onto the lawn. At first it looked as if they were headed our way. Then one of them pointed in our direction and the whole group ground to a halt. They conferred for a few moments before changing direction. One of them—Nick—glanced back over his shoulder at me. He was frowning. I watched them disappear inside the building.
    â€œGood riddance,” Mr. Schuster said.
    â€œWho are they?” I said.
    â€œIn my day we called them juvenile delinquents.” I looked from his bitter face to the door through which Nick and his friends had just disappeared.
    â€œThey can’t be that bad if they’re volunteering here,” I said.
    â€œVolunteering?”
Mr. Schuster said, his contempt deepening. “They aren’t volunteering. They’re here because they
have
to be here.” He shook his head. “Young offenders, that’s what they call them these days. Future convicts is what they really mean.”
    I thought about Nick and what I already knew about him.
    â€œKids like that don’t know the first thing about volunteering,” Mr. Schuster said. “You have to be capable of thinking about someone besides yourself. The only thing those kids think about is themselves. They’re always looking for a way to get something for nothing. That’s what got them in trouble in the first place.” His anger stunned me. “I’m sorry,” he said, reading my expression. “I know I’m ranting. I just can’t help myself. Kids like those really get me going. If I were in charge, I wouldn’t let those violent criminals within a mile of this place.”
    â€œViolent?” I said.
    â€œEvery single one of those young fellows has been in trouble with the law,” Mr. Schuster said. “And I don’t mean jaywalking or stealing a pack of gum from the corner store. I mean serious trouble. The reason they’re here is that they’ve been charged with at least one violent crime. And now some weak-kneed do-gooder has decided that working with animals is just the cure for their violent tendencies.” He snorted.
    â€œViolent crime?” I said.“What kind of violent crime?”
    â€œWe’re not allowed to know that,” Mr. Schuster said. “Those young fellows could go out and kill someone, and we wouldn’t be allowed to know.
They’re
protected by the law.”
    I know from my mother, who sometimes works with young offenders, that it’s illegal to report their names in the media. Mr. Schuster swallowed the last of his tea and screwed the top back onto his thermos. He snapped the lid onto the plastic container that had held his lunch. “Well, work doesn’t do itself,” he said as he stood up. “It was very nice to meet you, Robyn.”
    Before I could ask him how working with dogs could cure Nick—or anyone else, for that matter—of violent tendencies, he was striding away from the picnic table. For an old guy, he sure moved fast.
    Â 
    . . .
    I had to transfer buses twice to get all the way from the animal shelter to the vegan restaurant near where Billy worked. Billy was waiting for me outside. He’s tall and thin and knows more about animals than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s planning to be a wildlife biologist.
    â€œYou really didn’t have to do this,” I told him again as we sat down.
    â€œI hope you’ll like this place, Robyn.”
    â€œIf you like it, I know I will,” I said.
    In fact, the menu looked great. It was amazing how creative vegans could be in coming up