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do. Every so often some kids would come out of the cinder-block building, smoke cigarettes, and go back in. But aside from occasional glimpses from a few other kids off in the distance, nothing happened. At some point, maybe fifteen or twenty kids came out of the classroom and were standing around talking, but they were big scary kids. There was no way I was going to approach them for information. Eventually Ed walked by and said, “Hey, you guys want lunch?” We nodded our heads. “Well, you better get over to the cafeteria. You’ve got about five minutes. We stop serving food at one.”
    Kyle and I very tentatively walked over to the cafeteria. There were only a few people in there, as lunch was almost over. We grabbed a couple of paper bags off the counter and got the hell out of there. These kids seemed weird. They had long hair and wore sneakers with no laces and baseball hats with two long flaps coming off the back of them. I had never seen kids like these before. We got back to our steps at the trailer and found a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread, a bag of chips, and a Capri Sun in our lunch bag. We ate in silence. Then we watched in silence.
    Two hours later the door to the trailer opened and we were allowed back in. Afraid of the outhouses, or anything past the stairs for that matter, we had been holding our bladders all day. After we used the bathroom, Carol informed us that dinner would be at six, and we could do whatever we wanted till then. We went to what was now undeniably ourroom and peeked through the blinds waiting for the last of the big kids to be picked up. Then we went to the trampoline and jumped up and down for a few hours until dinner.
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    A ND SO IT WENT. Every day we were kicked out at nine and allowed back in at three. Every day we ventured a little farther from the safety of Carol’s trailer, until eventually the three-acre dirt lot started feeling like home.
    It turned out that Kyle and I were the only kids who actually lived at the school. The place wasn’t set up for boarders, but some of the kids, having nowhere else to go, would hang out well beyond three. The only rule, it seemed, was that there were no rules. Anyone could do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Aside from five other kids whose ages ranged from eleven to fourteen, all the other students were older and apparently there because they were too smart for public school. I couldn’t understand why anyone would go to class if they didn’t have to, but every day, twenty or so kids would show up and go straight to the classroom, and, except to smoke the occasional cigarette, wouldn’t come out until class was over at three. As I got more comfortable, I started to ask more questions.
    â€œSo what’s up with all those kids who go to class?” I asked Ed one night.
    â€œThis is a school. We have classes. What’s different is that we let the kids decide whether or not they want to go. We don’t make anyone do anything.”
    â€œDo you think I should go to class?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t think anything,” he said. “If you want to go to class, go to class. If you don’t want to go, don’t.”
    Unlike my mom, I couldn’t get a read on what he was really thinking. She had this way of saying the same kind of nonjudgmental things, but through tone of voice or some sort of psychic mind trick, she was telling you exactly what she thought. I thought I had become pretty good at figuring out what people were really thinking, no matter what was coming out of their mouths, but Ed really stumped me. I had to try a different tack.
    â€œDo you think it would be good if I went to class?” I tried.
    â€œI wouldn’t use the words good or bad . No matter what you do you’re always learning something.”
    This guy was really tough. It wasn’t as if he were uninterested or trying to blow me off—Ed could talk for