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Dutch last summer for peeing on his new truck. Two beats later and there’s a flash of light. The guy is gone. A wave of nausea sweeps over me. It’s like hauling out the garbage. As long as it’s human, they’ll take it.
    “What was that about?” I say, blinking back the image that was there just seconds ago.
    Dad stares at the empty sidewalk. He waits, then says in a voice I barely hear, “So dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay.”
    I know the line. It’s from a poem he read to me after my third-grade teacher died in a car accident. I’m not much into poetry, but that one stayed with me.
    There’s some shouting going on in the apartments. It’s too far to make out what they’re saying, but I turn my back to the window. It’s time to leave. I’m afraid I’ll hear that
pop
again.
    And even more afraid the door will open.

DAY 5: LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

    Moving Day
     
    The soup is gone. So’re the soggy buns. Two pieces of stinky cheese, one slice of bologna, and three glugs of water—that’s all I’ve got left. Oh, and one can of beer. I’ve been sipping it slow to make it last. So far that isn’t a problem. It tastes awful, which makes me wonder how Zack could drink so much. Sometimes when Mom was out working he’d suck down a whole six-pack in the time it took me to finish a soda and a Slim Jim. But anything is better than the soup. I think the soup gave me a bad case of the runs. There’s a place behind a little green Toyota that I hope to never see again. But I’m thirsty and the beer makes me want to pee. That means getting out of the car. And that’s something I hate to do.
    Hoodie keeps coming out here.
    Sometimes he’s alone, but most times he’s not. Day ornight, it doesn’t matter. They laugh and swear over who gets what. Ever since he punched Round Man I haven’t seen anyone else but him and his friends. I figure they’re looking for food or maybe drugs or both. There’s so many wrecked cars down here that I’ve been left alone—so far. It’s only a matter of time. I want to stay in this car, but if I stay too long Hoodie will find me. That could be a good thing, but I doubt it. Judging by how things are going up to this point, I figure it’s best to keep hiding.
    And hiding is something I do better than anyone.
    The secret is to hide in a place that has already been searched. That’s how I always hid from Zack when he was drunk. I’d be in the closet while he was looking under the bed. Then when he turned his back I’d slip under the bed. He never figured it out. I tried telling this to Mom, that we could hide from him in town, but she wouldn’t listen. She said we needed to get as far away as possible. We drove from Erie, Pennsylvania, to Los Angeles in three days. We were headed for a friend’s house in San Diego, but the radiator blew in Bakersfield, so that wiped out our cash. We made it to LA with no money and the tank on “E.” That’s why I’m in a parking garage and Mom is interviewing for a job. A job that would last an hour, tops.
    It’s time to move. I’ve been watching that SUV, the one I noticed on the first day. The mom with the two kids never came back. The girl’s stuffed rabbit is still on the ground where she dropped it. I’m afraid to pick it up because someone might figure out that I’m here. So it just lies on the cold cement and reminds me of that awful day whenMom left with the whispering man. The bald guy with the tattoos already broke into the SUV, so I doubt he’ll bother with it. There’s a security light close, but not too close, and lots of shadows all around. It looks big, so there should be plenty of room for my sleeping bag and clothes and places to hide if I need them. It’s still kind of sideways from when it got rammed, which is good for me. That means I have a perfect view to watch this car.
    For when Mom comes back.
    My backpack is loaded. It’s dark outside and no one has been in the garage for three hours.