mouth shut. But Arnold didn't slap me down. Instead he took a deep breath, and when he exhaled the anger went out of his eyes. "That's a good point, Chance. It's something that needs to be discussed." He looked around the classroom. "Anyone care to comment on what Chance just said? Amy Yee, what do you think?"
I slipped down in my seat, and for the rest of class kept my eyes on my desk and my mouth shut while kids argued about whether it was right that mainly poor kids served in the army.
As I was heading out the door at the end of class, Arnold called me over. "You should raise your hand more often, Chance. That's the best discussion we've had in weeks."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When I finished my run that day, Melissa was waiting for me by the ramp leading down to Pier B. As soon as she saw me, she smiled and waved. "Hey, Chance."
I liked seeing her; I liked being near her. But not here, not by my boat. She was too close to things I didn't want anyone to know about. "What are you doing here, Melissa?"
"Nothing, really. I just wanted to talk to you."
"How did you find out where my boat is?"
She nodded toward the marina office. "They told me in there." She paused. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong. I just wasn't expecting to see you."
She turned and faced the pier. "Which is your boat?"
"The
Tiny Dancer,"
I said. "Slip forty-five." The boat was halfway down the pier. She looked, but I knew she couldn't pick it out.
"It must be neat living on a boat."
"It's OK," I said.
She wanted me to take her out onto the dock and show her the
Tiny Dancer,
but it was the last thing I'd ever do. Finally she turned away from the pier. "How about if we walk a little bit?" she said. "Maybe we could get some hot chocolate or something at Little Coney?"
"I don't have any money with me," I said, gesturing to my running clothes.
"My treat." She smiled. "Come on."
We walked toward Little Coney. For a time, neither of us spoke. "I've been thinking about what you said in class today," she said as we reached the yacht club building. "About how this is a country run by rich people."
"What about it?"
"My family is rich."
"I wasn't talking about your family, Melissa. I just meant rich people in general."
"But you're right, Chance. My older brothers are both at Yale. They aren't going into the army or the navy or anything like that. My mom would die if they enlisted."
"So?" I said.
"So if we were poor they might have to go someplace like Afghanistan or Iraq. Just like you said. And it's not right."
I stopped. "Melissa, I was just talking. Don't take everything so seriously."
"So I shouldn't pay attention to what you say?"
"No," I said. "You shouldn't."
She frowned, and we walked in silence the rest of the way. I pushed open the door to Little Coney and we stepped inside.
"Two hot chocolates," she said, putting money on the counter. We found a booth that looked out over the boat launch and sat down.
For a while we just drank our chocolate and looked at the water. Finally, Melissa broke the silence. Her voice was low, and she spoke slowly. "Did you know that your dad and my dad were best friends when they were kids? They both went to Ingraham High and played on the baseball team."
I stared at her, too stunned to answer.
She gave me a little smile. "I didn't think you did. I only found out because I mentioned your name at dinner after that whole thing with Brent Miller. My dad recognized it, and he showed me his old yearbooks. There had to be a half dozen pictures of your father and my father together. They were like brothers." She paused. "My dad says that your father was in the first Gulf War and that he saw a lot of action. Is that true?"
As soon as she mentioned the Gulf War, my throat tightened. I hated thinking about Melissa and her dad talking about us, feeling sorry for us. "Yeah, my dad fought in the
Gulf War."
She tipped her cup this way and that way. "Look, Chance," she said at last. "My dad wanted me to tell you
I slipped down in my seat, and for the rest of class kept my eyes on my desk and my mouth shut while kids argued about whether it was right that mainly poor kids served in the army.
As I was heading out the door at the end of class, Arnold called me over. "You should raise your hand more often, Chance. That's the best discussion we've had in weeks."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When I finished my run that day, Melissa was waiting for me by the ramp leading down to Pier B. As soon as she saw me, she smiled and waved. "Hey, Chance."
I liked seeing her; I liked being near her. But not here, not by my boat. She was too close to things I didn't want anyone to know about. "What are you doing here, Melissa?"
"Nothing, really. I just wanted to talk to you."
"How did you find out where my boat is?"
She nodded toward the marina office. "They told me in there." She paused. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong. I just wasn't expecting to see you."
She turned and faced the pier. "Which is your boat?"
"The
Tiny Dancer,"
I said. "Slip forty-five." The boat was halfway down the pier. She looked, but I knew she couldn't pick it out.
"It must be neat living on a boat."
"It's OK," I said.
She wanted me to take her out onto the dock and show her the
Tiny Dancer,
but it was the last thing I'd ever do. Finally she turned away from the pier. "How about if we walk a little bit?" she said. "Maybe we could get some hot chocolate or something at Little Coney?"
"I don't have any money with me," I said, gesturing to my running clothes.
"My treat." She smiled. "Come on."
We walked toward Little Coney. For a time, neither of us spoke. "I've been thinking about what you said in class today," she said as we reached the yacht club building. "About how this is a country run by rich people."
"What about it?"
"My family is rich."
"I wasn't talking about your family, Melissa. I just meant rich people in general."
"But you're right, Chance. My older brothers are both at Yale. They aren't going into the army or the navy or anything like that. My mom would die if they enlisted."
"So?" I said.
"So if we were poor they might have to go someplace like Afghanistan or Iraq. Just like you said. And it's not right."
I stopped. "Melissa, I was just talking. Don't take everything so seriously."
"So I shouldn't pay attention to what you say?"
"No," I said. "You shouldn't."
She frowned, and we walked in silence the rest of the way. I pushed open the door to Little Coney and we stepped inside.
"Two hot chocolates," she said, putting money on the counter. We found a booth that looked out over the boat launch and sat down.
For a while we just drank our chocolate and looked at the water. Finally, Melissa broke the silence. Her voice was low, and she spoke slowly. "Did you know that your dad and my dad were best friends when they were kids? They both went to Ingraham High and played on the baseball team."
I stared at her, too stunned to answer.
She gave me a little smile. "I didn't think you did. I only found out because I mentioned your name at dinner after that whole thing with Brent Miller. My dad recognized it, and he showed me his old yearbooks. There had to be a half dozen pictures of your father and my father together. They were like brothers." She paused. "My dad says that your father was in the first Gulf War and that he saw a lot of action. Is that true?"
As soon as she mentioned the Gulf War, my throat tightened. I hated thinking about Melissa and her dad talking about us, feeling sorry for us. "Yeah, my dad fought in the
Gulf War."
She tipped her cup this way and that way. "Look, Chance," she said at last. "My dad wanted me to tell you
Similar Books
The Extra
Kenneth Rosenberg
The Dead Hand of History
Sally Spencer
One Week as Lovers
Victoria Dahl
The Painting
Ryan Casey
A Cowboy For Christmas (A Copper Mountain Christmas)
Katherine Garbera
The Fall (Book 4): Genesis Game
Joshua Guess
Fight
London Casey, Ana W. Fawkes
The Runaway Princess
Kate Coombs
strongholdrising
Lisanne Norman
Restoration
Kim Loraine