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that if you or your dad ever need any help, he—"
    "Melissa," I said, cutting her off, "we don't need your help."
    She pushed her chocolate away from her. "I'm sorry, Chance. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I was just doing what my dad asked me to do."
    "You didn't hurt my feelings," I said. "And it's nice of your father and all. But we don't need help. We're doing fine."
    She nodded, and then she looked at her watch. "I should get going."
    "I'll walk back with you," I said.
    She stood. "No. Stay here. I'd rather walk alone."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    It was a cold Friday afternoon one week later. I'd run my normal route, out to the locks, then back along the Shilshole marina through Golden Gardens Park and onto the beach toward Carkeek. I'd run fast, faster than ever. And the fast pace worked. For the last couple of miles I'd run the way an animal runs—pure motion and no thought. When I finally stopped running, it was as if I'd come out of a dream world. I wished I could have kept running forever.
    But I couldn't, so I went down to the boat, grabbed some clean clothes, and headed back toward the bathroom at the end of the pier to shower. A cold wind was blowing off the Sound, and I felt a shiver go through me. As I started up the ramp toward the utility room and the showers, the fat guy from the marina office stepped from the sidewalk onto the ramp, blocking me.
    He'd started working at the marina office toward the end of
summer. He was in charge of boats that needed temporary moorage. Charters, mainly. He liked to hang out on the sidewalk that ran between the parking lot and the piers, talking to people in a loud, know-it-all voice. Even on a gray, wet day he wore dark sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt covered with birds and flowers. He had no neck; his bald head seemed to just sit on top of his shoulders.
    "You run every day, kid?" he asked.
    "What?" I said.
    "You run every day?"
    I shrugged. "Yeah. Pretty much."
    He smiled. "Good for you. I like healthy kids. I wish I'd run when I was your age."
    "I got to get going," I said, and I pushed by him.
    "What's your hurry?" he said.
    I kept going without looking back.
    When I reached the utility room, I opened the door quickly, stepped inside, and pulled the heavy door shut. As usual the room was empty. I took the shower stall way in the back, turned the handles, and adjusted the water temperature. When it was hot, but not too hot, I undressed and stepped in. Then I closed my eyes and let the hot water pour over my head.
    I was washing my hair when I heard the main door open. It creeps me out whenever that happens. I listened to hear if anyone was heading toward the shower stalls. Instead I heard the rumble of the clothes dryer as it started up. I rinsed the soap out of my hair, turned off the water, dried myself quickly, and dressed. While I was dressing, I heard the click of the main door as it closed. Whoever had come in was gone.
    I gathered my dirty clothes together—the sound of the dryer reminded me I'd have to do a wash later. Then I combed my hair and headed back toward the locker area. When I rounded the corner, the fat guy was standing in front of the mirror, picking his teeth with a red toothpick. As soon as he saw me, he turned. "We weren't done talking."
    I dropped my dirty clothes and curled my hands into fists. "You touch me, you pervert, and you'll pay for it."
    He smiled. "Relax, kid. This has nothing to do with sex. I want to give you a chance to earn some easy money." He paused. "You need money, don't you?"
    "No," I said. "I don't."
    He tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "That's funny. Word at the office is that your old man lost his job over at Sunset West, that he missed his September payment, and that in a couple of months or so he's going to lose that beat-up sailboat you call home."
    "My dad will get a job," I said.
    He smiled. "You know something? I like your spirit. I really do. But I don't have time to play games. So listen,