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She
doubted
me.
    “You’re right, Nancy,” my father said in the same tone I’d heard hostage negotiators use in movies.
    “Oh,” my mother cried, “I just hope Win’s all right. But how could he be all right if he hasn’t contacted his parents?” I wanted to point out that he’d apparently not spoken to them for theentirety of our trip and was as happy then as I’d ever seen him.
    “Mom, can I talk to Dad for a second?” I asked.
    “Chris, you know you can tell me anything,” she said. But that wasn’t entirely accurate. Like what I’d been doing in the bathroom all those times. Luckily, my father intervened.
    “Nance, trust the boy. I’ll fill you in. If he wants to talk to me, let him.”
    I could sense my mother forming replies in her mind. Even imagined her opening her mouth once or twice to frame the words. But instead of a protest, finally, she said, “Well …”
    “I’ll call you Monday, Mom,” I said. “After the detective guy comes again.”
    “He’s coming back?” she yelped. “We have to get you a lawyer, you don’t have to talk to him—”
    My father cut her off. “Honey, I’ll just be a minute with Chris.”
    “Wouldn’t you like me to call Mr. Shaw?” she asked.
    “Nancy, he’s a tax attorney,” my father said evenly.
    She hesitated again. “Well … fine,” she said, adding, “I love you, Chris.”
    “Love you, too, Mom,” I mumbled into the phone.
    Mom’s connection went quiet. My father and I were silent a second.
    “You okay, son?” he asked.
    “Think so. It’s just … weird,” I said.
    More silence. Then my father took a deep breath, like he was about to dive underwater. “What happened out there, Chris?” he asked.
    “Everything, Dad,” I said. “Everything.”

CHAPTER SIX
    “Everything about high school is behind you boys,” Winston Coggans the
Second
said proudly that night at dinner after graduation. Winston the
Third
and I had managed to get through the marching and ceremony without incident. It was this part I’d truly been dreading. My parents had invited Win and his family to join us for dinner. I don’t think any of us were more surprised than Win that they accepted. But it was nothing compared with the shock Win’s mom experienced after arriving at the restaurant Win and I had chosen—the same place we celebrated my birthday last summer.
    “Are those peanut shells on the floor?” she asked as a waitress clad in a tiny tank top, huge belt buckle, and tight jeans showed us to our table. Roundup was one of those fake-saloon, Western places,complete with the swinging half doors on the bathroom stalls and the bucket of raw peanuts on the table to shell and eat while you waited for your food. They also had monster steaks. Win and I figured we’d be eating peanut butter and ramen noodles all summer, so milking our parents for a free slab of meat was the only real choice.
    “You’re not allergic, are you?” my mother asked her.
    Win’s mother made a face that sort of looked like she wished she were. “Not technically.”
    After we’d ordered, and Win’s parents had ceased looking like they’d stumbled into some foreign country, we tried to talk a little over the too-loud country music they piped in to make sure we remembered we were in a honky-tonk meat palace.
    “Winston here’s heading to Dartmouth, you know,” his father said again, nodding to his son but looking to my father. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he seemed proud. But I did know better. If he was proud, it was only of himself for pulling in the right favors and leaning on the right people to get Win’s 3.2 GPA into the Ivies.
    “His grandfather played football for the Big Green, you know,” Win’s father said. “I was supposed to play lacrosse, but I injured my knee right before my freshman year. I loved it there, though, just like my father said I would. Just like I’m sure Win will.”
    Win nodded, smiling weakly. He was even less excited about