It is New Year’s Eve day, the last day of the seventies. It has been three weeks since I last saw Johnny. When I pass by the Gene’s backyard, I gaze up at the windows on the fourth floor, but they are tiny—barely larger than the cover of a comic book. I cannot see whether anyone is looking out. I am not even sure which room Johnny is held in.

It can be upsetting to come here because a posse of demonstrators often gathers in the yard. I do not know why the jailers allow this. Maybe they see the demonstrations as a form of just punishment. The demonstrators, mostly gommers, from what I gather, carry placards scrawled with hurtful messages, such as JOHNNY HENZEL YOUR AN ERROR.

The worst placard I have seen, however, was wielded by Benny Baggarly, the gommer who turned Johnny and me in to the do-good authorities. His placard contained two words in big letters: REDEATH PENALTY!

Since today is a holiday, the demonstrators are not here when Esther and I show up at the Gene. I bring along a placard made from a broom handle and a piece of poster board. Esther suggested I communicate with Johnny this way. I did not know what to say. On my placard, I finally wrote, IN THE PURSUIT OF TRUTH WE ARE PERMITTED TO REMAIN CHILDREN ALL OUR LIVES. It is a quote from Albert Einstein. I hope it is not too obscure. I simply mean to say I will keep an open mind and get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding us.

Esther has come with me, but she has gone into the lobby to speak to Tim and Tom Lu. They give her whispered updates on the boy they still refer to only as “the Grade F.” They refuse to give updates to me. They are wary of me. They call me the victim. “Oh, the victim’s back again,” Tim might say. And Tom might reply, “When will that boy learn he isn’t welcome here?”

As I wait for Esther, I stand in the yard behind the jail, my placard raised. The windows on the lower floors are normal-size. In one window, I notice a jailbird with an orange baseball cap. He waves to me, and I wave my sign back.

Holy mackerel clouds are rolling across the sky this afternoon. They are Johnny’s favorite, so perhaps he is peeking out his tiny window right now.

I am so absorbed in the thought that I do not at first notice that Esther has returned. She is furrowing her brow.

“What?” I say.

She bites her top lip and shakes her head grimly. Then she says, “That stupid b*stard hasn’t touched his food in a week now.”

“Johnny is not eating?”

“He’s on a hunger strike.”

I glance back at the Gene.

“He’ll start eating again on one condition,” she says. “If he’s allowed a visit from you.”