A Mohawk.

And he was here.

But I didn’t care.

Because he ran away and he said he’d come back and then he didn’t and he lied.

He did go to school.

He went to my school. Dixon Middle School.

Just like everyone else.

He wasn’t like me and I wasn’t like him so I didn’t care.

I was just going to sit in my room and let him sunburn his face off out there for all I cared.

But then I looked again.

He was jumping and trying to do a trick, which looked really bad how he landed on his head.

I thought about it.

What if he left?

I wouldn’t care.

But I might care.

Or what if Carlene went out there and talked to him?

And he became friends with her.

And what if Bonnie was there?

And Lala.

And what if he started going to the mall with them?

Not that that would happen. But what if it did? And what if he fell in love with Carlene or maybe even Bonnie but Carlene was more likely because Carlene was nice and had long eyelashes.

What if he fell in love with her and they got married and they moved into Carlene’s trailer and had babies and Bart started driving monster trucks and nothing was ever the same again.

What if that?

I threw on some cutoffs.

I grabbed a T-shirt.

Put on some lip gloss and some turtle earrings and then I ran out the door before he could disappear again even though I didn’t even care.

“Hey,” I said, trying not to huff.

“Hey,” he said. “I might not be able to stay long.”

Like I cared how long he stayed.

So I turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“Wherever I want,” I said.

I started walking toward my trailer and I waited for him to say stop. Stop! Don’t go!

At first he didn’t and I started to feel panic in my heart but then he said, “Wait.”

So I waited.

“I need your help,” he said

I turned. “You need my help?” Beads of sweat were already forming on his forehead.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back. Bureau crap.”

“Bureau crap?”

“I don’t know if I mentioned it but I work for the FBI. Long story. I’ll have to tell you later,” he said.

Ugh. But I decided to let it go.

“Where’s the milk?”

“I drank it.”

“You drank it?”

“The whole entire thing. On the way over.”

I tried not to laugh. “You did not.”

“I did. I was super thirsty.”

I folded my arms very serious.

“You got a Mohawk,” I said.

“Yep,” he said.

“Do you like it?” I said.

“Do you like it?” he said.

I felt myself get warm but I said yes anyway.

He said, “I do too.”

Then I said, “I saw you at school.”

He stopped smiling. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I don’t go to school.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What school?”

“Dixon.”

“Dixon what?” he said.

“Dixon what?” I said.

“Yeah, Dixon what? I’ve never heard of it.”

“You’ve never heard of it?”

“Nope.”

More lies.

“You go to Dixon Middle School. You get free lunch because you work in the cafeteria.”

That was a guess but it was the only thing I could figure out. I almost applied for free lunch when school first started but Mom wouldn’t sign the paper because she said we didn’t need anything for free and I said, “Yes, we do,” and she gave me a big old lecture about not taking things that weren’t ours.

But maybe if I could work in the cafeteria for lunch, it technically wouldn’t be free? I’d have to look into it.

“Never heard of it.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard of the Mason-Dixon Line, if that’s what you’re talking about.” He took out a pencil and wrote something on a piece of paper that I don’t know where he got.

Then he looked over at Grant and Bob’s trailer.

I stared at him. His face was handsome. His skin looked soft and smooth and I wondered if he had ever been on an elephant. And also he was a liar.

But I said, “What’s the Mason-Dixon Line?”

He looked at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

My stomach started to rumble. I hated feeling stupid. Did he do this on purpose?

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m kidding. Everyone knows that.”

He said, “Oh yeah. Then what is it?”

“I’m not telling.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do know but it doesn’t matter because you’re trying to distract me because I did see you at the lunchroom at Dixon Middle School.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

And he said, “The Mason-Dixon Line was a cultural boundary between the North and the South for slavery even though it earlier was a line between the British colonies during a fight. But now it is still the state lines for Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and West Virginia.”

He was talking fast and his face was a tomato.

Then he said, “Have you even been to Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, or West Virginia?” He was practically yelling now, passionate is what my mom would call it.

I swallowed. He was smart. I was not so smart. I said, “No.”

He took a deep long breath.

Then he said, “Neither have I.”