“What did she say?” Bart wanted to know. We were still on the tramp.

I shrugged.

The whole place was silent, wind chimes tinkling in the afternoon breeze.

No one ever would have known that just a few moments ago somebody was about to get his brains busted in by his neighbor.

“Are they friends?” Bart asked.

Were they? And the more I thought about it, yes. They were friends.

I said, “Yes.”

“They are?” he asked again.

“Sure,” I said.

This seemed important to Bart. Then he said, “Can you ask her what she said?”

Bart was looking at me. “Can you?”

I nodded. “I’ll try later.”

“Why not now?” he said. He wasn’t holding my hand anymore and anything that had felt different only ten minutes before had vanished.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s probably sleeping.”

“She just went inside.”

“I know but she goes to sleep really fast.”

The two of us lay there. Me thinking about how strange this whole afternoon had turned out. Him, I have no idea what he was thinking but probably about my mom.

“I wish my mom was like your mom,” he said.

“What?”

“You know,” he said. “She seemed tough.”

I couldn’t believe that was what he thought.

“She’s not tough,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He was quiet.

I was quiet.

Then he said, “I know you bring Berkeley to school.”

I looked at him, my stomach a washing machine. “How do you know that?”

“It’s not like she’s invisible.”

Oh crap oh crap oh crap. If Bart had seen her, who else had?

For some reason, and I know this is stupid, for some reason, I kind of thought she was invisible. I thought we both were because no one had noticed us by now.

“When did you find out?”

“I saw you guys back a week ago when you were supposed to meet me but then you didn’t.”

“You saw us?”

He nodded. Then he said, “And I’ve seen you guys every day after.”

Now my gut ached.

“Why didn’t you come help me?” I said, my heart pounding. “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Everything started coming out and I should have stopped myself but I didn’t. “I don’t have anyone to help me. Why didn’t you say something? Where were you? Where did you see us?” and on and on and on and on and on.

When I finally stopped I felt hot and red and he looked hot and red and he said . . .

~

He said . . .

~

“Sorry.”

~

Sorry.

I said nothing, my eyes tired.

He said, “I’m really sorry. I thought you didn’t want my help because you didn’t meet me.”

He said, “I should have said something. I should’ve done something. I’m not good at doing things.”

He kept talking. “I don’t like school and you saw. You saw. I don’t belong there. The teachers hate me.”

I said nothing.

“Every day, every day,” he said, “I try to make myself stay. Try to stay. Go to class. Sit still. Sit there. Sit there. Listen. Do what they say. Focus. They say focus, focus, Harrison,” he hesitated, his voice wobbly. Then he said, “If I miss any more school I might get held back so I have to go but I’m trying not to get noticed. I want no one to see me.”

He looked at me. “It’s better for me if no one sees me. Like you and Berkeley.”

I nodded.

He nodded.

And we sat there.

And sat there.

And sat there.

Finally, he said, “You know, because of the FBI.”