I sat on the grass on the corner of North Elm Street.

In a half hour I was supposed to eat dinner with Bart and his mom and they lived in a little house that had chipped paint and a chain-link fence and the next-door neighbor had four cars on his lawn but still their house was nice. There were flowers in front and a swing and a dog probably.

They probably had cloth napkins.

They probably listened to classical music.

They probably ate kale.

I wondered if Bart would let me stay there until I figured out where to go or what to do.

or . . .

Maybe if they had an extra bedroom I could be a normal part of the family just for a little bit.

~

I sat.

I wondered what he’d say. I wonder if Bart would think I was brave or strange or stupid.

Just then, a truck pulled up to Bart’s house.

A truck. A truck I had seen a million times.

~

It was Grant.