AUGUST 26, 12:14 A.M.

Mom is asleep in Sarah/Yin-Yin’s room. Dad’s conked out on the couch. The television is on. A happy lady takes a bite of turkey jerky. “You made this?” she shrieks, turning to a man wearing an apron. “This tastes so good and costs only pennies a serving! Amazing!”

She seems like a nice lady. I’ll bet she has a good life and no one in her family fights.

I’ve had three days to plan. I check to make sure I have all my supplies. I’ve got $114 from my savings, Mom’s purse, and Dad’s wallet. When I opened his wallet, I stared at a photo he had tucked away. It was a picture of me when I was about five. I suppose I wasn’t as much trouble when I was five.

In my backpack I’ve got a flashlight, hair gel, and The Outsiders. I make sure to take plenty of food: Oreos for me, Sugar Babies for Yin-Yin, and six cans of tuna. I grab a couple of cold sodas from the fridge. When I shut the door, my F book report taunts me for the last time. I finished my Holes book report this afternoon. It’s pretty good. I’ll mail it in from the road.

12:48 A.M.

The security guard in the lobby of Vacation Village is snoring so loud I’m surprised he doesn’t wake himself up. This is going to be a lot easier than I thought. I sneak up the stairs so the elevator will not disturb him. Even though it is after midnight, all the lights in the hallways are on and the glare hurts my eyes.

As I tiptoe past the rooms I hear televisions blaring. I thought old people liked to go to bed early.

Softly I knock on Yin-Yin’s door. There is no answer, so I turn the knob slowly and push. She is asleep. The only light is from the full moon hanging outside the window.

“Yin-Yin, wake up,” I whisper. “Wake up.”

Her eyes fly open. She looks scared. “It’s just me, Stanford,” I quickly assure her. “It’s okay.”

“Who …?” She squints and then reaches for her glasses. “Stanford?” She sounds confused. “Is everything all right? What are you doing here at this hour?”

I drop my backpack on the floor and sit on the side of her bed. “I’m going to get you out of here, Yin-Yin. We’re going to break out of this joint and run away! Come on, get your things.”

I stash some of her photos in my backpack and try to force her Family Reunion birdhouse in it, but it won’t fit.

Yin-Yin has not moved. Maybe she doesn’t understand how serious I am about this. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re getting out of here. C’mon, hurry before we get caught.”

“Stanford,” my grandmother says slowly. “I don’t think we should be doing this.” Slowly I turn around to face her. “I probably need to stay here,” she says. “I’m not always myself these days.”

“That’s not true,” I insist. “How can a person not be themselves?”

But then I remember Family Night at my dad’s office. I had been forced to get a dork haircut and wear a starched white shirt and blue blazer. When I lumbered out of my room, my mother cried, “Oh, Stanford, you look so nice, I hardly recognize you!” Dad slapped me on the back and said, “Now this is a Stanford Wong I’d like to get to know better.” They were actually happy that I didn’t look like myself.

“Yin-Yin, remember when you were young and wanted to fly but couldn’t? When we get out of here, we can do whatever we want, whenever we want. We won’t have to follow anyone’s rules. Don’t you want to run away?”

My grandmother gets out of bed and leads me to the couch. “Stanford,” she says calmly, “let’s think this through.”

“I have! I’ve thought of everything. Look!” I show her the contents of my backpack.

Yin-Yin spies the Sugar Babies and signals for me to give her a box. When I hand her the candy, she wraps her hands around mine. “If you’re doing this for me, stop. It’s not so bad here, Stanford. Not as bad as I first thought. They take good care of me and I’ve made some nice friends.”

“Like Mr. Thistlewaite,” I guess.

A small smile appears. “Yes, there’s Mr. Thistlewaite and some others, like Ramon. You remember Ramon. He’s quite a good cook, even if he underspices.”

“No, no, no,” I insist. “Yin-Yin, you’ve always wanted to fly and be free, remember? We can be free together!”

Yin-Yin releases my hands and takes the Sugar Babies from me. As she opens the box, she says, “Yes, that is true. But sometimes knowing you can be free is just as good as being free.”

Huh? I don’t understand. Maybe she is crazy.

“Stanford, look around the room. See these birdhouses?” I nod. “Even birds who fly free like to have a place they can call home. These days, Vacation Village is my home. I am safe here. I know who I am here.”

“So you’re not going with me,” I say dully.

“No, Stanford, I am not.” She doesn’t sound like a free spirit; she sounds like a grown-up. “I really think that running away is not going to solve your problems.”

“Who says I have problems?”

Yin-Yin puts down her Sugar Babies. “Come here,” she says. She hugs me. It feels so good to be hugged. I start to cry on her shoulder and keep crying for so long and so loudly that it sounds like there is a donkey in the room. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. The more I cry, the better I feel. Is this why little kids cry all the time? Suddenly the door opens.

“Everything okay?” asks one of the Vacation Village ladies.

“Fine, just fine,” Yin-Yin says, motioning her away.

“Mrs. Wong, you know that visiting hours ended a long time ago.”

“Yes, yes, we know that,” my grandmother assures her.

The lady looks at me, still hugging Yin-Yin. She nods and closes the door softly.

“Stanford, I want you to go now. I want you to go home; it’s where you belong. It might not seem like it right now, but things will work out. Promise me you will not run away.”

I dry my tears on my sleeve, kiss my grandmother, and take the birdhouse and her photos out of my backpack.

“I promise not to run away.”

Before I go, I put all the boxes of Sugar Babies on her bed. I slip her a couple of cans of tuna too in case she gets hungry.

“Thank you, Stanford,” Yin-Yin says. “You’re a good boy.”

1:30 A.M.

When I get home, Mom and Dad are sitting silent in the living room. My dad looks angry. My mom looks sad. The TV is muted and the turkey jerky lady is still smiling. This time she is marveling over mops that can clean the ceiling.

“Stanford Andrew Wong …,” my father says, rising from his chair.

“Rick …,” my mother warns him.

He sits back down. Dad starts to say something, but Mom cuts him off. “I’ll handle this.” She turns to me. “Yin-Yin called us.”

I can’t believe Yin-Yin would do that to me!

“Why, Stanford? Why did you run away?” I shrug my shoulders. “Is it something we said? Something we did?”

How can I tell them that it is something they did not do? They did not stay in love. How can I tell them it is because Emily hates me? They don’t even know who Emily is. How can I tell them I will probably flunk English and disappoint them yet again? How can I tell them anything?

I wish there was someone I could talk to who wouldn’t tell me what to do or how to act or how to feel. I wish I knew someone who just liked me for myself and didn’t expect things from me that I can’t deliver.

“I’m tired,” I grunt. “I want to go to bed.”

“Young man!” my father begins in his low voice.

“Don’t use that tone with Stanford,” my mother orders him.

For once, my father does what she tells him. He softens. “Stanford,” he says. “Stay. Talk to us.” I turn around. My father is asking me to talk to him?

“Please,” my mother pleads.

I look at them both and finally ask the question that has been hanging over my head. “Are you guys getting a divorce?”

They both look startled. Neither speaks. They keep looking at each other.

Finally Dad asks, “Whatever made you ask that?” He sounds nervous.

“Well, you and Mom are always fighting, and you stay away from home all the time. And you’re always mad, so I just thought you’d be happier without us.”

For once my father is at a loss for words. He looks like I have just punched him. He turns to my mom. She shakes her head and says, “Talk to him.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m mad all the time?”

“That’s what he said, isn’t it?” Mom answers.

“I’m asking Stanford, not you,” he tells her. I wonder if they are going to start fighting again. “Stanford?”

I hesitate, but he’s asking and he may never ask me again. “Well, it sure does seem like you’re mad a lot.”

“I have a lot of pressure on me,” he says. Suddenly Dad doesn’t sound like he is in charge. He sounds like me when I’m making excuses. “My job is very stressful. But I am doing it for you two and for Sarah. If I get this big promotion —”

I cut him off, “Then you will have more stress and see even less of us.”

My mother covers her mouth like she’s hiding a laugh.

My father looks at the clock. “Stanford, you’d better get to bed. We can continue this conversation later.”

“But I want to talk now,” I plead.

He’s already standing up. “It’s after two A.M. and I’m all talked out. Come on, let’s go.”

Both parents escort me to my room, as if afraid I might run away again. My mother tucks me into bed and gives me a kiss. I am too tired to protest. My father stays after Mom has left. “Stanford,” he says, “running away doesn’t solve anything.”

“Hiding doesn’t either,” I tell him.

Instead of getting upset, Dad nods. “Point well taken.”

After he’s gone, I get up and dial Emily’s number. I hang up before the phone rings. Lavender is talking. Does she ever sleep? “To all my listeners out there at this lonely hour of the night, just know that when you listen to Lavender, you’ve got a friend….”

Through the wall I can hear the murmur of my parents’ voices. They don’t sound angry. Not this time. Reaching across the bed, I turn down the volume on my radio and strain to listen to what they are saying. I fight hard to stay awake but in the end finally surrender to sleep.

8:59 A.M.

SSSSpy sneaks across the school yard and slips into Mr. Glick’s room. He has to sit near the front today because Mr. Glick is still insisting his students play musical chairs. SSSSpy has already sat in every seat in the room.

Mr. Glick is collecting our book reports. All of a sudden class is over. SSSSpy opens his eyes. Mr. Glick is at his desk grading papers. The room is empty of other students.

“You fell asleep, Mr. Wong,” Mr. Glick says. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I was up really late last night.”

“Studying for the final exam?”

I don’t answer.

“You know, Stanford, you failed your first Holes book report. Did you read the book this time?” I nod. “Good.” Mr. Glick smiles. “Stanford, I hope you know that I’m rooting for you.”

3:30 P.M.

At the library Millicent Min looks up at me and doesn’t even try to hide how much she hates me.

“Did you hand it in?” she asks.

“Yep.”

“Did you do a good job?”

“Yes.”

“All right then.” Millicent whips out her calculator and starts stabbing the buttons. “Stanford,” she says, “let’s assume you get a C on your Holes book report. You’ve done a decent job on your papers, but because of some of your test grades, and the fact that you didn’t turn in a lot of your homework assignments, your entire grade rests on your final exam. In order to pass English, you must get a C-minus or above tomorrow. Anything less than that and you will flunk.”

The last three words ring in my ears. You will flunk. You will flunk. You will flunk. She just had to say that, didn’t she? Millicent Min thinks she’s so smart. Just once, I’d like to see her fall apart. Wouldn’t that be funny.

Wait! What’s happening? Millicent is packing up. I win!

She looks at me and shakes her head. What now? I pick up a pen and doodle on my arm. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I tried calling her, you know.”

Millicent hands me one of her Sharpie markers to draw with. “What did she say?”

I tell her how I hung up the phone before talking to Emily. Millie looks sad for a moment, and I wonder if she is human after all. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she says. “Did you really read The Outsiders before you gave it to Emily?”

There she goes again, thinking I am stupid. “That’s for me to know and for you not to find out,” I say.

“Be that way then.”

Before she leaves, Millicent shoves a paper in my face. “Here, these are the main points you should know for your final. Read it. It will help you. Not that you deserve any help.”

Then she is gone and I am left with my test to cram for and my totally messed-up life to sort out.

11:57 P.M.

It’s late, but I’m up cramming for my final exam. Mom fell asleep on the couch while watching television, so I put a blanket over her and turned the sound down. Dad comes home. He looks exhausted.

“Hi,” I say to him as he sets his briefcase down in the living room.

“What are you doing up?”

“Studying.”

He smiles.

“Hey, Dad, can we talk?” He promised we’d continue our conversation.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Stanford, I’m bushed. Can we do this some other time? You ought to get to bed and get some rest for your test tomorrow.”

“But Dad,” I plead, “this is sort of important.”

“It’s not about basketball, is it?” I shake my head. “What is it then?” he asks.

“It’s about my test.”

He sits down. “Are you prepared? I don’t want you goofing off during the test and getting Mr. Glick mad at you, do you understand?” He stops, then asks, “So what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Nothing,” I mumble. “Never mind.” Why can’t he just wish me good luck?

He turns the volume up on the television. My mother stirs. I leave as Dad starts flipping through the channels. Mom asks, “Was Stanford just here?”

I stand in the hallway and listen. “Yes, he said he wanted to talk, but I think he was just going to try to get out of taking his test tomorrow.”

“Rick, you should talk to him. He needs you. He’s under a lot of pressure.”

“Kristen, I am under a lot of pressure. The Alderson deal is coming to an end and I’ll find out about the promotion soon. It’s now between me and one other guy. Besides, I did talk to Stanford.”

“Did you lecture him or talk to him?” asks Mom. “He stayed up late to wait for you. You know, he never goes to sleep until he knows you’re home.”

The television shuts off. “Oh, all right,” my father grumbles. “But if he starts making excuses about his grade, I’ll have to tell him a thing or two.”

I run to my room and jump into bed.

“Stanford. Stanford?” My father is knocking at my door. I don’t answer. “He’s asleep,” I hear him tell my mother. “See, whatever he wanted to talk to me about couldn’t have been that important.”