"Not exactly. I dropped it in the river," Roy's father recalled sheepishly.

"Hey, it was a cheapo disposable."

"Yeah, but it would've been a great snapshot. Five in the same tree."

"Yeah," said Roy. "That was pretty amazing."

The owl story did the trick. His father took the cue.

"This boy you told me about-you really don't know his name?"

"He won't tell me. Neither will Beatrice," Roy said. "That's the honest truth."

"He didn't take his stepfather's last name?"

"Leep? No, not according to Beatrice."

"And you say he doesn't attend school."

Roy's spirits fell. It sounded as if his father intended to report Mullet Fingers for truancy.

"What worries me," Mr. Eberhardt said, "is the family situation. It doesn't sound too good."

"No, it's not," Roy conceded. "That's why he doesn't live at home anymore."

"Aren't there any relatives who can take care of him?"

"He feels safe where he is," Roy said.

"You're sure about that?"

"Dad, please don't turn him in. Please."

"How can I, if I don't even know where to find him?" Roy's father gave him a wink. "But I'll tell you what I am going to do: I'm going to spend some time thinking seriously about all this. You should, too."

"Okay," said Roy. How could he possibly think of anything else? Even his battle with Dana Matherson seemed like a fuzzy, long-ago dream.

"We'd better head home," his father said. "It's getting late and you've had a long day."

"A real long day," Roy agreed.

But after he got into bed, he couldn't fall asleep. His body was exhausted but his mind was wide awake, buzzing with the day's turbulence. He decided to do some reading, and reached for a book titled A Land Remembered, which he'd checked out from school. It was the story of a family who lived in Florida back in the 1850s, when it was still a wilderness. Humans were scarce, and the swamps and woods teemed with wildlife-probably a pretty good time to be a burrowing owl, Roy mused.

An hour later, he was half-dozing when he heard a tap-tap on the bedroom door. It was his mother, slipping in to say good night. She took the book from his hands and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Then she sat down on the bed and asked how he was feeling.

"Beat," Roy said.

Gently she snugged the covers up to his neck. Even though he was way too warm, Roy didn't object. It was a mom thing; she couldn't help herself.

"Honey," she said, "you know how much we love you."

Uh-oh, Roy thought. Here it comes.

"But what you did at the hospital tonight, letting that other boy use your name to get in the emergency ward-"

"It was my idea, Mom, not his."

"And I'm sure your heart was in the right place," she said, "but it was still a lie, technically speaking. Providing false information, or whatever. It's a serious matter, honey-"

"I know."

"-and it's just, well, your father and I don't want to see you get in trouble. Even for the sake of a friend."

Roy raised himself up on one elbow. "He would've run away before he'd give out his real name, and I couldn't let that happen. He was sick. He needed to see a doctor."

"I understand. Believe me, I do."

"They were asking him all kinds of nosy questions, Mom, and meanwhile he's about to keel over from the fever," Roy said. "Maybe what I did was wrong, but I'd do it all over again if I had to. I mean it."

Roy expected a mild rebuke, but his mother only smiled. Smoothing the blanket with both hands, she said, "Honey, sometimes you're going to be faced with situations where the line isn't clear between what's right and what's wrong. Your heart will tell you to do one thing, and your brain will tell you to do something different. In the end, all that's left is to look at both sides and go with your best judgment."

Well, thought Roy, that's sort of what I did.

"This boy," his mother said, "why wouldn't he give out his real name? And why did he run away from the hospital like that?"

Mullet Fingers had escaped through a window in the women's restroom, next door to the X-ray department. He left his torn green shirt dangling from the antenna of Officer David Delinko's patrol car, which was parked outside the emergency room.

"He probably ran," Roy said, "because he was afraid somebody would call his mom."

"So?"

"So, she doesn't want him anymore. She'll have him locked up at the juvenile hall."

"What?"

"His mom sent him off to military school," Roy explained, "and now she doesn't want him back. She said so herself, in front of Beatrice."

Roy's mother cocked her head, as if she wasn't sure that she'd heard him correctly. "His mom doesn't want him?"

Roy saw something flash in her eyes. He wasn't certain if it was sorrow or anger-or both.

"She doesn't want him?" his mother repeated.

Roy nodded somberly.

"Oh, my," she said.

The words came out so softly that Roy was startled. He heard pain in his mother's voice, and he felt bad for telling her that part of Mullet Fingers' story.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Roy said. "I love you."

"I love you, too, honey."

She kissed his cheek and tucked in the sheets one more time. As she was shutting his door, he saw her hesitate and turn back to look at him.

"We're proud of you, Roy. You need to know that. Your father and I are both extremely proud."

"Did Dad tell you about the owls?"

"Yes, he told me. It's too bad."

"What should I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Roy said, sinking into his pillow. "G'night, Mom."

She'd already answered the question, anyway. All he had to do was settle the argument between his heart and his brain.

FOURTEEN

Luckily the next day was Saturday, so Roy didn't have to get up early to catch the school bus.

As he sat down for breakfast, the phone rang. It was Garrett. He'd never before called Roy, but now he wanted him to go skateboarding at the outlet mall.

"I don't have a skateboard, remember?" Roy said.

"That's okay. I got an extra."

"No thanks. I can't make it today."

The true reason that Garrett had called was, of course, to find out what had happened to Dana Matherson at Trace Middle.

"Dude, somebody tied him to a flagpole!"

"Wasn't me," said Roy. On this topic he couldn't talk freely in front of his parents.

"Then who? And how?" Garrett demanded.

"No comment," said Roy, echoing Mullet Fingers.

"Aw, come on, Eberhardt!"

"See you Monday."

After breakfast his father drove him to the bicycle shop to pick up his new tire, and by noon Roy was fully mobile again. An address for "L. B. Leep" was listed in the phone book, and Roy had no difficulty locating the house. It was on West Oriole Avenue, the same street as the bus stop where he'd first spotted the running boy.

In the Leep driveway sat a dented old Suburban and a shiny new Camaro convertible. Roy leaned his bike against the mailbox post and hurried up the sidewalk. He heard voices bickering inside the house, and he hoped it was only a TV show with the volume turned up.

After three firm knocks, the door swung open and there stood Leon Leep, all six feet nine inches of him. He wore baggy red gym shorts and a sleeveless mesh jersey that exposed a pale kettle-sized belly. Leon looked as if he hadn't spent five minutes in the exercise room since retiring from pro basketball; all that remained of his NBA physique was his height.

Roy tilted back on his heels in order to see Leon's face. His expression was perturbed and preoccupied.

"Beatrice home?" Roy asked.

"Yeah, but she's kinda busy right now."

"Only take a minute," Roy said. "It's about school."

"Oh. School," said Leon, as if he'd forgotten where his daughter went five days a week. With a curious grunt, he lumbered off.