The first meeting of the Philosophy Club ran long. Opinions were loose and immoderate, pushed along by general ignorance and the usual adolescent hormones and insecurities. Brother Ambrose presided, tolerantly and ineffectively. Halston was lucky to catch Rich after Chorus and traded the price of a coffee for a ride to midtown. Nineteenth and L Streets wasn't exactly an easy freeway exit between Oak Park and the Pocket, but it was only five blocks from the upstairs apartment Halston shared with his mother.

A reclaimed firehouse, New Helvetia's bakery, caffeine, and conversation attracted the post-elementary demographic city-wide, as well as neighbors who had graduated and acquired sufficient possessions to be aspiring Metrosexuals. He ran in, paid for two large lattés, and delivered one to Rich at the curb, bidding him good-bye. He looked at his watch. Shit--It's after seven, he thought. Mom will be waiting dinner. Pulling out his paperback copy of The Celestine Prophecy, he combined reading and sipping as he strode south on 19th Street in the failing light.

Sodium vapor was sputtering awake in places as he stepped off the curb into N Street, lost in the text. A black Explorer shattered his concentration. Time tolled as he processed the cell phone, the raised eyes, and the bright, blue grille medallion. Its legibility indicated that panicked braking had barely begun. The blackout Halston anticipated was overwhelmed by a force, cold but brighter than burning magnesium, that struck him in the back and propelled him to the opposite curb. It loosened its grip and he fell. Halston had no sense of how long he lay there, just of sequence. He stared upward, heard the SUV's wailing tires, and saw a face floating over his.

"Buddy? BUDDY! You okay? Jesus Christ! Where'd you come from? Where's your board?"

"Huh?"

"Your board, man. Hell of a move, to get out of my way like that. You hurt?"

"Don't know?Don't think so."

"Can you move?"

Halston tested his extremities. He sat up.

"Wow. Good," said the driver, who came out of his crouch and started back-pedaling as he looked nervously around. "Look--if you're all right, I'll just--I'm late, okay?" He bounded away and was gone.

Halston looked at his feet. The white toecaps of his Chuck Taylor sneakers bore dark abrasions. Nothing else on him was so much as disturbed. His backpack was in place and his book and half-consumed coffee were at his side. He snagged them after struggling to his feet, and looked around. A block east on N, he detected a figure, barely revealed by surrounding shadows. It seemed to watch him, then pivoted slowly, throwing a glint of reflected light from dark eyeglasses. He watched it move away, pushing something with wheels.

"Mom?"

Halston dropped his things on the kitchen table.

"In the bedroom, Hal. I'm getting in the shower. Check the meat in a few minutes, will you?"

"Yeah--okay." He studied his stuff, wanting her to help him understand what had just happened. Not now, I guess. He shrugged, straddled one of the mismatched vinyl dinette chairs, and retreated into his book.

"Honey, I've got to cover Gina's shift tonight, so--"

Marie arrived in the kitchen, in her second waitress's uniform and drying her hair, just about the time that smoke began to curl from the oven. "Goddamn it!" She raced to it and tore the door open. Smoke billowed out. Impulsively, she barehanded the pan onto the counter. It clattered a foot or two while she cursed and fanned her hands. She wheeled, hands now on hips, to find Halston still in his seat, gaping.

"Halston Kohlfeldt, I swear to God--sometimes you're as useless as that ex-husband of mine!" She saw she'd stunned and hurt him, and softened. "Aw, Christ, honey--I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Really. Here--" She reached into the freezer and shoved a frozen entreé onto the counter. "Heat this up, then clean up and get on that homework." She crossed to him, hugged his head to her abdomen and kissed his cowlick. "Don't wait up, okay?"

Halston nodded without looking at her. He heard her receding footfalls, her key cycling the distant deadbolt--then nothing.

Its baccalaureate over, the Christian Brothers Class of 1999 spilled from the Cathedral onto its paving-stone plaza. Whoops filled the air, half-open royal-blue gowns billowed, and matching mortarboards flew into the bright, midday sky from all directions.

Halston found Adrianna first and kissed her longingly. She reciprocated.

"Get a room, you cheap--!"

Eugenio and Rich skipped over, arms draped over shoulders. They all traded hugs and high-fives.

"WHOOOO!" shrieked Rich. "Four down and two to go!" He pointed his fingers like six-guns at his friends. "I'm off to Sac City College. Who's coming with me?"

Adrianna was perplexed. "YOU? Community college? With your father's money and influence? Me, I mean, I'm poor--"

"It's the grades, stupid," Rich replied. "And there's the character-building factor. I guess Pops wants to assure himself I won't be as big a fuck-off in the second four years as the last. How about you, Eugenio?"

"Yup?me, too. My grades and scores were okay but being the class clown didn't leave a lot of time for anything else. Besides, my folks are still paying tuition for three behind me."

The trio looked at Halston. "Me? Yeah, all of the above. I'll be there in the fall, I guess."

Rich shook his head and raised his right arm, palm out.

"Musketeers!"

They all leaned in, grinning, and wrapped their upraised hands around his. "All for us--and nothing for anyone else!" they bellowed.