“Are you on any kind of medications?”

“Not this minute.”

“But you are sometimes?” Budget asked, for he knew that some drugs and poisons, such as marijuana and arsenic, stayed in the blood for a while.

“Not anything you need to know about,” said Bubba.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Fluck.”

Officer Budget leaned closer to the open window, hoping he might smell alcohol. He didn’t.

Bubba got out a cigarette. He smoked Merit Ultima instead of other brands because Merits, along with Marlboros and Virginia Slims, to name a few, were manufactured by Philip Morris. Bubba was very loyal to his employer and to all products made in America.

Bubba had no intention of telling Officer Budget that he took Librax for cranky bowel syndrome and that now and then he needed Sudafed to control his allergic responses to dust mites, mold and cats. None of this was Officer Budget’s business.

“Advil,” Bubba answered the cop.

“That’s all?” Officer Budget asked with severity.

“Maybe Tylenol.”

“Mr. Fluck, you . . .”

“What did you say?” Bubba interrupted.

“. . . certain you aren’t on anything else?” Budget finished his sentence.

“I heard what you said and I’m going to report you to the chief!” Bubba exclaimed in rage.

“You do that, Mr. Fluck. In . . .”

“See!”

“In fact, I’ll make the appointment. You can see her, Mr. Fluck, face . . .”

“That’s it!”

An entire population of cruel schoolchildren stampeded through Bubba’s brain. They chanted those awful names, shrieking with laughter. Bubba saw himself fat and in camouflage. Enough was enough, he could take no more.

“What’s it?” Budget raised his voice, too.

“I don’t have to listen to this!”

“You can tell the chief that face to face!” Budget exclaimed. “I don’t give a flying . . .”

“Stop!”

“Man, you got a problem,” Budget said.

Weed did, too. He made it to biology class in time to watch all completed quizzes passed up to the front and to hear Mrs. Fan go over homework he had not done.

His miserable eyes wandered around the room to worms, deer embryos, rhinoceros beetles, termite eggs and dog intestines suspended in formaldehyde, and butterflies and snakeskins pinned to boards. He felt trapped by Smoke.

Later, in Western Civilization, Mr. Pretty picked on Weed three times, and Weed knew the answer to nothing. Weed’s fears gathered force.

His escape was Mrs. Grannis’s class. She taught Art IV and V during fifth period, and was very young and pretty, with soft blond curls, and eyes as green as summer grass. She had told Weed more than once that he was the first freshman ever, in the history of the school, to attend her class. Ordinarily, only juniors could take Art IV, and only seniors and Advanced Placement students could take V. But Weed was special. He had a gift that was rare.

There had been much debate about pushing Weed so far ahead so fast, especially since he clearly lagged miles behind the troops on most other fronts. Questions about his maturity and social adjustment had been discussed at length among faculty and counselors. Even Mrs. Lilly, the principal, had been brought in at the end, and had proposed that Weed take a class at Virginia Commonwealth University or perhaps specialized classes at the Center for Arts. But the county did not provide transportation beyond the morning and afternoon buses Weed was afraid of missing. He had no way to get around in the middle of the day. Godwin decided to take a chance.