“The Panthers know it,” Milton goes on. “Malcolm X knew it. Nonviolence is exactly what the Man wants. As long as we’re being peaceful, he doesn’t have to do doodley-squat. You think the colonists would have gotten their independence if they’d staged sit-ins at Lexington and Concord? The British would have laughed their limey asses off.”

“But sit-ins and marches have worked,” argues Tinsley, who’s sitting beside him. “Look at civil rights.”

“Yeah, right. King endorsed nonviolence and look what it got him,” Milton counters. “I’m telling you guys, it’s time to bring the war home.”

“Are you willing to die?” Tinsley asks him.

Milton gazes out the window into the dark. “It won’t come to that. We just have to show them we’re willing to fight.”

At Tinsley’s gate, I get out of the car with her. “Thanks for making Milton feel special tonight.”

“Thanks for being our knight in shining armor,” she says.

We’re standing in the headlights of the GTO. I sense she’s waiting for something, but what? A good-night kiss? With Arno and Milton watching in the car, it feels a little awkward.

She steps close and whispers. “We can use the pool house. I’ll drive you home later.”

After I couldn’t get it up the other night, you’d think I’d be eager for a second chance, but it’s the opposite. I’m spent and drained by what happened at the beach. I’m actually glad I’m feeling this way. Ever since the other night, there’s been this nagging thing in my head. It almost feels like my body was trying to send a message that fooling around with Tinsley isn’t going to help increase whatever meager chance I have of winning Robin back. I should have figured that out a long time ago. Look at my father’s “relationship” with my mother. You can’t have it both ways.

“Thanks, but . . . I should really go.”

Tinsley studies my face. “The girlfriend?”

Astonishing . . . and somewhat disheartening. “It’s really that easy to read me?”

“Sometimes.” But her voice and expression are flat, without emotion. She turns away and lets herself through the gate. Something tells me I won’t be seeing her again anytime soon.

“She’s really nice,” Milton says dreamily as we drive away. He sounds like he’s twelve.

“For a cock tease,” Arno grumbles.

We drop Milton at his house but don’t go directly home. Arno wants to cruise and smoke. It’s late and dark. Not many cars on the road. Suburbia has shut down for the night.

“What would’ve happened if Milton hadn’t pulled that stunt with the gun?” Arno asks.

“Guess there would’ve been a fight.”

He glances at me. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Was there another option I wasn’t aware of?” I ask.