What the hell? It’s been a really weird couple of days. What happened behind the junior high yesterday nags at me. My hand didn’t stay under Tinsley’s breast for long. A few moments later it started to rain, so we left. Barry never knew. But my hand did. Why did it stay there even for those few moments? Why participate in whatever weird mind game she’s into? It’s not even like it was some kind of super-erotic moment. A breast squashed against your hand on the ground is about as exciting as one pressed against your back on a crowded school bus. No, I take that back. The school bus is more exciting. So all it amounted to was an act of betrayal to Robin. Ever since yesterday, I’ve felt guilty — and used. Even if I was seriously trashed on hash, why did I have to be so passive?

I shouldn’t have taken that crap from Tinsley, and I’m starting to think I shouldn’t take this crap from Charles. He can’t be the only draft counselor around. I push my chair back, the legs scraping the floor. “Listen, man, sorry to waste your time. I’m looking for advice, not a hassle. Maybe this is the wrong place.”

“Whoa.” Charles slides his boots off the desk and sits up. “Don’t go anywhere, Lucas. I’m here to help. Sit down. No one else is gonna be able to do anything I can’t.”

I lower myself back into the chair. Charles takes another drag and studies me. “Okay, you caught me at a bad moment. Those last two cats really messed with my head.”

I cock my own head quizzically.

“I’m kind of new to this, dig?” Charles says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve done the training. I get the counseling thing. The problem is who I’m counseling.” He plants his elbows on the desk and leans closer. “You sure no one told you to say that stuff about innocent Vietnamese dying?”

“Why would anyone have to tell me?”

Charles leans back. “Why? Because to be perfectly blunt, my friend, most of the rich white kids who come in here don’t give a shit about Vietnam or the Vietnamese. Women and children dying? Not their problem. Working-class war? Mostly blacks and blue-collar kids getting killed over there? Too bad, suckas. Those last two guys weren’t even sure where Vietnam is. ‘Uh, somewhere in Asia?’ As far as they’re concerned, the war’s for poor trash who can’t afford college, not entitled brats who think they can enjoy the benefits this country offers without paying a price.” Charles flicks ash on the floor again and stares at the red tip of his cigarette. “So, where’s Vietnam, Lucas?”