Ben came closer to the back entrance and saw the pen still in place and the sliver of light along the edge of the door. He almost couldn’t believe that Snake Eyes had missed it. He was nearly safe, just ten or eleven more steps. And then he let his feet slow. He straightened up, stopped looking for the Land Rover, and let his eyes close. As he slipped through the door, he had a moment of wishing he were still out there.

Ben went upstairs and got in bed without taking his clothes off. He shut his eyes tight and burrowed down under the covers, greedy for hiddenness.

*  *  *

“We’re pretty sure it’s basketball, Coach.”

Coach Weber had found Simon the next day and had asked him to round up the rest of the team for an emergency meeting in the Trophy Room before their match at four against St. Mark’s. It was a Saturday and so there was no Chapel for two days, but already everybody knew about the tag. When Ben woke up, his fingerprint still defined in paint, he knew there would be a crowd of kids around the Dragon, and when he looked out the window, there they were. It was as though he had created them with his mind.

Hutch had found Ben at breakfast and hugged him and said, “Yes, exactly. This was exactly it. So fucking sweet.”

“Simon,” said Coach Weber with a smile, “you’re lying straight to my face. You are apparently laboring under the misconception that I am an idiot, and you have decided, on the basis of that misconception, to look at me, your coach, who knows you and has seen every one of your weaknesses on full display, and lie. How does it feel to lie to your coach?”

“I’m not lying, Coach. It was the basketball guys. They want to take our spot as most badass winter sport, and so they punked squash. It’s kind of bullshit, actually.”

“Simon, listen. Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to say you got carried away. You’re going to say that you didn’t realize the ramifications of vandalizing school property, especially the school’s most recent and very public facilities upgrade. We’re going to go together to Phelps, and then for three straight practices, the wrestling team is going to work on removing that graffiti from the boiler.”

Weber couldn’t bring himself to call it “the Dragon.”

“We would totally say if it was us, Coach,” said Simon, and all the other wrestlers nodded. “It really wasn’t us.”