“Son of a bitch,” Dad said again.

Mr. Walker stood beneath the rough-timbered arch he’d erected over his driveway. Hand-carved into the top beam were the words WALKER COVE ADVENTURE LODGE.

Dad jammed the truck in park and got out, striding across the bumpy road, not even trying to avoid the muddy potholes.

Mr. Walker saw him coming and stopped work, shoved his hammer through his belt, so that it hung from the leather like a weapon.

Leni leaned forward, peered intently through the dirt-and-squished-mosquito-filled windshield.

Dad was screaming at Mr. Walker, who smiled and crossed his arms.

Leni was put in mind of a Jack Russell terrier straining aggressively at the end of his leash, yapping at a Rottweiler.

Dad was still yelling when Mr. Walker turned his back and walked to the arch and returned to his work.

Dad stood there a minute. Finally he stalked back to the truck, climbed in, slammed the door shut. He rammed the truck into gear and hit the gas. “Someone needs to knock that son of a bitch down a peg. I knew guys like him in ’Nam. Shitty, cowardly officers who got better men killed and got medals for it.”

Leni knew better than to say anything. All the way to school, he muttered under his breath. Son of a bitch, arrogant prick, thinks he’s better … Leni knew he would head straight to the compound from here, to find people to join in his bitching. Or maybe, talk wouldn’t be enough anymore.

He stopped at the school. “I’m taking the ferry into Homer today. I’ll pick you up from work at five.”

“Okay.”

Leni gathered her books and lunch box and climbed out of the truck. On her way to the schoolhouse she didn’t look back, and Dad didn’t honk in goodbye. He drove away so fast gravel sputtered out from his tires.

She came into the classroom, saw everyone was already seated. Ms. Rhodes was at the blackboard writing, iambic pentameter in Shakespeare.

Matthew turned in his chair to face her. His smile was like the gravitational pull from one of her science fiction novels; she moved toward him, sat down.

He stared at her. Was it the way Dad stared at Mama? She thought so. Sometimes. It made her feel unsettled, kind of anxious.

He ripped off a piece of notebook paper and scrawled a note, which he passed to her. It read: Want to skip work after school? We could do something.

Say no, she thought. What she said was, “My dad is picking me up at five.”

“So that’s yes?”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

For the rest of the day, Leni felt both nervous and energized. She could hardly sit still, found it difficult to answer questions about Hamlet. Still, she read her passages aloud and made notes and tried not to reveal to Matthew or anyone else how weird she felt.