I remember how I noticed the car in the first place. There was something deliberate, something watchful about the way the car moved down the street. I would bet anything he was looking for her. And then he came here, which was weird. Not that she’s not pretty, because of course she is. It’s just that she comes from this long and proud line of Grimshaws, who are gun-shootin’, chaw-chewin’, school-quittin’, weed-growin’ rednecks, and if you take her on, you get the rest into the bargain. Not many guys come by here. Until Mike, I can’t even think of one.

Grimshaw starts telling me not to be jealous, either, that there are guys out there for me, too, but I might have to wait for college to find them. They might not be here in the Valley, boys who walk around with their face in a book like I do.

“I’m not going to college,” I remind her. “College is for people who can’t figure it out on their own.”

“Don’t be a dumb-ass,” she says.

It bothers me, this mention of the future. I don’t like the Valley, either, but I’ve always gotten furloughed every summer, to Maine, while Grimshaw stays up here in the junkyard and can’t even get down to town, which is not even much of a town to get to. At least I know a bigger world exists out there.

“Anyway,” she concludes, “you shouldn’t worry about Mike. I don’t even like him. I mean, he’s nice, but it’s just that something needs to happen with me. I’ll be eighteen, and if something doesn’t happen soon, it won’t ever, and then I’ll be stuck here.”

I try to think of something reassuring, like we can figure it out ourselves, but I can’t really think of any specific ideas.

“Mike says he knows people who can help me.”

“Help you do what?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Dance? Make something happen?”

“You’re sure he’s not saying what he thinks you want to hear, just to make you happy?”

“What the hell’s wrong with trying to make me happy? Who’s ever wanted that?”

The four kids come clambering up the shale toward us for food. They’re hungry.

“And try not to wear that stupid hat tonight, okay, just once?” she says. “Everyone thinks we’re communists.”

“I have to wear it. My roots are growing out.”

She sighs. “Nobody even remembers what color your hair is. Or cares.”

“That’s the whole idea.”

“I was buying cigarettes, and the guy behind the counter asked me how the revolution was going. Because of you.”

“Dancers shouldn’t smoke.”

I pass out the food and the drinks. As far as asking my mom if I can go to the gorge tonight, I might as well ask her for permission to grow wings and flap them all the way to the moon. It would be one thing if I were Allegra, who gets away with murder because she’s so trustworthy, but I’m not Allegra. If you’re not trustworthy, you need a plan.