“You want to take that chance? The last two years, they’ve bumped up the draft to thirty-five thousand a month. That’s a lot of young men.”

“Yes, sir. I’m aware of that,” he said, polite but unyielding.

Mr. Snow set the grade book aside. “Do you like to write? I’m asking because when you bother to do it, you’re not half bad.”

“Writing’s okay. I like it pretty well. I mean, not all the time, but sometimes.”

Mr. Snow studied him. “Here’s what I’m willing to do. I’ll set you up in an independent-studies program, just the two of us. You turn in the work and you’ll pass. I guarantee it. Mr. Albertson might even let you go through the graduation ceremony. He can leave your diploma blank and we’ll take care of it at the end of summer school, assuming you haven’t dropped the ball.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Well, Jon, this is a writing class. You’d have to write, as wacky as that might seem. If you’re bored with my topics, you can tackle your own.”

“Like what?”

“That’s up to you. You can’t have it both ways. You either do the pieces I assign or you come up with your own. At the end of each week, you turn in everything you’ve done, and I mean everything—false starts, cross-outs, bad paragraphs, ideas that bomb. The first time you fail to deliver, you’re out. Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll think about it,” Jon said.

“I’m making a sales pitch. The offer’s on the table for ten minutes.” Mr. Snow glanced pointedly at his watch.

“Okay, fine. We have a deal.” Jon was thinking it would be a breeze. He liked Mr. Snow. The guy was blunt and aggressive and Jon trusted him. “When would I have to start?”

Mr. Snow said, “The day school gets out. After that, you report to me here every Friday morning at nine.”

Jon got to his feet and ambled to the door. As he was leaving the room, Mr. Snow said, “You’re welcome.”

Jon closed the door behind him, but he was smiling.

The Friday morning Lionel, Mona, and the girls left in the limousine for LAX, Jon managed to look somber and contrite. He’d been excluded from the family fun, but he was taking his punishment like a man. Mona knew he was faking, but that was his intention. Lionel gave him a big hug, like there was oh-so-much affection between them. His dad patted his shoulder. “You take care,” he said. “You have everything you need?”

“Hot water would be nice.”

Lionel frowned. “I thought we bought you a new water heater. I mentioned it to Mona after our last chat, but that was months ago.”