| Drop me off here, Mom," Adam said. They were a couple ofblocks from the school. "Why? I don't mind driving." "Mom!" He couldn't control his impatience. "This is highschool." Bad enough that he was registering late--it wasalready November and the term was half over. "Here," hesaid. "Drop me off here," and he hopped out of the car. By the time he got everything straightened out in the office,his first-period class had started. The teacher was in the middleof a lesson. Adam stood in front of the class wh]Ie Mr. Handlerinterrogated him. "Where are you from, Adam?" "No place," Adam said. He was trying to be accurate, but itcame out sounding sullen. "No place? I've never been to no place." "I'm military," he explained. "And where's that? Pearl Harbor? Hickman Field? Or is itFort Knox?" "America," Adam said, stiffly. "The United States ofAmerica." He was sorry the minute he said it. It sounded so phony andsuperpatriotic, as if he were going to snap his heels together |
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