center. “Bay Egan! Don’t you move! The school just called. They’re looking all over for you.”
The kid looked as if he were going to run again; then he sagged. The sagging was followed by a flood of words he shouldn’t know, much less repeat.
Tracy stopped hopping and grabbed him again. “Cut that out this minute. Where do you think you are? In an R-rated movie?”
“How’d they know where I was going?” Bay asked the older woman.
“Oh, let me see…. Maybe because you’ve done it before?” Gladys said.
“I’d have made it, too, if she didn’t stop me.”
Tracy looked at Gladys and shrugged. “I had a feeling something was going on.”
“You have a sixth sense for misbehavior.” The other woman signaled that she was going back inside, and Tracy knew she was going to call the school. Somebody would be here to pick the boy up soon. Tracy was to detain him.
Tracy turned back to her new charge. “Why did you run away, Bay? That’s your real name? Bay?”
“Baylor.” He said it as if he were daring her to make fun of him.
“Yeah, Bay is good. It’s that last-name-for-a-first-name thing everybody’s doing. Tough luck. Anyway, look, school’s almost out, right? I mean, just a few more days, if I’m correct.”
“So?”
She let go of him, but her weight was poised on her toes, just in case she had to grab him again. “Well, if you run away now, somebody’s going to punish you, right? I mean, they always catch up with you.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me on that. And from what I can tell, running away’s not your strong suit.”
“I don’t have a suit on!”
“I mean you’re not that good at it. So why don’t we get you back to school, and you hang in a couple more days. Then, when summer comes, you’ll be free as a bird. Otherwise, the powers that be—”
“Be what?”
“Be your parents, that’s what. They’re not going to trust you to do what you’re supposed to do. And they aren’t going to let you out of their sight all summer. You’ll be inside reading little kids’ books and coloring, while your friends are outside playing soccer and swimming here at the center. Got it?”
“You think I don’t know all this?”
“I have no idea, but it seems pretty dumb to lose out on a great summer just because you’re sick of school.”
“I hate school. My teacher hates me.”
Tracy could imagine that. She’d only been with the kid for a few minutes, and he was already on her hit list. She studied him for a moment. He had sun-streaked brown hair, eyes a similar golden brown, fat cheeks and a pout. His shirt had a rip at the hem, and one sneaker was untied, the shoelace so shredded it would never form a bow again.
“Do your parents know you’re unhappy?”
“My dad says to write down all the bad stuff my teacher says. So I do.”
Tracy understood. “Let me guess. Your teacher found it this morning. What was your father going to do with it?”
Bay shrugged.
Tracy suddenly realized something. “Mrs. Woodley called you Bay Egan. Are you related to Marsh Egan?”
“He’s my dad.” His tone said, “What of it?”
Tracy could hardly believe it. Marsh and Bay. How charming. Was there a swamp or a sandbar hiding around the corner? And what had Marsh Egan planned to do with his son’s list? Sue his teacher, the way he was suing the Army Corps of Engineers?
Gladys returned. “Come inside, Bay,” she said, holding out her hand. “The librarian’s on her way to pick you up.” She looked at Tracy. “They drew straws. It’s her free period.”
Now Bay only looked glum. “She hates me, too. Just because I put a stupid book in the water fountain.”
“I can take over from here,” Gladys told Tracy, motioning for Bay to follow her inside. “Thanks for your help.”
Tracy thought it was odd that only minutes ago she’d said the very same thing. She was glad she and Gladys Woodley were more or less even now. She had a bruise on her shin to prove it.
chapter ten
After a successful afternoon of painting, Tracy went outside to stare at a failure. In the scheme of things, useless towers of tile were nothing. Compared to the humiliation of her divorce, the desertion of friends and family, acres of fire ants and mosquitoes nobody wanted to buy—not to mention her crying jag at the rec center that morning—the towers were nothing. Maybe she could glue shells to the tiles and sell