Chapter 8
Crandall rides around the jungle gym, planting a foot at each turn and letting the wheels of his bike shoot mud with a force so strong, it covers everything. Mud hits the gazebo, the little kids’ play area, the water fountain. Some hits my cheek. When I lick my lips, grit fills my mouth.
“Are we interrupting something?” Crandall skids to a stop near the climbing wall, near me.
“Go away,” Sam says. His voice rings strong from up above, but his hands tug nervously at the weeds beneath his hat. He can’t pull them out fast enough, and I can tell Crandall notices.
“It’s a free country,” Crandall says, “and a free park. And I want to ride my new bike.” As he speaks, he points, sending a boy to each corner of the jungle gym. “Hey, bay-bee,” he says to me, “what do you think of my ne
