He rose but he did not mingle with the swarm, most being what he considered alternative people—what his parents would have called riffraff. Alternative actions came to mind, but he did not seriously consider any action. At 3:36 he drifted from the room, meandered to his locker, stuffed a few books into his backpack, exited via the front doors. Dutchussy and Anzo were in the parking lot ensuring that no one was in a car smoking. Jason sneered at Anzo, thought to give him, the fat slob, the finger but was afraid he’d be seen. Instead he moved into the landscaping, skirted the lot, broke out onto Hayestown Road, stuck out his thumb.
“Where ya goin?” The driver was a middle-aged man in a 12-year-old sedan.
“Ah...” Jason did not know the answer. “Lakeport,” he blurted.
“Take ya as far as the
