Changing Michael Read Online Free

and most of Virginia.
    As a result, Alexander High School sits at the epicenter of suburbia, which means it’s surrounded by housing developments.
    These developments connect to other developments, and between each subdivision are strip malls, office buildings, and miles of traffic, on and on, forever and ever, amen.
    But back to Michael.
    I decided to conduct my stake-out in front of the school. I didn’t think it would be too hard to spot him. I’d just look for the floppy hair.
    Anyway, as I’m deep in thought, Michael pops out of the building and immediately scurries down the sidewalk past the waiting buses. He’s already got a decent lead, so I take off running to catch up with him, but then realize I’m jogging by the parked buses and a captive audience, so I slow down to a fast walk instead—that is, until I remember how ridiculous speed walkers look. So, finally, I settle for a brisk but casual pace.
    According to Mom (who is frequently unreliable), there was a small section of woods to one side of our school a long time ago. Now, a thick stand of townhouses has graciously replaced most of the unsightly trees. Once, I knew a few kids who lived in Village Oaks (although most of the oaks appeared to have been executed). On the other side of Alexander, the houses were older, smaller brick ones with a couple of unassuming apartment buildings thrown in for good measure. I knew the area but didn’t know anyone on this side.
    I followed Michael down the sidewalk and into the little brick neighborhood. I hung back a bit, not sure what he’d do if he realized I was following him. I figured his place had to be close. Even though the first few rows of houses seemed small, they were fairly tidy and not too bad.
    But as we got farther away from the school, I knew the houses would get smaller and more dilapidated. Eventually, we hit a main road, and the houses at that end were pretty awful. It was like the builders, when they started working on the houses near the school, had been eager and energetic. But as they kept building, they got more and more tired and started to get a little sloppy, and by the end of the job, they just slapped everything together before lunch, left their trash and tools in the yard, and headed to the nearest bar for a three-day bender.
    But I was pretty sure Michael didn’t live down at that end.
    Michael was a geek. Geeks live in nice, clean houses, with geeky parents who make lots of money programming computers to run the world.
    Any minute now, I expected Michael to turn down a side road or into a front yard, but he just kept going, past the neater houses and past the bad ones, too.
    And it wasn’t just the houses. The yards we passed became more disheveled the farther we got from the school. Most were cluttered with rusting swing sets, or sprinkled with garbage instead of grass. Some had plastic toddler cars that looked as if either the sun or an older brother had set fire to part of the vehicle. One gutter that ran parallel to the sidewalk was an avid collector of crushed beer cans and filthy cigarette butts.
    Back near the school, some of the houses had tight little garages that could accommodate one, maybe two clown cars on a good day. Down at this end, there was only the occasional carport, and the majority of these tilted in one direction or another and probably wouldn’t make it past the next windy day.
    I came around a slight bend in the road I was following; I could see the main road that intersected mine about a hundred yards ahead.
    â€œWhat the heck?” I muttered, then wondered, What if he doesn’t live on this road? What if we’ve got another couple miles or something? What if it gets even worse?
    I was slowing a little, thinking perhaps I’d make a home visit some other time, when Michael finally turned down a driveway.
    Not even a driveway really—just a section of broken asphalt. The chain-link fence around the front