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Who you think they’re gonna believe?”
    â€œThat sucks!”
    â€œYeah, I sort of pointed that out to the foreman.” He rubbed the back of his right hand, and for the first time I noticed his knuckles were bruised.
    â€œYou didn’t punch him out, did you?” I said.
    He half grinned at me. “Naw. I did this on the driver’s door of the car.” Then his face got serious. “But I did take a swing at the fat old fart. I was pissed off and I didn’t think. Lucky for me a couple of guys stopped me. It coulda been a lot worse than just me getting fired.”
    I looked down at my running shoes. There was a small hole in the right one. It didn’t seem likely I’d be getting new ones any time soon. “So we’ll just move,” I said. “So what?”
    Dad looked around the trailer. “Don’t you ever get tired of moving, Kev?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you like to stay in one place for more than a few months? Maybe...maybe even live in a house instead of a tin can?”
    Sure I would have liked to live in a house and be in the same school at the end of theyear as I had been at the start. Like that was gonna happen.
    I shrugged. “I don’t care.” I finished the root beer, tipped the bottle on its side and set it spinning. “Your boss is a jerk,” I said.
    Dad nodded. “Yeah, but so was I, and I’m the one without the job, not him.”
    He reached across the table and his hand came down on the twirling bottle. “You’re going to stay in school, and when you graduate you’ll learn how to do something. Hell, maybe you’ll even go to college.”
    â€œRight, me in college,” I said. “There’s a laugh.”
    â€œI don’t know how the hell I’d pay for it anyway,” Dad said. “But you’re getting some kind of education. You want to go from one crap job to another the way I have my whole life? That’s no life, believe me.”
    He got up, opened the refrigerator and grabbed the last root beer, but instead of opening it he just stared at it for a minute and then put it back. He grabbed his jacketoff the back of the chair. “I’m goin’ out for a while. Get yourself something to eat and do your homework.”

Chapter Five
    I was dead asleep when Dad came into my room and shook me awake. “Get up,” he said. “Your old man’s gonna be on TV.”
    I stared at him, only half awake, with drool running down from the corner of my mouth. It had to be almost midnight.
    â€œC’mon,” Dad said. I staggered down the tiny hall to the front room of the trailer. Dad turned on the TV and used the remote to flip through the channels. “I hope we didn’t miss it,” he muttered. Suddenly,there was my father’s face on the screen. I yanked the remote out of Dad’s hand and upped the volume.
    â€œThere was more than three thousand dollars in the envelope,” a chirpy blond reporter was saying. “Did you ever think about keeping the money, Mr. Frasier?”
    â€œNo,” the TV Dad said. “It wasn’t mine. It wouldn’t be right.”
    I looked at my dad—the real one. “You found a bunch of money?”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “Close to four thousand dollars in the middle of the street, right outside of Greer’s junkyard. I took it to the police station.”
    I thought about what four thousand dollars could buy—running shoes without a hole in them; something, anything besides Kraft dinner and hot dogs; somewhere else to live other than this tuna can on wheels. I shook my head. “Four thousand freakin’ dollars just sitting in the middle of the street and you take it to the cops. Hello? You don’t have a job. We can’t even pay the rent this month.”
    He didn’t look at me. “It wasn’t my money,” he said quietly.
    â€œIt was in the middle