He ollied the board and almost lost it on the landing. Focus, dude! Don’t bite it. He zipped down to the faculty parking lot, spun around, and came rumbling up the concrete ramp. There was a handrail on one side, slanted downward. He spun around, and popped up onto the railing. It would’ve been a sweet slide all the way down.

Except for the fact Taylor Darnell chose just that moment to walk in front of him.

Noah yelled, “Outta the way!” but Taylor didn’t react in time.

At the last possible instant, Noah rolled off his board and tumbled to the pavement. The skateboard, its momentum established, slid all the way down the rail and smacked into Taylor’s back.

Taylor whirled, yelling: “What the hell, man? Who threw that?”

“Didn’t throw it, dude,” said Noah, picking himself up from the ground. His palms were both scraped, and his knee was throbbing. “It was an accident. You just got in the way.” Noah bent down to pick up the skateboard, which had landed wheels up. Taylor was an okay kid, one of the first who’d come up to say hello when Noah first arrived in town eight months ago. Sometimes, they even hung out together in the afternoons, showing each other new skateboard tricks. So Noah was shocked when Taylor suddenly shoved him, hard. “Hey! Hey, what’s your problem?” said Noah.

“You threw it at me!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Everyone saw it!” Taylor looked around at the bystanders. “Didn’t you see it?”

No one said anything.

“I told you, it was an accident,” said Noah. “I’m really sorry, man.”

There was laughter over by the trailer classrooms. Taylor glanced at the girls and realized they were watching the exchange, and his face turned a furious red.

“Shut up!” he yelled at them. “Idiot girls!”

“Geez, Taylor,” said Noah. “What’s your problem?”

The other skaters had popped up their boards and were now standing around, watching. One of them joked, “Hey, why did Taylor cross the road?”

“Why?”

“Cause he got his dick stuck in the chicken!”

All the skaters laughed, including Noah. He couldn’t help it.

He was unprepared for the blow. It seemed to come out of nowhere, a sucker punch to the jaw. His head snapped up and he stumbled backwards and fell, his butt hitting the blacktop. There he sat for a moment, ears roaring and vision blurred as his shock gave way to hurt rage. He was my friend, and he bit me!

Noah staggered back to his feet and lunged at Taylor, tackling him head on. They both sprawled to the ground, Noah on top. They rolled over and over, both boys flailing, neither one able to get in a decisive blow. Noah finally pinned him, but it was like holding down a spitting cat.

“Noah Elliot!”

He froze, his hands still trapping Taylor’s wrists. Slowly he turned his head and saw the principal, Miss Cornwallis, standing over them. The other kids had all backed away and were watching from a safe distance.

“Get up!” said Miss Cornwallis. “Both of you!”

At once Noah released Taylor and rose to his feet. Taylor, his face by now almost purple with rage, screamed: “He shoved me! He shoved me and I tried to defend myself!”

“That’s not true! He hit me first!”

“He threw his skateboard!”

“I didn’t throw anything. It was an accident!”

“Accident? You liar!”

“Both of you, be quiet!” yelled Miss Cornwallis.

There was shocked silence in the schoolyard as everyone stared at the principal.

They’d never heard her yell before. She was a prim but handsome woman who wore suits and low heels to school and kept her blond hair neatly tucked into a French twist. To see her shouting was a revelation to them all.

Miss C. took a deep breath, swiftly recovering her dignity. “Give me the skateboard, Noah.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t hit him.”

“You were pinning him on the ground. I saw it.”

“But I didn’t hit him!”

She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Noah walked over to his board, lying a few feet away. It was well-worn, one chipped edged crisscrossed with electrician’s tape. The board had been a birthday gift when he turned thirteen. He’d added the decals underneath it-a green dragon with red fire shooting out of its mouth-and had broken in the wheels riding the streets of Baltimore where he used to live. He loved this board, because it reminded him of everything he’d left behind. Everything he still missed. He held it for a moment, then, wordlessly, handed it to Miss C.

She took it with a look of distaste. Turning to address the other students she said, “There’ll be no more skating on school grounds. I want all the skateboards brought home today. And if I see any boards tomorrow, I’ll confiscate them. Is that clear?”

There was a silent nodding of heads.

Miss C. turned to Noah. “You’re in detention until three-thirty this afternoon.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You come to my office now. You’re going to sit and think about what you did do.”

Noah started to argue, then swallowed his words. Everyone was looking at him. He glimpsed Amelia Reid standing by the track field, and his face flushed with humiliation. In silence, head down, he followed Miss C. toward the building.

The other skaters sullenly parted to let them through. Only as Noah was walking away from them did he hear one of the boys mutter:

“Thanks, Elliot. You screwed it up for the rest of us.”

If one wished to take the pulse of the town of Tranquility, the place to go was Monaghan’s Diner. This was where the Dinosaur Club met every day at noon. It was not really a club, but a coffee klatch, six or seven retirees who, for want of a job to go to, hung around Nadine’s counter, admiring the pies under the plastic bells. Claire had no idea how the club got its name. Her guess was that one of the men’s wives, in a fit of pique over her husband’s daily absence, one day blurted out something like: “Oh, you and that bunch of old dinosaurs!” And the name stuck, as good names do. They were all men, all well past sixty. Nadine was only in her fifties, but she was an unofficial Dinosaur because she worked behind the counter and had the good humor to tolerate their bad jokes and cigarette smoke.

Four hours after the thigh bone was found, Claire stopped in at Monaghan’s for lunch. The Dinosaurs, seven of them today, all wearing blaze orange over flannel shirts, sat in their usual place, the far left barstools near the milkshake machine.

Ned Tibbetts turned and nodded as Claire came in the door. Not a Warm greeting, but gruffly respectful. “Mornin’, Doc.”

“Morning, Mr. Tibbetts.”

“Gonna be a mean wind blowing in today.”

“It’s already freezing outside.”

“Coming out of the northwest. Could have snow tonight.”

“Cup of coffee, Doc?” asked Nadine.

“Thank you.”

Ned turned back to the other Dinosaurs, who’d variously acknowledged her entrance, and were now back in conversation. She knew only two of them by name; the others were merely familiar faces. Claire sat alone at her end of the counter, as befitted her outsider status. Oh, people were cordial enough to her.

They smiled, they were polite. But to these natives, her eight months in Tranquility was but a temporary sojourn, a city girl’s fling with the simple life. Winter, they all seemed to agree, would be the test. Four months of snowstorms and black ice would drive her back to the city, as it had driven off the last two doctors from away.

Nadine slid a steaming cup of coffee in front of Claire. “Guess you know all about it, don’t you?” she said.

“All about what?”

“That bone.” Nadine stood watching her, patiently waiting for her contribution to the community pool of knowledge. Like most Maine women, Nadine did a lot of listening. It was the men who seemed to do all the talking. Claire heard them when she walked through the local hardware store or the five-and-dime or the post office. They stood around and gabbed while their wives waited, silent and watchful.