"What's wrong?" he finally asked. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I just called the hospital," she said. She turned to her son. "The boy you tackled. His name is Rick Ramirez."

Jeff frowned. "S-So?"

Charlotte licked her lips nervously. "He might die, Jeff. His neck is broken and one of his lungs collapsed." Despite herself, her voice hardened. "And when you put your knee into his kidney, apparently you ruptured it."

Jeff's eyes widened, and Charlotte could see his fingers tighten on his beer glass. "Jesus," he whispered. But then, as she watched, a curtain seemed to fall behind his eyes. "It wasn't my fault," he said, his voice taking on a note of belligerence.

From his chair a few feet from Jeff, Chuck shot her a warning glance, but Charlotte chose to ignore it. "Not your fault?" she asked, no longer trying to contain the anger she was feeling. She moved closer to Jeff. "I heard you say you deliberately kneed him."

"Well, what if I did?" Jeff demanded, rising to his feet. He was big, nearly six-foot-three, and he towered over Charlotte's five-foot-four-inch frame. "Shit, Mom, he'd just tackled me, hadn't he? What did you expect me to do? Just stand there and take it?"

Charlotte reached out to grasp her son's arm. "But that's part of the game, isn't it? You try to get through, and he tries to tackle you. But you don't try to hurt him on purpose…"

Jeff's jaw tightened and his eyes blazed with sudden fury. "And you don't know a goddamn thing about football!" he shouted. Abruptly, he shook his mother's arm off his own and hurled his still half-filled glass into the fireplace. The stein shattered against the bricks, then Jeff stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Jeff!" Charlotte called too late. Already the back door had slammed as well. A moment later they heard his car start up and roar down the driveway. Furious, she spun around to face Chuck.

"That's it!" she snapped. "No more football! On Monday morning he's quitting the team. I've had it."

But her husband was staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "Hey, slow down, honey," he said, standing up and moving toward her. "Maybe he shouldn't have yelled at you and thrown the glass like that, but how do you think he feels?"

"Him?" Charlotte blazed. "What about Rick Ramirez?"

"Jeff didn't mean to hurt him," Chuck replied. "In the heat of a game, these things happen. And whose side are you on, anyway? You just as good as accused him of trying to kill that kid. Your own son! How the hell do you expect him to react?"

Charlotte was silent for a second, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. "I expect him to behave the way we brought him up. I expect him to be a good sport and to keep in mind the fact that he's a lot bigger than most kids and could hurt someone. And if he can't do that, I expect him to stop playing football."

ChuckLaConner gazed silently at his wife, then shook his head. "You mean you want to keep him tied to your apron strings and you don't want him to grow up," he said. "But you can't do that, Charlotte. He's not your little baby anymore." Picking up his own empty beer glass, he left the room.

Charlotte, not quite certain of what had gone wrong, but knowing that she had mishandled the situation very badly, began to clean up the shards of glass scattered across the floor of the den.

There was asnarp snap to the air on Monday morning, and as Mark Tanner stepped out the back door into the brilliant sunlight, the first thing he noticed was the sky. Cobalt blue, it had a depth to it that he'd never seen in San Marcos, where no matter how clear the day was, a vague haze always seemed to hang over the world. Here, the mountains to the east were etched sharply against the sky, and there was a different odor, too-not the pungent aroma of the bay, sometimes briskly salty, but more often carrying the faintly nauseating stench of the mud flats-but the clean scent of pine.Chivas, too, seemed to feel the difference, and uttered a joyful bark as he shoved his way past Mark and raced out to the rabbit hutch next to the garage.

But as he fed the rabbits, Mark's sense of exhilaration began to fade, for already he suspected he would have trouble fitting himself in with the rest of the kids in Silverdale.

He had begun thinking as much Saturday evening, when he'd seen Robb Harris. He'd tried to pick up their friendship where it had been left three years before, but quickly realized that it wasn't going to work.

Robb had changed.

He towered over Mark now, and it seemed he'd lost interest in a lot of the things they'd shared when they were growing up.

The rabbits, for instance. Robb had glanced at them for a moment, then asked Mark-and Mark was certain he hadn't mistaken the contempt in Robb's voice-why he was still "messing around" with them. Mark had frowned.

"You used to raise guinea pigs," he'd pointed out.

Robb had rolled his eyes. "Everybody did, when we were kids. Or hamsters, or gerbils." Then he grinned, but it hadn't been the kind of friendly grin Mark remembered from years ago. "Why don't we let 'emgo?" he suggested. "Then we could hunt them."

Though Mark had felt a flash of anger, he said nothing. From then on, though, the evening had gone downhill for him. He tried to pretend he was interested in the football game Robb had played in that afternoon, but it hadn't really worked, and Robb finally asked what team he himself was going to try out for.

Then it was Mark who had grinned. "I don't know," he replied. "Debating, maybe?"

Robb looked at him as though he were some kind of alien. "We don't have a debating team," he replied. "And even if we did, nobody would care."

Mark had fallen silent then; and yesterday, when his mother had suggested he go over to theHarrises ' and visit Robb, he'd shaken his head and made up an excuse. His mother had looked at him sharply, and it seemed she was about to say something but then changed her mind. So he had spent the day withChivas, following a trail up into the foothills, enjoying the solitude and the majestic scenery, but already starting to worry about what would happen today.

Suddenly Kelly burst out the back door. "Mom says if you don't come in right now, you're going to be late!" She planted her feet wide apart and put her hands on her hips. "And she has to take me to school, so hurry up!"

Mark grinned at his little sister. "What if I don't?" he teased.

Kelly giggled, as she always did when he teased her. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I bet you'll get in trouble!"

"Then I'll hurry," Mark replied.

He finished hosing out the tray and slid it back beneath the hutch, then added some water to the rabbits' reservoir. In less than a minute he was back in the house, sliding into his place at the breakfast table. His father, already nearly done with his breakfast, glanced up at him.

"I talked to Jerry Harris yesterday," Blake said.

Mark frowned, but made no reply.

"He was thinking you might show up over there. Wanted to know if anything was wrong between you and Robb."

Mark shrugged, but still made no reply.

Blake leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, and Mark felt himself tense. "I know this move is a big change for all of us," Blake began. "We're all going to have a lot of adjusting to do. But it's a big opportunity." He hesitated a moment, and finally Mark looked up. His father was staring straight at him. "Especially for you," Blake told him.

Mark shifted uneasily in his chair. What was going on? Had he done something wrong?

"I want you to fit in here," his father went on. "I know you've had some problems in the past-missing a year of school-and I know you've had some problems fitting yourself in. But this is a chance for you to start over again."