6050 Spindler Avenue… The boy in the orange shirt fiddled with his pencil, staring absently at the assignment on the desk before him. Left, then left again… Fleming Craig and Kara…
The final bell sounded, and his classmates gathered up their backpacks on cue. The boy collected his as well, scooped up his assignment paper, and joined the queue to the teacher's desk. It dissipated quickly; within seconds he stood before Ms. Faber, handing her his worksheet.
She frowned at it. "Is this all you finished?"
He shrugged meekly, still reciting the address in his head. 6050 Spindler Avenue…
"You've been distracted all week, young man," Ms. Faber told him sternly, though not without compassion. "What's bothering you? Do you want to talk about it?"
She met his eyes, and he looked away. Sighing, she slid the worksheet back to him. "Well, take this home with you and finish it tonight. Bring it back tomorrow. And bring your concentration, too."
He nodded without really hearing, slipped the paper into his backpack, and hurried out of the classroom into the throng flowing through the halls to the busses and cars waiting outside. Out of habit, he stopped on the sidewalk and scanned the traffic for his ride, then caught himself. It wouldn't be here, not today, not anymore. That was what he had been told. He looked anyway, just to be sure.
He was relieved—ecstatic—when his ride did not appear. Heart pounding, he launched himself down the street to the left, walking quickly. Left, then left again. It was raining, and he realized dimly that in his excitement that morning he had left his jacket at home. He didn't care. The rain on his shoulders and head felt wonderful, like freedom. Fleming Craig and Kara…
He ran down the street and turned left at the first intersection. He ran some more, checking the numbers on the houses—6032, 6036, on the other side of the street a 6041… 6046, 6048, 6052…
The boy came to a sudden halt and stared. There was no 6050! 6048 and 6052 were separated only by a chain-link fence, with no space for a 6050 between them. He gaped, trying to understand. Craig and Kara Fleming were real, the phonebook said so—they lived at 6050 Spindler Avenue… But there was no 6050!
Orange T-shirt now damp from the soft rain, the boy ran to the far end of the block. The numbers continued to increase. At the next intersection he discovered green street signs up on a pole, identifying "24th Avenue South" and "Clipper Street." He frowned at them. This wasn't Spindler Avenue!
He retraced his steps back to the corner where he had turned left. The signs there agreed that this was not Spindler Avenue. But he had followed the directions he had found in the phonebook! Left from the school, then left at the first street… He had been so careful. How could he have gone the wrong way?
Gathering determination in one deep breath, the boy dove deeper into the neighborhood, completely ignoring the rain. He had to find Craig and Kara Fleming. The magnitude of that goal filled him with hope and terrified him at the same time. What would they look like? Would they like him? Would they send him away?
Spindler Avenue had to be somewhere nearby—he must have read the map wrong somehow. He would check every street sign until he found the right road, and then he would find the house, and then he would find them…
Undaunted, he jogged from street to street, turning at random intervals, searching but not finding Spindler Avenue. After perhaps an hour he paused to rest against a light pole. The rain was harder now—it had drenched his clothes and was streaming down his hair into his face—but he paid it no heed. He studied the unfamiliar intersection at which he had stopped. He did not recognize it at all. He was thoroughly lost.
Even so, adrenaline coursed through him. He would press on until he located Spindler Avenue and found Craig and Kara Fleming. They were out here somewhere, at 6050 Spindler Avenue, somewhere in the city…