After lunch he had algebra, art, study hall and gym, again with Coach Allison. They were rope climbing, something that Jonathan could do in his sleep. He helped Alvin and the flute player from the bus this morning. Her name was Lydia Trimble.

Alvin went all the way to the ceiling once he got the idea. "Hey, Coach, I did it!"

Coach Allison grinned. He'd always figured if that kid ever got a dose of self-confidence, he could make a lot of mileage out of being small, quick and agile. "Way to go, Alvin!"

The boy still had a mile wide grin on his face when he shinnied back down the rope.

Lydia made it about halfway up, better than she'd ever tried before. She did not like heights.

Allison said, "That's terrific progress, Lydia! Do you remember how to get down?"

"I think so...." She worked her way down with exaggerated care, to a boisterous high-five from Alvin. She ignored the rude jeers and comments from the in-crowd with all the dignity of a reigning queen disregarding the peons.

Jonathan had decided so far that he preferred the company of the school's outcasts to the jerks making all the smart ass remarks.

Coach Allison patted Jonathan on the shoulder. "That's my idea of teamwork, son. Anybody can be a star if they just figure out what they're good at. Takes something else again to take second seat and help somebody else be a star."

"Thanks, Coach."

"Did you ever think about JROTC? You've got some real leadership potential."

"Maybe," he allowed. Jonathan wondered about the second seat phrase. "Were you in the Air Force?"

"Sure was. Flew the stealth bomber during the Desert Storm. Are you an airplane buff?"

"Yeah, you could say that...kind of interested in military history all around."

"I saw that earlier. There are a lot of people my age and older who don't understand much about Viet Nam and the whys and wherefores that things turned out the way they did."

"Too many violent video games, I guess. I haven't been here long enough to check out the after-school stuff. Are there a lot of clubs and so on?"

"There's always a lot of stuff going on around here. Look into it, there's bound to be something you'll like."

Jonathan thought about all the time he'd be spending alone in his apartment. Nights would be bad enough. He'd better find something to do to keep busy. "I'll do that. Thanks, Coach."

Allison blew his whistle. "OK, gang, give me five laps then hit the showers!"

Jonathan found an unused gym locker, but the kid next to him said, "Not that one, that was Roberto's locker."

Jonathan asked, "Roberto?"

"Robbie Diaz. He got killed a couple weeks ago."

"Crap. I'm sorry. What happened?"

"They found him, shot, up in the high country."

Jonathan found another locker. "Sorry."

"'S OK, you didn't know."

That afternoon, Jonathan found a used bike shop and got a decent one that was rideable, and didn't look like it needed too much work to get it in top shape. He rode around for a while. The gear shift was sticking. A quick trip in the hardware got him a few basic tools and a can of WD-40.

By the time he got home and swung off the bike, unexpected soreness just about put Jonathan on the ground. He held onto the bike for a second until he was sure he could stand up on his own, then put it in the garage.

He laughed at himself. He'd taken Janet and Thor at their word when they told him he was in great shape. That was true as far as it went, but his definition was a little different from theirs. His head was telling him he should be able to climb ropes and ride a bike hell-bent for leather all day long. It was obviously gonna take a while for his body to catch up. And he wasn't hardened to the kind of abuse ordinarily active people put themselves through in the course of a day--let alone SG teams.

Hot shower now, and out of bed early enough to start running before school. No way it would be as hard as coming back from some of the injuries he had collected over the years. Getting up the stairs to his apartment was a bitch, but the toughness to suck it up and get the job done anyhow was mostly mental.

He'd seen a martial arts studio near the hardware store. That would be something to check out after he'd been running for a while.

He felt a lot better after that hot shower. He ordered a pizza and reached for his biology book. He wasn't about to give Old Man Forrester any more reasons to look down his nose at him.

After a few days, Jonathan had gotten his bearings at school, more or less. He hung out with Alvin, Lydia and Nancy, and it didn't take them long to figure out that his apartment was a safe, quiet place to hang out after school and do homework.

Alvin took to leaving his books and homework there. Jonathan wondered about that, it wasn't a problem but it was strange. "Alvin, have you got problems at home?"

"You might say that. My dad's usually OK, but if he's been drinking, all bets are off."

"You don't have to put up with him hitting you."

"Yeah, I know, I just don't know if foster care would be any better."

After the lowdown he'd gotten on that from Daniel, Jonathan wasn't sure he could disagree. "Well, you can always come here if you need to get out of his way for a while till he sobers up. My landlady's cool, too. Tell her I sent you and she'll let you in."

Alvin said, "Thanks."

Jonathan shut his biology book. "What time do you have to be home?"

"Eight, eight-thirty, something like that. I wait until Dad leaves for work before I go in. Look, it's not as bad as all that. I stay out of his way and he leaves me alone most of the time. He's OK when he's sober. I'm sure I'll get a scholarship somewhere. Three more years isn't that long."

"Yeah."

"Hey, you got a TV and a play station!"

Both of them were soon busy with the video game, and Alvin's dad was more or less forgotten for the time being.

Monday morning, Jonathan got a note in homeroom ordering him to the guidance counselor's office. His first thought was wondering what he'd done to get in trouble--probably something Forrester dreamed up. At least it would get him out of Forrester's class.

The door to the guidance counselor's office was open. He tapped on the door frame. She waved him in and indicated a seat while she got off the phone.

"You wanted to see me?"

"That's right, Jonathan. Were you in a gifted program at your last school?"

"Who, me? No."

"Well, I wonder why not. What would you think of switching to senior level literature and history courses? You'd still have the same teachers, just switch slots."

"I guess...."

"Coach Allison also recommended you for our peer tutoring program. It's two hours one evening a week."

"I can do that."

The counselor smiled. "Great! We need geography and algebra. Which would you prefer?"

"I'd probably be better with geography."

"OK, great! You'll be tutoring a boy named Ben Feinstein. Here's his address and phone number. Here's your time sheet. You'll both have to sign it and get it back to me at the end of the semester. This will more than satisfy your community service requirement."

"Can you write me a pass for Mr. Forrester's class?"

A look of distaste appeared on her usually smiling face for just a second. "Oh, sure, just a second...where did I put them...?" She extracted a small blue pad from her desk and filled out the form.

Jonathan figured Forrester was no more popular in the teachers' lounge than he was in the classroom. He was glad to see he wasn't the only one with a poor opinion of the man.

Forrester took the pass without a word and went on with class.

Jonathan called Ben that afternoon, and the boy came over. "Thanks for letting me come over here. I can't study at home with my little brother raising hell."

Jonathan warned Ben about the bike thief. The younger boy locked his wheels to the stair rail and they went on upstairs. "So, what are we supposed to be doing here?"

"Just help me do my homework and study for tests. We're on unit 4, South America."

They got to work. Ben was a very bright, easy-going, cheerful kid who could get lost going around the block. By sheer rote memorization, he was pulling a solid C in the class, but a poor grade would knock him off the track team.

After Ben left, Jonathan decided to head over to the malt shop and get a footer for supper. After that, he went in the shopping center to get a can of paint for Granny's back porch. As much as she had done for him, he was glad to take care of chores like that for her.

It wasn't easy steering the bike and hanging onto the paint can at the same time. Jonathan took the shortcut through the alley that ran behind his place. The back door of the garage didn't work, but it would be worth heaving the bike and the paint can over the back fence to avoid weaving around like a drunk on the busy street out front. The alley was mostly only used by the garbage truck and the neighborhood kids, since the driveways opened onto the street as well as the alley and there was a brush covered hillside opposite the row of garages.

Jonathan was paying attention to keeping his front wheel out of the alley's numerous potholes, when he heard an altercation up ahead. It was hard to tell in the dark what exactly was going on, but three or four burly guys were crowded around something behind a garage. Then he heard a blow and a cry of pain.

He set the can of paint down and leaned his bike against a board fence as quietly as he could and went up there. One of the punks was holding Alvin's arms behind his back while another one in a Godzilla tee-shirt punched him. "Little faggot, I told you what was gonna happen if you didn't pay up!"

Jonathan tapped him on the shoulder. "D'you kiss your mama with that mouth, Godzilla? You oughta be ashamed of yourself!"

"You gonna do something about it, dickhead?"

"I guess I am, if you morons don't have the sense to get the hell out of Dodge."

Godzilla took a swing at him, which Jonathan easily ducked, and followed with a hard right to the jaw that put the much bigger boy on his ass.

One of the other boys pulled something out of his pocket, which turned out to be a butterfly knife. Jonathan immediately kicked it out of his hand, yelling at Alvin to run.

Alvin stomped on his captor's foot and took off up the alley like a bat out of hell when the older kid turned loose.

One of the other boys hit Jonathan in the back with a piece of pipe. Hurt and stunned, he fell back on his training, and the boys suddenly had a wildcat on their hands. Still, it was four on one and he was getting the worst end of it, hurt as he was.

Alvin came tearing back down the alley with Lydia and Nancy. The girls had baseball bats and every intention of using them to bust heads. Jonathan kicked one of the thugs in the face and knocked him up against the garage door just as Nancy whacked another one with her ball bat.

Now that it was even odds and they were getting a taste of their own medicine, the bullies decided it was time to move along, with an exchange of insults and rude gestures.

Jonathan got his bike and Nancy took the paint can. "Three freakin' guesses where the bikes have been going."

"No doubt," Lydia replied.

Granny heard them getting over the back fence and saw blood on Jonathan's face. She came running. "What on earth happened?"

Alvin said, "Those guys who hang out at the pool hall were beating me up. Jonathan saved me. You shoulda seen it, he kicked that skank T-Joe right in the face just like Jet Li!"

Lydia said, "Yeah, I bet those creeps don't think they're so great now!"

"Let's get you kids in the house."

Granny efficiently checked the boys for serious injuries and found nothing worse than bruises and the cut over Jonathan's eye. He jerked and yelled "Ow!" when she dabbed it with antiseptic.

"Hold still or you'll get it in your eye! Do you know who those kids are? We should call the law!"

Alvin protested that. "If you do they'll tell my dad, and Dad will kill me!"

Jonathan and Granny exchanged a look as they realized Alvin meant that literally. Jonathan asked, "Tell him what, Alvin?"

The smaller boy straightened his glasses and looked at Lydia. Both of them hesitated, then Lydia nodded. Alvin said miserably, "That I'm gay. My dad hates queers."

Nobody had any platitudes for that. Jonathan knew plenty of people who shared that attitude, and considering that Alvin's dad already had a history of violence, Jonathan thought he probably was a real threat to Alvin's life. "You shouldn't have to put up with those guys ganging up on you just because your old man's a f-reakin' idiot."

Granny said, "Well, I'm no bigot, and I'll have my eyes open for something I can call the cops about. You kids can always run up on my porch if someone's chasing you. Just look and see if my car's here so you don't get cornered."

Nancy said, "We'd better get back before my parents get home, Lydia. Mom would call the police."

Lydia said, "Yeah, well, if it wasn't for Alvin's dad, I'd call them myself."

Nancy said, "Jonathan took care of them. Hey, do you guys want to come to my house tomorrow after school to study for that algebra test? My mom will be there."

"Sure!" Alvin said immediately, so Jonathan nodded. "My dad should be gone now, so I think I'll go home too."

Granny said, "Not so fast, young 'uns, I'll drop you off. I don't trust those apes not to be waiting to bushwhack one of you when no one else is around. Jonathan, you stay put, I want to take another look at that eye before you go to bed."

None of them argued. It only took Granny a few minutes to drive the kids home.

Jonathan's eye would be all right. "You just can't stay out of a fight, can you?"

"Hey, I was just minding my own business when--"

"I know that, son, don't get your shorts in a knot. I'm just thinking, if there's an entry for trouble magnet in the dictionary, either your picture or Jack's is right beside it. It was lucky for that little Alvin that you came along when you did."

"Yeah, if I hadn't had that can of paint, I never would have been riding my bike in the alley. I don't know why the cops haven't shut that pool hall down. It sounds like a goddamn nuisance."

"It is a goddamn nuisance. The whole neighborhood's been complaining, but they haven't broken any laws, so the cops can't do anything. Jonathan, you be careful, do you hear me?"

He grinned, "Yes ma'am."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Look at your hands."

"Couldn't exactly ask them to hold off until I got my hands toughened up."

She examined them carefully. "You really should get Dr. Fraiser to check you out, but I think they're okay."

"So she could wiggle them around too? No, thanks."

She shook her head. "It's no good telling you to stay out of trouble when trouble's just gonna find you. There's plenty of room in the garage if you want to put a punching bag and stuff in there."

"Granny, have I told you thanks lately?"

"Yes, you have, and you're welcome. Tell me something, why high school? And it wasn't just to chase girls. Though I did see how that pretty little Nancy was looking at you."

"Where else was I going to cool my heels for three years, Granny? I couldn't stay at the mountain." He thought about Sam and that pain was far worse than his injuries from the fight. "I just couldn't."

She nodded understanding, having seen the looks Jack and Sam shared whenever one of them was in the infirmary.

"Besides," he said resolutely, "It's a different world now. You can't get anywhere without an education. I didn't ask for this mess, but things are the way they are."

She nodded. "Looking at that little Alvin, I'm not sure but what you're exactly where you're meant to be. Just--for the love of God, be careful. You're a hundred forty pounds soaking wet, and those guys could have put you in the hospital or worse, special ops training or no."

"I know, Granny, and I will. You're right about trouble finding me, I guess, but I won't go looking for it."

She nodded and gave him an unexpected but welcome hug before she sent him off to bed, with instructions to come by and let her see his eye again before he left for school. He made sure he had locked the garage when he put his bike away, then went upstairs.

This wasn't the first time he had spent a sleepless night after a fight, with the adrenaline in his veins and the pain from his wounds keeping him from the rest he needed. But something in what Granny had said about being just where he should be struck a chord. It felt right, and for the first time he really started to feel at home.