“He told the lunch lady his mom was working nights at the county hospital,” Noah said, rubbing the coin until the shiny orange metal showed through the grease.

“She took his hot tray away and handed him one cold slice of cheese on white bread instead.”

“Does the cafeteria do that to all the kids?” Lily asked, shaking her wire strainer in the rinse water.

“Only when your balance goes red on the register screen,” Noah said.

“Arthur told me his number’s been red since Monday morning.”

At five forty-five I walked down the gravel alley behind our back fence to catch Irene Bauer before her kitchen lights came on.

She was standing by the playground gate behind Washington Elementary, winding her gray wool scarf snug around her neck against the wind.