up from her Bible, her glasses down on the tip of her nose and join the conversation. Once she looked over her spectacles right at Dave and said, "We are outcasts, Dave Gordon, why do you like us so much?"

"Well," Dave said with more wisdom than he was entitled to at his age, "I guess I'm an outcast, too." They all laughed, a trifle nervously, not quite knowing why...

A speeding car swept up the hill and startled Dave from his reverie. Would Paul come? It was growing dark, and he hadn't seen Paul since that terrible day two weeks ago when the two of them had strolled idly into the barn and Dave had done that thing to Paul. Dave hated himself for it. He was convinced he had ruined a beautiful friendship-all their fine three years together-to satisfy one silly, nasty impulse. But was it nasty? Dave couldn't find it in his heart to believe it was in spite of the remarks he had heard about such things in the locker room at school.

It had all happened so easily it was impossible to believe it could have been bad. Paul had been waiting for him in the barn, and Dave walked up and took him in his arms and kissed -many times. Convinced Paul would never speak to him again he had said nothing the following day, and on the day after that Dave and his family left for two weeks' vacation. They had been the most miserable weeks of Dave's life, and he hated his father for taking him out of school to satisfy a

foolish

yen for a fall vacation.

The day he returned to school Dave had written Paul a letter and slipped it into Paul's geography book during lunch. In the letter he had said, "Perhaps you hate me and if you do, I deserve it. But would you see me in the barn tonight at four?" But maybe Paul hadn't got his note. No, it couldn't be. His failure to write was proof he hated Dave now and forevermore. He was a fool to wait longer. It was nearly six and his Dad would storm at him for being late to supper again. Besides, there could be no reason for Paul to be so late if he were coming.

Dave shuddered. There was no doubt that summer had gone for good. He returned to the barn; the withered, yellow reeds along the grey water depressed him. Winter would be here soon. Knowing it was futile to remain longer and would mean some punishment for lateness at supper, Dave nevertheless climbed the ladder into the hayloft. The barn was huge, and he looked down into the twilight depths below, heaped thickly with fresh hay. To Dave in his unhappiness the fifteen feet below became a Grand Canyon lined with brutal rocks and sharp jutting branches. It was now clear what he had to do: Paul had forsaken him, and there was nothing but to throw himself into the abyss. That was it! Plunge into the canyon, have your body broken on the rocks and branches long before you hit the swirling waters below. And then peace, quiet, death. His miserable life would

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