Над пропастью во ржи

           ItwasexactlythesameasitwaswhenIwentthere.Theyhadthatsamebigyardinside,thatwasalwayssortofdark,withthosecagesaroundthelightbulbssotheywouldn’tbreakiftheygothitwithaball.Theyhadthosesamewhitecirclespaintedalloverthefloor,forgamesandstuff.Andthosesameoldbasketballringswithoutanynets—justthebackboardsandtherings.

           Nobodywasaroundatall,probablybecauseitwasn’trecessperiod,anditwasn’tlunchtimeyet.AllIsawwasonelittlekid,acoloredkid,onhiswaytothebathroom.Hehadoneofthosewoodenpassesstickingoutofhishippocket,thesamewayweusedtohave,toshowhehadpermissionandalltogotothebathroom.

           Iwasstillsweating,butnotsobadanymore.IwentovertothestairsandsatdownonthefirststepandtookoutthepadandpencilI’dbought.ThestairshadthesamesmelltheyusedtohavewhenIwentthere.Likesomebody’djusttakenaleakonthem.Schoolstairsalwayssmelllikethat.Anyway,Isatthereandwrotethisnote:

           DEARPHOEBE,

           Ican’twaitaroundtillWednesdayanymoresoIwillprobablyhitchhikeoutwestthisafternoon.MeetmeattheMuseumofartnearthedooratquarterpast12ifyoucanandIwillgiveyouyourChristmasdoughback.Ididn’tspendmuch.

           Love,HOLDEN

           Herschoolwaspracticallyrightnearthemuseum,andshehadtopassitonherwayhomeforlunchanyway,soIknewshecouldmeetmeallright.