Also Known as Rowan Pohi Read Free Page B

letter of recommendation from Ramón García did the trick."
    "Yeah,
Señor
García laid it on pretty thick," Marcus admitted. "Did you know that Rowan started a tutoring program for underprivileged kids?"
    I grinned. "Nice touch!"
    Marcus studied the letter. "Did you read this to the end, Bobby? It sounds like Rowan's not really accepted until they see his grades and transcripts from his last school."
    I sighed. "Yeah, well, that ain't gonna happen."
    "His last school was right here," Big Poobs declared, rubbing his belly. "You know, I could go for a stack of pancakes right now."
    "Is food your number one priority in life?" I demanded.
    "Pretty much, yeah," Poobs admitted.
    Marcus slurped the dregs of his drink. "So what should we do with him?"
    Poobs blinked. "Who?"
    "Rowan Pohi, genius."
    It hit me: at that moment we were talking about Rowan like he was a real live person.
    "I was thinking we're going to have to, like, deactivate him,"
    Marcus suggested. "Not right away but, you know, pretty soon."
    "Why?" Poobs asked.
    I made a face. "Jeez, Marcus, let the poor kid live a little. He was just born a couple days ago!"
    The waitress refilled our drinks and we kept talking like that for the next half-hour, all of us jacked up on sugar and adrenaline and the realization that against all odds our impossible plan had worked.
    Here's what I didn't say to my friends: In a strange kind of way, I wasn't surprised to read that letter. Not really. Because the moment I wrote the name Rowan Pohi on that application, I heard a little electronic
blip.
Not just inside my brain, but out loud. Like the sound you hear when an instant message suddenly appears on your computer screen.
    Like:
I'm here.

FOUR

    A T QUARTER TO FIVE I LEFT THE RESTAURANT AND HEADED home. The heat had finally broken; the summer air was soft and sweet. I was just passing Luquer's, the used-clothing store, when I noticed the girl coming toward me on the sidewalk. She was tall and leggy, with a purple headband and an impressive mane of hair, blond. I recognized her as that Whitestone girl who'd seen sitting in a booth with her friends at the IHOP a few days earlier.
    Even from a distance you could see how pretty she was. Maybe she recognized me from the IHOP, because she flashed me a sly smile. Nice. I was still riding high from the Rowan Pohi thing and figured the least I could do was introduce myself. But then I tried to imagine it, playing the scene out in my head.
    Hi.
    Hey.
    Didn't I see you at the IHOP the other day?
    Uh-huh. I'm Melissa. What's your name?
    Bobby. Bobby Steele.
    Talk about a conversation stopper! My father and I had the same name. It wouldn't be surprising if she had read about my father in the newspaper or heard someone mention his name. I didn't want to take that risk, so I dropped my eyes and swung past her, like a guy who had more important things on his mind.
    Â 
    My father grilled sirloin tips for supper. The deck wasn't big enough for a table, so we ate in the kitchen. I turned on the fan and lifted the windows to let in the summer air. While we ate we could hear Spanish music drifting up from one of the apartments below ours.
    "The Indians hunted meat," Cody was saying.
    "Don't talk with your mouth full," my father told him.
    Cody swallowed and gulped down some milk. "They used a bow and arrow to kill some cows."
    The feather in Cody's hair was tilting; I reached over and straightened it.
    "Not cows," I told him. "They hunted buffalo and antelope."
    "Can I go to the bead store?" Cody asked. "Please, Dad?"
    My father grunted. "You got money?"
    Cody nodded eagerly. "I still got ten dollars from my birthday!"
    My father glanced over at me. "Maybe Bobby will take you."
    I groaned. "I'm busy."
    Cody gave me a sulky look. "That's what you always say."
    "Well, I am."
    After supper, my father went to an AA meeting. Ever since
it
happened, he had been court-ordered to stay away from booze and go to at least three AA meetings per week. He