The challenges face each other on either side of the street. On the right, a scary bearded man lives in a trailer with weird stains along the sides like veins. Every day, rain or shine, he's smoking on his sagging porch when Gracen walks by. Sometimes he mutters softly, and other times he talks loud enough to make out the words: stuff about the president and the FBI and the whole neighborhood being under surveillance. His eyes bore into Gracen long after he walks past. Mom and Dad say he's a good guy— a war hero who got hurt and can't be a soldier anymore, but when he's staring bullets at Gracen, it's hard to believe.

The other side of the street has the mean dog behind a leaning wooden fence. Gracen can see through gaps and missing slats to a mossy, swaybacked house. Weeds straggle around a dirt yard with one tall Doug fir that casts everything into shadow.

The chained- up dog looks like a German shepherd, one of Mom's favorite breeds. Whenever the family goes for a walk, Mom shakes her head sadly. The poor thing is always chained. He goes nuts, barking and lunging whenever anyone passes, the chain jerking him to a stop just short of the fence.

Gracen used to speed past the danger zone in the middle of the street. Now that Douggy's with him, he has to be a good example, or she'll tell. He usually takes her the dog way. Dad says even if the wood rots away, that heavy chain is forever.

Douggy's stuck in her mood, scuffing her feet far behind him.

"Hurry up," he calls. "You'll ruin your shoes."

She pouts. "There's dirt on my toes. It's gross."

He rolls his eyes. "You're making it worse. If we miss the bus, Mom will kill us." Worse, she might change her mind about the sleepover.

Douggy halts, brow coming down and lower lip sticking out— the signs of an oncoming tantrum. He forces a lilt into his voice. "If you hurry, I'll bring you some birthday cake tomorrow!"

"I don't care."

The bus stop is a block and a half away. Cleo, the fourth grader who shows up at the last minute, is already there.

"Fine. I'll go without you. When you miss the bus, run home and tell Mom by yourself."

Douggy narrows her eyes. "Mom said you have to stay with me."

"Not if you're this slow. Kids get in big trouble if they don't go to school when they're not sick, you know."

He turns his back and walks away. Only five steps, and she yells for him.

"Wait!" she cries. "It's the danger zone!"

He smiles to himself. He'd known that would do the trick. He can already hear the dog's chain clinking through the fence. Across the street, the scraggly guy mumbles to himself and taps his cigarettes against the table.

Gracen walks backward, keeping an eye on Douggy, who runs to catch up. She's halfway to him when she trips, falling to her hands and knees. The brakes of a bus screech as it pulls around the corner, but it doesn't stop. It must be the high school bus. Theirs won't be far behind. Douggy climbs to her feet, red- faced, and pats her pockets with a panicky look.

The dog pants rapidly, chain jingling as he runs back and forth.

"You're okay. Come on!" Gracen calls. The dog barks as if in response.

"My rock is gone!"

Under his breath, Gracen says, "For shit's sake," which is what Dad mutters when Mom nags at him to pick up after himself. The lucky rock is just a random rock that's sort of heart-shaped. Louder, he says, "We'll find another one at the bus stop. Let's go!"

The dog yelps when it hits the end of the chain. Probably no one's stood next to his fence for this long since...ever. Through a gap, the dog's shape blocks the light as it lunges again. Gracen channels Mom's stern voice. "Now. Or turn around and go home."

Douggy takes a few uncertain steps, then stops. "I'm scared."

Gracen darts a glance across the street. The scary guy/war hero blows a plume of smoke from his mouth like a dragon in a jean jacket, gazing toward the sky as if the kids weren't there.