The decision

"Well, maybe that will change here,” I said. Clayton looked at me question- ingly and I realized that the statement sounded more like a coy invitation. I coughed uncomfortably and cleared my throat. "I mean, making friends and all," I covered lamely. Clay nodded. "Maybe." He didn't sound at all convinced.

"Did your parents get new jobs or something? Is that why you moved?” I asked. Clayton's discomfort seemed magnified with my question. I thought it was innocent enough, nothing to in- cite the reaction I got. Clayton moved a good foot away from me and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jack- et. He turned his head away.

"Uh, no. There were just . . . um . . . circumstances that required me to move." The tone of his voice let me know that that particular subject was closed.

"You're not in the witness-protection program, are you?" I kidded, not want- ing to drop the conversation. I wanted to know everything about Clayton Reed. He was going to be my friend, whether he wanted t