Roy would not have noticed the strange boy if it weren''t for Dana Matherson, because Roy ordinarily didn''t look out the window of the school bus. He preferred to read comics and mystery books on the morning ride to Trace Middle. But on this day, a Monday (Roy would never forget), Dana Matherson grabbed Roy''s head from behind and pressed his thumbs into Roy''s temple, as if he were squeezing a soccer ball. The older kids were supposed to stay in the back of the bus, but Dana had snuck up behind Roy''s seat and ambushed him. When Roy tried to wriggle free, Dana mushed his face against the window. It was then, squinting through the smudged glass, that Roy spotted the strange boy running along the sidewalk. It appeared as if he was hurrying to catch the school bus, which had stopped at a corner to pick up more kids. The boy was straw-blond and wiry, and his skin was nutbrown from the sun. The expression on his face was intent and serious. He wore a faded Miami Heat basketball jersey and dirty khaki shorts, and here was the odd part: no shoes. The soles of his bare feet looked as black as barbecue coals. Trace Middle School didn''t have the world''s strictest dress code, but Roy was pretty sure that some sort of footwear was required. The boy might have been carrying sneakers in his backpack, if only he''d been wearing a backpack. No shoes, no backpack, no books-strange, indeed, on a school day. Roy was sure that the barefoot boy would catch all kinds of grief from Dana and the