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I have hold of Nick's shirt and it rips. Good.

He's half crying, and he twists away from the guy that grabbed him and screams some things at me before darting across the avenue.

I'm standing panting and sobbing, and the guy holding me says, "You oughta be ashamed. Now go on home."

"Aw, you and your big mouth," I say, still mad enough to feel reckless.

He throws a fake punch, but he's not really interested.

He goes his way, and I go mine.

I must look pretty bad because a lot of people on the street shake their heads at me.

I walk in the door at home, expecting the worst, but fortunately Mom is out.

Pop just whistles through his teeth.

"That must have been quite a horror picture!" he says.

By the next weekend I no longer look like a fugitive from a riot.

All week in school Nick and I get asked whether we got hit by a swinging door; then the fellows notice the two of us aren't speaking to each other, and they sort of sheer off the subject.

Come Saturday, I sit on the stoop and wonder, what now? There are plenty of other kids in school I like, but they mostly live over in the project—Stuyvesant Town, that is.

I've never bothered to hunt them up weekends because Nick's so much nearer.

Summer is coming on, though, and I've got to have someone to hang around with.

This is the last Saturday before Memorial Day.

Getting time for beaches and stuff.

I suppose Nick and I might get together again, but not if he's going to be nuts about girls all the time.

A guy stops in front of the stoop, and Cat half opens his eyes in the sun and squints at him.

The guy says, "You Dave Mitchell?"

"Huh? Yeah." I look up, surprised.

I don't exactly recognize the guy, never having seen him in a clear light before.

But from the voice I know it's Tom.

Ch5. Around Manhattan

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