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"Ahah!" he said and pulled something down in his hand. "A key!" He bent over and started trying it in the back door. "What're you doing?" I said, as the door suddenly swung open. Erik turned around and grinned at me. "Opening the door," he said and stepped into the Kent's kitchen. "Erik!" I yelled and jane anderson scampered into the house. "Erik," I whispered, "you can't be in here." "But here I am," he jane anderson said, "and here you are," and he opened the refrigerator, "and here's all this wonderful jane anderson turkey!" He reached in and grabbed a handful of slices and crammed them into his mouth. "Come here," he said, taking some more. "I don't want any," I said, walking over to him. I took a small piece of turkey and swallowed it whole, immediately shoving my hands into my pockets.
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We didn't get over to the Kent's until the afternoon. "I guess they're not home," I said, after two rounds of knocking and several "Hey

john bridger: you guys!" went unanswered. Erik was bending over, his hands cupped around his

john bridger: eyes, peering into their windows from the porch. "Come on," I said. "Let's go." "No, wait," said Erik. "They have more food than God in there." He stood up and looked at me. "Aren't you starving? Maybe they're around the back." "Let's just go," I said, because I was growing pretty weary with the prospect of having to apologize for my unapologizable behavior. Erik began to walk around the back of the house. "You're either with me or against me," he said, and I let him go. I just stood there for a while, staring up at the clouds, breathing in the burning leaves, and wishing I were home. By the time I got around to the back, Erik was up on his tip toes, fingering his way along the top of the door frame.

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