Drop me off here, Mom," Adam said. They were a couple of

blocks from the school.

"Why? I don't mind driving."

"Mom!" He couldn't control his impatience. "This is high

school." Bad enough that he was registering late--it was

already November and the term was half over. "Here," he

said. "Drop me off here," and he hopped out of the car.

By the time he got everything straightened out in the office,

his first-period class had started. The teacher was in the middle

of a lesson. Adam stood in front of the class wh]Ie Mr. Handler

interrogated him.

"Where are you from, Adam?"

"No place," Adam said. He was trying to be accurate, but it

came out sounding sullen.

"No place? I've never been to no place."

"I'm military," he explained.

"And where's that? Pearl Harbor? Hickman Field? Or is it

Fort Knox?"

"America," Adam said, stiffly. "The United States of

America."

He was sorry the minute he said it. It sounded so phony and

superpatriotic, as if he were going to snap his heels together