They sat in silence for a time that felt like a century. Their legs hung over the sharp edge of the flat hilltop. Blake kicked softly against the rock and a fine powder sifted down.
“This is swell,” he said.
“You bet.”
He looked at the cruel edges of the hills and the shadows between them, sinking deeper and deeper in the clefts, and he thought,
“I have only two months.” He pushed the shadowy hills out of his mind and thought of the train-ride East, the smell of rooms that had been closed all summer with school books locked up inside, the first classes with roll-calls and reading lists in mimeographed sheets. He felt a little nauseated.
“Mother says I’ve got to go to some school in September,” he said aloud. Before him were the hills again, and Teddy sitting next to him.
“Oh, well,” said Teddy, “start worrying in September. This is July.”
“That’s only two months. I won’t go, that’s all. I won’t.”
“Well, don’t. Don’t ever do anything you don’t want to do. Look at me.”
“Yes, but you’re different. No family.”