"Gosh. I don't think so. He's some kind of big shot in the government now."
They flopped on the grass, and Andy tore out a ragged clump and chewed on it blankly. Ron said: "Andy, I'm in trouble. I need some help."
"No kidding?"
"Yes!" He brought his voice to a whisper. "Andy—what if I told you that I was really—" He stopped, and examined the open, innocent face in front of his eyes. He knew that it would be useless to tell the truth. "Skip it," he said.
"I don't get you. What's on your mind, Ronnie?"
"Nothing, Andy. I just have to get away from here."
"But you can't. I mean, not until they let you. It's the rules."
"Andy—how long have you been here?"
The boy thought a moment. "Almost nine years," he said blissfully. "Since my folks got killed."
"How long do you have to stay?"