Last Chance by Norah McClintock Page B

wagon.”
    Dougie shot a sour look at Mr. Schuster. Then he looked down at the dog. “Come on,” he said to the dog, guiding it more gently now.
    Mr. Schuster limped all the way to the picnic table. I don’t think he would have made it if we hadn’t been helping him. By the time he dropped down onto the bench, he was breathing heavily.
    â€œDo you want me to run you over to the hospital?” Kathy said. “Maybe it would be a good idea to have a doctor take a look at you.”
    â€œMaybe you should run those troublemakers to the county lockup,” Mr. Schuster said.
    Kathy’s lips tightened. Out in the field, Nick’s arms were flying in all directions as he talked to the rest of the RAD participants. He looked upset. The door to the animal wing opened again, and the man with the brush-cut hair came out with Dougie. He walked directly to Nick, whose hands flew around even more wildly while he presumably explained what had happened. The man with the brush-cut hair, who reminded me of a drill sergeant in a war movie, said something. I saw Nick shake his head—no, no, no. Then the man said something that made Nick go rigid. The rest of the guys, who had been standing around listening, pressed in a little closer. Nick shook his head again. He seemed more subdued now. The man said something else.
    Finally, Nick wheeled away from the group and started across the field. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. The man with the brush-cut hair followed a few paces behind.
    Nick came to a stop in front of the picnic table. He looked down at Mr. Schuster, who was massaging the leg that had been dragging. Mr. Schuster glowered at him.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Nick said. But he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded resentful. “I didn’t see you. I hope you’re okay.”
    â€œNo thanks to you,” Mr. Schuster said.
    I saw anger rise in Nick the way mercury rises in a thermometer on a hot day. The man with the brush-cut hair laid a hand on Nick’s arm.
    â€œBack to the group, D’Angelo,” he said. “Now.”
    Nick spun around and scowled at the man. He didn’t say anything. After a moment, he stalked back across the field to the rest of the group.
    â€œIt really was an accident, Mr. Schuster,” I said.
    â€œPunk kid,” Mr. Schuster muttered.“Did you hear him? He sounded like he was going to choke on that apology.”
    He was right. Nick had sounded anything but apologetic. If I had knocked Mr. Schuster over, I couldn’t have apologized fast enough. But then, if I had knocked Mr. Schuster over, he wouldn’t have treated me the way he’d treated Nick. I glanced across the field and saw a sullen-faced Nick filing back inside with the rest of the RAD guys.

I was in my office the following Monday, checking and double-checking names and addresses, when I heard someone yelling outside. I looked out the window and saw Kathy standing beside her little red Firefly, which she had pulled up to the back entrance of the office wing. The trunk of the car was open, and she was waving to the man with the brush-cut hair. I’d learned that his name was Ed Jarvis. He was the youth counselor responsible for the kids in the RAD program. The RAD kids were out in the field with their dogs. The first thing they did every day when they arrived at the shelter was to take their dogs outside for ten minutes before they reported to their training sessions.
    Mr. Jarvis walked over to Kathy’s car, and he and Kathy exchanged words. Then he called out to the boys. Nick and two of his friends handed their dogs’ leashes to the other RAD participants and jogged over to join Kathy and Mr. Jarvis. Mr. Jarvis spoke to them. Nick and the other two boys reached into the trunk of Kathy’s car. Each hoisted out a cardboard box. I was baffled by the expressions on their faces. The boxes weren’t very big, but all three boys seemed to be