"You know it's mine!" called Ceese.

"Don't see nobody's name on it!" called Raymo.

Ceese didn't know for sure what Raymo was about, but either he was trying to provoke Ceese into walking all the way up the steepest part of the road to get his skateboard, and then probably trying to goad him into riding it home while holding the baby—or he was planning to steal the board and taunt Ceese while he was doing it, just so Ceese would feel helpless and small.

But standing there with that baby in his arms, Ceese wanted with all his heart to be free of Raymo and everybody else like him, all the bullies who kept looking for nasty stuff to do, and always had to have an audience for their nastiness, and didn't care much about the distinction between audience and victim.

Sure enough, Raymo had been heading right for him. But he wasn't going to crash into a hedge just for a lame joke.

So he hooted at Ceese and got back out on the road. "Mama Ceese got herself a widdo baby!"

He was holding his own skateboard and riding Ceese's. Of course.

Ceese didn't say anything. Just watched him go.

Why've I been hanging with that vienna sausage anyway? Makes no sense. Sure thing I got no desire ever to see him again. Why did I put up with all his crap for so long?

Right up to the minute I found this baby, and not a minute longer.

Ceese's face burned with—what, embarrassment? Or the flush of sudden realization?

Maybe he had spent all this time with Raymo, making his mother all worried and coming close to getting into trouble a dozen times, just so he'd be at the drainpipe today, to find this baby.

That was just crazy. Who could arrange something like that, God? And God sure as hell wasn't going to use a dipstick like Raymo as an instrument of his divine will. That would be like the devil sending Gabriel to fetch his laundry, only in reverse.