yedred　hair　was　pulled　back　in

a　sloppy　ponytail。　A　halo　of　auburn　frizz　puffed　out　around　her　forehead。

？There　you　are。？　Babs　sighed。　？Didn？t　you　hear　me　calling　for　you？？

Nate　shook　his　head；　suddenly　very　concerned　about　how　stoned　he　was。

？Well；？　she　continued；　strolling　toward　him；　past　the　piles　of　cardboard　boxes　and　all　the　old　toys

and　junk　that　she　and　the　coach　had　stored　up　there。　？You　know　what　my　husband　said：　while　he？s

out　of　town；　you？remine。　？

？Y…y…yeah；？　stammered　Nate。　Coach　was　away　at　some　lacrosse　conference　in　Maryland　for　the

week；　probably　learning　new　techniques　in　torturing　high　school　boys。　Nate　was　suddenly

panicked　he　hadn？t　pletely　put　out　the　joint。　Were　his　pants　going　to　catch　fire？

Yikes。

？The　thing　is；　Nate；？　Babs　went　on；　idly　tracing　the　handle…bars　of　a　rusted　Schwinn　bike　that

was　hanging　from　the　ceiling；　？I　need　a　hand。　Do　me　a　little　favor；　will　you？？

？？Course。？　he　nodded。　？That？s　what　I？m　here　for。？

？Well；　this　particular　favor　might　be　outside　of　your　regular　job　description；？　she　admitted。　？But

if　you？d　be　so　kind　as　to　help　me　out；　maybe　I　won？t　mention　anything　about　the　fact　that　my　attic

smells　like　a　Grateful　Dead　concert。　What　do　you　say？？

What　can　you　say　to　blackmail？

？I？m　。　。　。　I？m　sorry；？　Nate　stumbled。　？It　won？t　happen　again。？

Babs　laughed。　？You　can？t　possibly　expect　me　to　believe　that。？　She　smiled；　pushing　past　the

upside…down　bike　toward　Nate；　who　was　still　hunched　by　the　window。　？But　never　mind。　I　need　a

hand；　and　you？ve　got　two。？　She　took　his　now…callused　hands　in　hers；　examining　them。　？Two　very

capable；　strong　hands。？

Nate　wondered　if　he　shouldn？t　wa