"Josh. You got a fat letter from some institute in Michigan. Should I bring it upstairs?"

"Just throw it away, Ma. All I ever get is junk mail."

"It looks important, dear."

"Read it yourself. I'm busy." There didn't seem to be enough time, now that he was doing his school work. He didn't need to be at the gas station until six, but he had a story to write and some math to get done before that. It was funny. The school work made more sense now that he had a goal. But it still took time. And he couldn't figure out how this quadratic equation was going to help him. Ever. And now his mother was walking into his room.

"Josh. I opened your letter. It's from some school. And there's a long letter, just to you. Look at this."

"Chuck it, Ma. I've gotta work."

"Some auto school in Detroit wants you to come and study with them next year."

"So do the schools on a book of matches. I don't need it."

"Listen. Just listen to what they say:

Dear Josh,

You are invited to attend the Michigan School of Automotive Technology. You have been recommended to us by one of your teachers.

"And then it says,

Please fill out the enclosed application and find three people who can recommend you.

"It sounds so simple. And they sound so sure they want you."

"No, Ma. Look. I'm a Senior in high school. I get a million letters like that every day, and none of them really mean it. They want people with money, who can pay the freight. They want smart people, who can make them feel important. They don't want some poor schlep like me. Give me that." Josh grabbed the letter from his mother's hand and tossed it toward the wastebasket. It hit the edge and fell to the floor.

"A rim shot, for Christ's sake. I can't even make a basket. I'm sorry, Mom, but I've got to get this work done and have to be at the garage by six. Is there anything to eat in the house? I'm starved."

"I'll put something together for you. Come down soon, so you don't have to wolf your food."

"That's a metaphor, Ma. I can use that in class tomorrow for extra credit! You're the best, Ma."

"Yes, dear. Come down when you're ready."

Josh moved numbers around on the paper until he made some sense of them, and then gave up. He'd write the short story at work tonight, if it wasn't busy and if Gus went home early. It might work.

Hamburger aroma wafting up the stairs and Josh threw his books and papers together. He stooped to pick up the trash on the floor. Automotive school. Yeah, right. A grease monkey from the Main Street Garage going to Michigan. `He spins, he dunks, he slams the ball into the basket.' And again, he hit the rim, knocking the letter out of its envelope. `Ladies and gentlemen, the ball has broken in two. Half the ball went into the basket, and half missed completely. They need two points to win. How will the refs rule this one? The final buzzer has sounded, and the hushed crowd awaits the call.'

Josh picked up the letter and dropped it carefully into the wastebasket. But a name caught his attention and he leaned over to retrieve the brochure. Parsons. What was his English teacher's name doing there.

"You have been recommended for this program by HOLLY PARSONS, your ENGLISH teacher."

Well, why not. He'd take the letter to school and ask Parsons about it tomorrow. He stuck it into his math book and went down the stairs.

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