We were given an eight-week rotation. The first three weeks would be basic training. After that, we would be assessed and assigned to a specialty division. If everything went well and I didn’t flunk out, I would still finish in time to go to university in September. My parents made it pretty clear that if I did flunk out, I should go looking for a new place of residence, anyway. They didn’t exactly believe my claims that Max and I had had nothing to do with the much-publicized outage at the Weather Station. “How am I supposed to explain to Dorothy when she asks what happened?” my mother asked me shortly after we were released. “How am I supposed to explain to people that my son was in jail?” “Mom, I wasn’t in jail,” I said. “It was just questioning.” “Oh right,” she said, voice soaked in sarcasm. “Questioning, right. By the police. What kind of questions do they ask? They wanna know what your plans are for after school?
