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\" Michelle met her at her locker, right on schedule, carrying a backpack so overstuffed it was its own conversation piece. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. Solomon Smith seemed to be Mr. Eight per cent. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. The two went upstairs to Michelle's bedroom. It had certainly caused some havoc in the uninhabited mansion, chewing through Holland covers to get at the furniture beneath, and knocking down a fire guard and a couple of wooden stands.
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