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The day before his birthday is town meeting day, which Tyler has learned in social studies class is something special about Vermont. Once a year, every town in the state meets to talk over and vote on stuff like the school budget and what all needs doing in town: a road to pave, a sign to put up, a new fire-truck hose to buy. A lot of towns hold their meetings at night so that folks who have to work can come. This year Mr. Bicknell gives his class the assignment of attending town meeting and writing a report about it.

Tyler and Mari ride in with Mom and Dad. Grandma has already gone ahead, as she and some of her church friends have made a large sheet cake and cookies and punch to raise money for their youth group trip this year.

Up in the front seat, his parents are complaining about some old guy who always writes letters to the editor. This time his letter was about how a church group shouldn't be allowed to peddle their refreshments at town meeting, as this country believes in separation of church and state. “Grandma sure found her way around that one!” Mom is saying.

Tyler's grandma and her friends agreed not to put up any sign that they were from the church. But in the icing of her sheet cake Grandma traced a church, then stuck a little American flag atop the steeple.

“We're going to be eating a lot of cake this week,” his father notes, looking in the rearview mirror at Tyler.

“That's right, Tiger,” his mom adds. “Any further thoughts on what you want for your birthday?”

It's a little late to be asking, Tyler feels like saying. Plus his mom already knows. Tyler really wants to go on the field trip to Washington, D.C., that his 4-H club is planning for spring break. But the total cost is close to five hundred dollars, which is more than Tyler is likely to rake in from all the birthday checks he's counting on.

“I know you want to go to Washington,” his mom adds when Tyler doesn't speak up. “But, honey, we just can't swing that kind of money right now.” She doesn't have to add that Dad's medical bills have stressed the family's budget. Dad feels bad enough as it is. “Maybe we can all go later. Drive down together, camp out—what do you think?”

No, thank you, Tyler thinks. If you strip everything from the 4-H field trip, what have you got left? A family vacation cramped in the backseat with an older brother who doesn't want to be there and a sister complaining she's carsick.

“Never mind,” he says grumpily.

“Well, if you think of something else,” his mother says cheerily like she doesn't really care. Tyler's birthday wish is just one more item she can now cross off her to- do list.

“I don't want anything else,” Tyler grumbles.

Mari looks over worriedly. She and her sisters have been insisting on getting Tyler a gift for his birthday. Tyler couldn't very well ask them for a check. They don't even have a bank account, according to his mother. “I thought you wanted that Red Sox sweatshirt?” she whispers.

“I do from you guys,” Tyler says quietly.

Town meeting is being held in their school lunchroom. It's so strange to see all these grown- ups where kids usually sit. The chairs are lined up to face a platform up front, the tables pushed to the other end. At one of these tables, Grandma and her friends are serving up the last of the refreshments. Most of the cake is gone, so if the old fellow happens by, all he'll see is a little American flag flying forlornly above the crumbly remains.

Mom and Dad are detained time and again, saying hi to neighbors, so Tyler and Mari head for a section where some classmates are already sitting.

Before the meeting starts, Mr. Bicknell motions for Tyler to come out in the hall. It turns out the Boy Scout who was supposed to carry in the flag at the beginning of the program got a last- minute stomachache. Could Tyler take his place and lead the assembly in the Pledge of Allegiance? It's not like Tyler has a choice when his teacher asks him to help out in an emergency. Tyler's just glad that the request came right before the meeting, or he, too, would have had a last- minute stomachache all week long.

On his way back from picking up the flag at the principal's office, Tyler steps into the bathroom. He wants to be sure he doesn't have some cowlick sticking up in the back of his head or his shirt buttoned up wrong. As he's heading out, he spots a folded- up wad just this side of one of the stalls. It's a bunch of money held together with a thick rubber band. Eight crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and sixty- some dollars in smaller bills! Except for when he's playing Monopoly, Tyler has never held this much money in his hands before. And these bills are real.

His first thought is he'll have to report the find so Mr. Bicknell can make an announcement. No one from Tyler's school walks around with this kind of money. It has to belong to someone here for town meeting. Maybe some farmer drove into town and ran some errands, including a stop at the bank's ATM, before heading for the school.

But Tyler has never known any farmer with this much money in his pocket. This is the kind of money that criminals carry around. Probably, the wad belongs to some drug dealer preying on kids who don't know any better. Which makes it dirty money, which Tyler would do well to keep out of cir-culation.

Besides, there's no wallet, no name, no nothing.

And there's a trip to Washington, D.C., dangling like a carrot on the other side of this choice.

Tyler stuffs the wad in his pocket, telling himself that tomorrow, once he's officially an adolescent, he'll be able to see clearly the fine line between right and wrong that's totally blurred right now. After all, in a few minutes, he has to march up in front of a room full of people, holding a flag with a steady hand, and lead them in saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

Tyler picks up the flag on his way out of the bathroom. For some reason, it feels a lot heavier than it did before, as if a huge stone has been tied to the bottom of the pole.

After the excitement of standing center stage, all eyes on him, Tyler wishes he could be excused. The meeting drags on. Should the town paint new crosswalks or go ahead and bite the bullet and spend a lot more money putting in long-lasting, attractive brick walkways? Should the athletic teams get new uniforms or make do for another year even though the student body voted to change the school colors from maroon and orange? Who wants to look like leaf season all year long? The motions get seconded, discussed, voted on. But all Tyler can think of is the money in his pocket. What should he do?

Beside him, Mari is scribbling away in her notebook. Tyler better pay attention. After all, he can't just write a report about the first two minutes of town meeting, when an upstanding young man led the assembly in a rousing rendition of the Pledge of Allegiance.

But can Tyler really be considered an upstanding young man if he keeps the money?

Tyler feels confused. It's as if he's lost in some dark wood inside his own head. Seems like a lot of his treasured ideas and beliefs have gone into a tailspin recently. It used to be he knew exactly what was right, what was wrong, what it meant to be a patriot or a hero or a good person. Now he's not so sure. Take his dad, who has to be the most patriotic American Tyler has ever known. But even Dad has had to employ Mexicans without papers to keep his farm. Tyler himself has gotten so attached to the Cruzes that he has even offered to hide them if Homeland Security comes on the premises!

Just a few weeks back, Mari told him how her uncle Felipe was a kind of hero to her family. “He ran
away
from the farm so as not to lead the police to the rest of us,” she explained. But doesn't that make him a fugitive, not a hero? According to Mari, Felipe is back in Las Margaritas, but already planning to return to keep helping Abuelote and Abuelota and the whole family. Tyler can't help feeling glad at the thought that his favorite of the three workers might be coming back, even though he knows full well that Felipe doesn't have a legal right to be in this country.

“It's treason's what it is!” An old man's angry voice breaks into Tyler's thoughts. “And it's disgraceful how it's happening right here under our very noses and even our law enforcement people are turning a blind eye to it!”

The old man is standing in the first row, waving his cane. People on either side of him are pulling away. The old guy should actually be using that cane to lean on, since he looks like he's about to keel over with fury.

“Sit down, Mr. Rossetti!” somebody calls out. “You're out of order.”

Mr. Rossetti. That's the old guy who wanted to veto Grandma's church group's selling refreshments! The very same fellow who always drives up Mom's blood pressure when he has a letter in the local paper. Every time Mr. Ros-setti writes in, it's to criticize one thing or another the young people are doing to America. Since he looks to be about ninety years old, “young people” must refer to most of the folks living in town, if not sitting in this room right now.

“We got laws in this nation and anyone hiring illegals ought to be put behind bars. And I can start naming names if the sheriff's ready to write them down.”

Tyler can feel the sweat breaking out all over his body. What if Mr. Rossetti mentions Dad's name? Tyler will be shamed not only in front of the whole town, but in front of all his classmates as well. Wherever Clayton and Ronnie are sitting, they must be gloating! Tyler glances up quickly, checking the rows around him. But it's Mari who catches his eye. On her face is the same stricken look as that time at Grandma's house when she overheard Uncle Larry talking about a raid.

“So I want to put a motion forward that says anyone who's not here legally needs to be rounded up.”

The room is deathly still. Up onstage, Roger Charlebois, who's leading the meeting, asks in a croaky voice, “Anyone want to second that motion?” Everyone knows that Roger has a half- dozen Mexicans working on his dairy farm.

A voice comes from somewhere in the middle of the lunchroom. “I'll second the motion.” It's only when the per-son has to identify himself that Tyler makes the connection: Mr. Lacroix, Clayton's father. Beside his dad, Clayton is sitting on the edge of his chair like he's ready to third the motion, even though it's not required.

The floor is open for discussion of the motion. Tyler knows his father's not the type to speak up in front of a whole bunch of people. But his mother is another story. Any injustice or prejudice, Mom is up in arms. Please, God, Tyler prays. He'll forgo the trip to D.C. All Tyler wants for his birthday is for his mom not to get up and call attention to the fact that the Paquettes are harboring Mexicans.

Roger is pointing his gavel in Tyler's direction. For a panicky moment, Tyler thinks he's being called on. The up-standing young man who led the assembly in the Pledge of Allegiance will now weigh in on what he thinks of migrant Mexicans working on the local farms.

“Yes, I have a word to say to Mr. Rossetti and a reminder to all of us.” It's Mr. Bicknell, who has stood up behind Tyler.

His teacher's voice has the same urgent- persuasive tone as when he's talking about saving the planet. “First, Mr. Ros-setti, I want to ask you where you got the name Rossetti.”

“From my father, where else?” the old man snaps back in a smart- alecky voice. A few people snicker, but there's less laughter in the room than Mr. Rossetti seems to have ex-pected, because he gets even crankier and says, “What's your point, Bobby?” Calling Mr. Bicknell Bobby! Tyler feels shocked, even though his teacher's first name is Robert.

“My point, Mr. Rossetti, with all due respect, is that Rossetti is an Italian name.” Mr. Bicknell holds up his hands as Mr. Rossetti starts to interrupt. “I know, I know. Your fam-ily's been here forever, since the 1880s, when Vermont needed cheap labor to work on the marble and granite quar-ries in Proctor and Barre. In 1850 there were seven Italians in Vermont, seven, Mr. Rossetti. By 1910 there were four thousand five hundred and ninety- four. What if Vermonters had raised an outcry about these foreigners endangering our sovereign state and nation? Many of us wouldn't be here. Plus we'd have missed out on great builders, hard workers, and terrific pizza.”