"Turn that down, will you?" he said. "Yeah, I'm excited, I guess. I just feel sorry for all those other drivers out there."

"Very funny," Lizzy said. "So can I use your car? You said, once I got my learner's-"

He stopped her before she could repeat the entire speech. "Yeah," he said. "But only if you take Mom out with you."

"Social suicide." When Lizzy was annoyed with him, she didn't use verbs or full sentences, for that matter.

"All right," he said. "Take Brandon. But tell him I'll kill him if, you know, if anything happens-"

"Thankyouthankyouthank-"

"-to you."

There was a pause. "Jeez, Matt," Lizzy said. "When did you turn into, like, a Hallmark card?"

"I don't know." He tried to think of something sarcastic to say back to her, but nothing, it seemed, was funny.

"You okay?" Lizzy said. "Mom says you have, like, a concussion."

"Yeah, something like that. But I'm fine," he said. "Tell Mom...tell Mom I'm going back to my unit."

"Oh." It was quiet on the other end. "Be careful, Matty."

There was a crackle in the line, followed by a swift series of computerized beeps. Call waiting. Probably Brandon.

"And Lizzy, tell Mom to make sure everyone uses the side door from now on," he said.

"What?"

"Use the side door. Tell everyone to use the side door."

"Why?"

"You want my car or not? Just do what I said, okay?"

The line bristled with static again. Time to go. Time to let his little sister get back to her life. Matt coughed.

"Love you, Lizard," he said.

"I love you, too, Matty."

The line beeped, then went silent, as if the digital tether that had linked his hospital room in Saddam's old palace to Lizzy's bedroom back home had suddenly snapped.

HE BROUGHT THE PHONE TO N NURSE M MCCRAE AND ASKED FOR paper and an envelope. Then he went back to his bed and wrote to Caroline. paper and an envelope. Then he went back to his bed and wrote to Caroline.

Dear Caroline,Thanks for the baby wipes. It seems like sissy stuff to use them, but they help. They really do.I think my ma already told you, but I got hurt a while ago. Nothing bad, though. I just banged up my head a little. And now I'm leaving the hospital to go back to the guys.This is a strange place. You think there are rules and there's right and wrong and you think officers are all a.s.sholes who only want to make your life miserable. And then you find out that everybody has a different idea of what's right and wrong. And that a lot of people act like they want to know what's going on but that they really don't-because then they might have to do something about it. Like I said, it's strange.I miss the guys and I wonder what it will be like when I get back out there. I just hope that being in here didn't make me go soft or anything. Apparently the army thinks my brain is okay enough for me to go back out and shoot a gun again. I hope they're right.

He crossed out the last line. Then he reread the letter-and crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the trash. Caroline wouldn't have any idea what he was talking about. He wasn't sure he he really knew what he was talking about. really knew what he was talking about.

He wanted to tell her about Francis-about how what happened with his squad leader had made him crazy. And he wanted to tell her about Meaghan Finnerty-about how she was still sort of a mystery to him. He wanted to tell her how the army makes everybody walk this line between talking about things and not talking about them. And how confusing it all was. His thoughts ran laps around themselves. Until finally they landed on something simple.

He started a new letter to Caroline.

Dear Caroline,How was the bio quiz?

THE WIPE BOARD AT THE NURSES' STATION SAID F FATHER Brennan was holding confessions in the linen closet again, so Matt decided to stop by and get a blessing before he left. Brennan was holding confessions in the linen closet again, so Matt decided to stop by and get a blessing before he left.

The door was ajar and he saw the priest kneeling on the floor, his baseball cap in his hands. Matt didn't say a word; he simply got down on his knees next to the priest.

It was like being an altar boy again. There was something very simple and real about kneeling to pray-nothing like the hasty "Dear G.o.ds" he muttered in the middle of a firefight. And so Matt closed his eyes and waited. Waited to feel better, to feel the calm, the comfort that used to descend on him when he was an altar boy. He'd never told anyone, but he believed, really believed, that what he felt in that moment was grace.

No words of prayer came to him. But that was fine. And he didn't feel the grace he'd hoped for, but after a while, after a few minutes of kneeling there, his eyes closed, the frantic hospital sound track faded to a hush, and something shifted in him. He couldn't say what it was, but he felt lighter somehow when he finally opened his eyes and stood.

The priest stood, too, stiffly. He lifted his hand above Matt and made the sign of the cross over him, then touched his purple stole to Matt's forehead.

Matt reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out the small box that held his medal. He handed it, without a word, to the priest. He hadn't planned on this, but it felt right.

Father Brennan accepted it, simply, and without question. "I'll hold on to this for you, son," he said. "Until you're ready."

THE CHATTER OF CRICKETS. T THAT WAS ONE OF THE THINGS Matt had forgotten about life back in Sadr City. How sometimes, in the middle of the night, when all the sh.e.l.ling and shooting had stopped, crickets would pipe up, relaying information back and forth to each other in an eerie, high-pitched frequency all their own. Matt had forgotten about life back in Sadr City. How sometimes, in the middle of the night, when all the sh.e.l.ling and shooting had stopped, crickets would pipe up, relaying information back and forth to each other in an eerie, high-pitched frequency all their own.

He'd also forgotten the dust. How it got into everything, how it settled in between each strand of hair on your head, how it got between your teeth. And the smell. The constant smell of burning garbage, the sickly stench of raw sewage. And, of course, the heat, how it seared your throat when you took a deep breath.

But then there was the comfortable weight of Itchy's warm, purring body at the foot of his cot. And the sound of Figueroa's snoring, the rhythmic in-and-out that allowed Matt to pretend all was well with the world. And the birdsong at daylight, a sign that somehow they'd all made it through another night.

Their base camp looked pretty much the same. At some point during the time Matt was gone, the guys had spray-painted a bedsheet with the words Camp Benson Camp Benson and hung it over the door, naming the barracks after their first squad leader. And Wolf's mom had sent a dartboard with plastic suction-cup darts, which the guys had been shooting at a poster of Saddam. But other than that, things were strangely the same. and hung it over the door, naming the barracks after their first squad leader. And Wolf's mom had sent a dartboard with plastic suction-cup darts, which the guys had been shooting at a poster of Saddam. But other than that, things were strangely the same.

The guys had been really happy to see him. Wolf was the first one to spot him as his Humvee pulled up. "Dude," he called out. "You look like you just went three rounds on Jerry Springer." Jerry Springer."

Matt climbed out of the Humvee and went to give Wolf a hug.

"Whoa there, dog," Wolf said. "You know I have intimacy issues." Then he grabbed Matt around the neck and gave him a big, noisy fake kiss. "I hope that doesn't make you feel dirty," he said, grabbing Matt's duffel bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. "C'mon in," he said. "We've got an ice-cold Bud waiting for you."

When Matt walked in, the guys were sitting around watching Rambo: First Blood Part II Rambo: First Blood Part II on Justin's DVD player. They were just at the part where the exploding arrows blow up the Vietnamese soldiers; it was one of the best scenes, but everybody jumped up to welcome him back. on Justin's DVD player. They were just at the part where the exploding arrows blow up the Vietnamese soldiers; it was one of the best scenes, but everybody jumped up to welcome him back.

Figueroa came running at him like a linebacker and picked him up off his feet. All the other guys gathered around and smacked him on the back, the chest-any part they could get a hold of. Justin smacked his b.u.t.t and Matt took a fake swipe at him as Figueroa set him back down on the ground.

"Oooh, I like that," Justin said. "You're s.e.xy when you're angry."

Even Charlene fussed over him, giving him one of those hugs where you technically hug the other person while barely touching them. When they pulled away from each other, she studied the bruises on his face. "I have one word for you, dude," she said. "Concealer."

"What happened while I was gone?" Matt had said later as they all sat around, eating Wisconsin Chocolate Cow Pies, salami, and Fruity Pebbles straight from the box-all part of a going-away care package Pete had given him. He'd also thrown in some Stay Alert Gum, some Febreze, and an Operation Iraqi Freedom Christmas Ornament, packed with Kotex pads to protect it.

"Did you guys win the war or something? It's so quiet."

"Didn't you hear?" Charlene said. "There's a cease-fire in our sector. Thirty days. We have eighteen to go."

"You s.h.i.tting me?" Matt said.

"That is the authentic truth," Justin said.

"Dog, that was the word of the day last week," said Wolf. "What's today's word?"

Justin sort of grimaced. "Kundalini." "Kundalini."

The place erupted. Figueroa laughed so hard, he spit out his soda.

Wolf put his arm around Justin. "Nah, dude, that's your mother's favorite s.e.xual position."

"No, Wolfman," Justin came right back at him. "That's what your girlfriend and I were doing last night!"

They'd goofed around most of the day-playing cards, catching up on their sleep, and writing home-since Bravo Company was handling street patrols while their group got a little break during the cease-fire. No one had really talked too much about Matt getting hurt, and he wondered if they even knew what happened in the alley. Or did they know about what Matt had done and just decided not to talk about it?

Now they were all asleep, all except for the new guy, Mitch.e.l.l, a thick-necked kid from Georgia, who was standing guard outside the barracks door. And Matt lay in bed with Itchy curled up at his feet wondering if this cease-fire would hold, if maybe it meant the war was going to be over soon, if he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he'd be able to fire his gun when the time came.

"HEY, DUDE, YOU WANT TO PLAY H HALO?" MATT SAID THE next morning when he saw Justin heating up a ham-and-egg MRE omelet on the engine of the truck. next morning when he saw Justin heating up a ham-and-egg MRE omelet on the engine of the truck.

The two of them had spent hours, probably days, playing Halo, with Matt driving the Mongoose and Justin manning the gun. Sometimes, they teamed up against Wolf and Figueroa, but mainly it was just the two of them. Playing Halo was one of the things Matt had missed most when he was in the hospital. That, and just hanging out with Justin. But since Matt had gotten back, things seemed different somehow. Matt wasn't sure, maybe he was being paranoid, but he felt like Justin was avoiding being alone with him.

Justin picked up the foil-wrapped packet and flipped it over. "Nah, dude," he said. "I'm not that into Halo anymore."

"Oh." Matt took a step back. He looked off toward the horizon, trying to think of something to say, some way to ease back into the way things used to be between them, some way to talk about what happened.

Justin grabbed the MRE off the engine. "Later," was all he said as he walked away.

"I HAVE AN IDEA HAVE AN IDEA," WOLF SAID THE NEXT NIGHT AFTER THEY'D finished watching the whole Rambo trilogy. They'd already let the air out of Figueroa's air mattress while he was taking a nap and eaten everything in the care package, even the Healthy Ways fiber mix. They were bored. And restless. Like kindergarten kids inside on a rainy day. "Let's play capture the flag," he said. finished watching the whole Rambo trilogy. They'd already let the air out of Figueroa's air mattress while he was taking a nap and eaten everything in the care package, even the Healthy Ways fiber mix. They were bored. And restless. Like kindergarten kids inside on a rainy day. "Let's play capture the flag," he said.

Figueroa glanced up from reading Let G.o.d Handle It, Let G.o.d Handle It, the book he called his bible, and groaned. Justin pretended to yawn, opening his mouth and patting it with his hand. the book he called his bible, and groaned. Justin pretended to yawn, opening his mouth and patting it with his hand.

"No, you guys don't get it," Wolf said as he stood up, put on his helmet, and donned his night-vision goggles. "In our NVGs."

At that, they all jumped up. All except Charlene.

"You'll be in trouble when McNally gets back," she said.

"Jeez, Charlene," Wolf said. "You sound like the fish in that Dr. Seuss book where the things come and mess up the house." He put his hands on his hips. "'I do not like this. Not one little bit.'"

Even Charlene couldn't help but smile and watch as they put on their NVGs and ran outside to what used to be a large playground when the school was actually a school. They invited some of the guys from Charlie Company to join them so they'd have enough players, divided into two teams, and decided that one "flag" would be Mitch.e.l.l's Georgia Tech pennant and the other would be a thong some girl had given Wolf. Then they separated into the pitch-black Iraqi night.

The last time Matt had worn his NVGs was months ago. He tried to remember which month, but he couldn't come up with even a clue to help him recall it and quickly dropped the idea. It left him with an uneasy feeling, though, a low-grade anxiety about his memory, something he pushed to a corner of his mind as he joined the game.

The world, as seen through night-vision goggles, was a spooky, video-game landscape in shades of black and green, where people's eyes glowed like white pinp.r.i.c.ks of light and where moving figures looked like ghosts trailing wisps of bright, fluorescent green. Any sudden light, like the flash of a muzzle or the blowback of an explosion, was blinding-at least for a few seconds.

It took Matt a little while to get reaccustomed to the murky green view and, as he walked into the playground, he felt slightly dizzy. After a few minutes, though, he was in the flow, playing attacker as he snuck across the border-a line they'd drawn in the dirt dividing the playground in two-and running toward the thong, which he'd seen Wolf hide under an old ammunition crate. He was aware, as he made a dash toward the crate, that his right leg was still not quite keeping up with his left, another thought he quickly disregarded.

He was just a few feet from the crate when a blinding white light flashed in his eyes. He fell back, stumbled, and landed on his b.u.t.t. He could hear laughter coming from above and behind him, but he had no idea what had just happened.

"Private Duffy." The voice, low and gravelly, belonged to Sergeant McNally.

"Yes, sir." Matt struggled to his feet and pulled off his mask.

"I see you've recovered." McNally had been away at a battalion meeting the day before, so this was their first encounter since Matt's return. There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he extinguished his flashlight, which, Matt realized, had been what had blinded him a second ago.

"Yes, sir," Matt said as heartily as he could.

"And I suppose you think playing games with U.S. government equipment is a good idea." Matt could see Charlene, just over Sergeant McNally's shoulder, smirking.

"No, sir," Matt said.

"Private Anderson here"-he gestured toward Wolf-"said this was your idea."

Matt caught sight of Wolf grinning like a maniac behind McNally.

"Well, Private Duffy, I'd like to commend you for your creativity," McNally said. "This is a terrific little training drill for maintaining battle readiness during the cease-fire."

It took Matt a minute to register that McNally was actually okay with them goofing around in their NVGs, that he was basically giving them permission. Behind him, Charlene was rolling her eyes. Wolf was giving Matt the finger.

"All right then, men," McNally said. "Get back to the exercise." He walked away, then stopped and turned around. "Welcome back, Private Duffy."

Matt thanked him, then walked to the side of the playground and sat down on the ground. A little while later, Charlene came over and sat next to him. "You okay?"

He was winded, actually, and still a little unsteady after falling down. "Yeah, fine, no problem."

The two of them sat there in silence, watching as the guys kept playing. "I took care of your mangy little pet while you were gone," Charlene said finally.

Matt turned and looked at her. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. Maybe she was actually trying to say she'd missed him. He leaned over and gave her a gentle shove with his shoulder.

"It's not like I like that cat or anything, Duffy," she said, watching as Figueroa ran by waving Mitch.e.l.l's Georgia Tech pennant. "But pets can actually help reduce stress."

Matt did a double take. "What's that from, Charlene, some new field manual?"

"Yeah," she said, nudging him back. "Top secret."