The Lost Gate by Orson Scott Card Page A

at the array of things for sale and started paying more attention to the people. How did regular shoppers act?
    First, they weren’t thirteen. Danny realized that kids by themselves had to look suspicious to the store employees. Serious purchasers were older than thirteen—anybody who wasn’t old enough to have a driver’s license would have to have come with a parent or adult or older sibling. Since there was no such person in Danny’s vicinity—and hadn’t been from the moment he walked into the store—they had to assume he had no money. Especially the way he was dressed. He might as well have hung a sign around his neck that said “Thief.”
    Second, most regular shoppers had shopping carts and put stuff into them. If you put stuff into your basket, you weren’t going to steal it, right? You were going to push it around and get more and more stuff, and then take it to the front of the store and pay. As long as you had a basket, you weren’t sneaking stuff into your pockets.
    So Danny walked to the front of the store to get a cart. Not near the entrance where he’d lied to the old man about having a little brother. He didn’t want to have to produce the little brother.
    The trouble was that the detective was right behind him, and as Danny went into the recessed area where the carts were waiting, the detective stopped him. “Come with me,” he said.
    â€œWhy?” asked Danny.
    â€œJust come with me.”
    Danny spoke loudly. “I don’t go anywhere with a strange man.”
    The old woman who greeted people at the door stepped into the space. The detective flashed some kind of i.d. and the old woman relaxed, but Danny said, “I don’t care what he shows you, I don’t want to go anywhere with this man.”
    The detective sighed elaborately and turned to face Danny. “Turn out your pockets.”
    Danny turned them out. There was nothing in them.
    â€œLift up your shirt.”
    â€œYou like to look at the naked bodies of little boys?” asked Danny.
    â€œYou’re not that little, and I want to see what you’ve been stuffing up under your shirt.”
    Danny pulled his whole shirt over his head, then stepped out of the flip-flops and dropped his pants. One of the Family’s concessions to modernity was that they bought their underwear at drowther stores, so Danny was wearing tighty-whities.
    â€œGood heavens,” said the old woman. “How far do you need to go with this? He hasn’t stolen anything.”
    â€œHe’s going to, even if he hasn’t yet,” said the detective.
    Why don’t you check out the flip-flops? thought Danny. Out loud he said, “I’m going to pick out clothes and put them in a basket and when my mom gets here, she’ll pay for them. And I can’t wait to tell her about the Wal-Mart guy who had to look at me in my underwear.”
    â€œI didn’t ask you to drop your pants.”
    â€œYes you did,” said Danny.
    â€œI did not,” said the detective.
    Danny looked at the old woman. “You heard him.”
    She looked confused. “I don’t remember…”
    â€œOh, come on, what kind of witness are you?” asked Danny.
    â€œHe’s playing you,” the detective said to the old woman.
    â€œMay I get a cart now?” asked Danny.
    â€œYou can get out of the store,” said the detective. “When your mother gets here, if she gets here, then you can come back in with her.”
    â€œWhatever you say,” said Danny. Carrying his pants and shirt, Danny headed out of the recess into the main store.
    â€œPut your damn pants back on!” said the detective sharply.
    Danny was out in the open now, and people were already staring at him, there in his underwear. “You made me take my clothes off, and now you’re throwing me out of the store,” he said loudly. “Wal-Mart must hate poor people. My