Golden Bay is a new brick apartment building. It is the nicest building in our neighborhood, which is pretty run-down. It is for seniors only. I do not mean high school seniors. I mean old people. Everybody calls the place "Old and Gray" instead of Golden Bay.

Last week, I was hanging out with my friend Boyd, as always, We were passing the building. He stopped and said, "I bet those old people in there have money in their pockets."

"So what?" I asked.

"Claude, you and I are going to get some of that money," he said. I did not like the way he said it, but I didn't say anything.

On Saturday morning, Boyd and I went by Golden Bay again. We were wearing basketball jerseys and holding empty cans that we had wrapped in red and gold paper to match our school colors. We walked right in the lobby.

"It even smells old in here," said Boyd.

"Boyd, we should get out of here," I whispered.

"I thought we were friends," he said. "Friends stick together, don't they?"

"Yeah," I said. I wanted to say something else, but I didn't.

A man's voice growled behind us. "What are you doing here, boys?"

We turned around. The building manager was scowling at us.

"The basketball team needs new uniforms," said Boyd.

"Oh yeah, I heard about that on the news," the man said.

"Your school needs money. You kids are going around town with those cans, asking for donations."

"That's right," said Boyd. "That's what we're doing." He poked me with his elbow.

"Yeah, that's right," I said, looking down at my shoes. At that moment, I wished that I could be somewhere else - anywhere else.

"Okay," the man said. "Go ahead and knock on doors."