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yard； on a tree； or a rooftop。 The chase got pretty fierce； hordes of kite runners swarmed the streets； shoved past each other like those people from Spain I d read about once； the ones who ran from the bulls。 One year a neighborhood kid climbed a pine tree for a kite。 A branch snapped under his weight and he fell thirty feet。 Broke his back and never walked again。 But he fell with the kite still in his hands。 And when a kite runner had his hands on a kite； no one could take it from him。 That wasn t a rule。 That was custom。
For kite runners； the most coveted prize was the last fallen kite of a winter tournament。 It was a trophy of honor； something to be displayed on a mantle for guests to admire。 When the sky cleared of kites and only the final two remained； every kite runner readied himself for the chance to land this prize。 He positioned himself at a spot that he thought would give him a head start。 Tense muscles readied themselves to uncoil。 Necks craned。 Eyes crinkled。 Fights broke out。 And when the last kite was cut； all hell broke loose。
Over the years； I had seen a lot of guys run kites。 But Hassan was by far the greatest kite runner I d ever seen。 It was downright eerie the way he always got to the spot the kite would land before the kite did； as if he had some sort of inner pass。
I remember one overcast winter day； Hassan and I were running a kite。 I was chasing him through neighborhoods； hopping
gutters； weaving through narrow streets。 I was a year older than him； but Hassan ran faster than I did； and I was falling behind。
Hassan！ Wait！ I yelled； my breathing hot and ragged。
He whirled around； motioned with his hand。 This way！ he called before dashing around another corner。 I looked up； saw that the direction we were running was opposite to the one the kite was drifting。
We re losing it！ We re going the wrong way！ I cried out。
Trust me！ I heard him call up ahead。 I reached the corner and saw Hassan bolting along； his head down； not even looking at the sky； sweat soaking through the back of his shirt。 I tripped over a rock and fell……I wasn t just slower than Hassan but clumsier too； I d always envied his natural athieticism。 When I staggered to my feet； I caught a glimpse of Hassan disappearing around another street corner。 I hobbled after him； spikes of pain battering my scraped knees。
I saw we had ended up on a rutted dirt road near Isteqial Middle School。 There was a field on one side where lettuce grew in the summer； and a row of sour cherry trees on the other。 I found Hassan sitting cross…legged at the foot of one of the trees； eating from a fistful of dried mulberries。
What are we doing here？ I panted； my stomach roiling with nausea。
He smiled。 Sit with me； Amir agha。
I dropped next to him； lay on a thin patch of snow； wheezing。 You re wasting our time。 It was going the other way； didn t you see？
Hassan popped a mulberry in his mouth。 It s ing； he said。 I could hardly breathe and he didn t even sound tired。
How do you know？ I said。
I know。
How can you know？
He turned to me。 A few sweat beads rolled from his bald