Dustin couldn't read. He knew letters, but not words. I saw him throw his book on the floor, a tired copy of Little Critter, as I plopped down in bus 75 seat 11, the unforgiving Mississippi sun burning through the left-hand window. I looked over to my right and saw Dustin gritting his teeth as he slumped in the corner. I leaned over and picked up his book. "You dropped this." He looked at me and slapped the book back down to...