WendelinVanDraanenFLIPPED

Dedicatedwithinfiniteloveto

ColtonandConnor,

who make me feel like so much more than the sum of myparts.

Specialthanksto…

myhusband,MarkParsons,

whohelpsmefeelthemagic,

and

myexcellenteditor,NancySiscoe,

forhercareandinsight

(andformakingmesticktoareduced-fillerdiet).

Also,eternalgratitudeto

TadCallahanandPatriciaGabel,

whowereontheballwhenweneededitmost.

Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa DeVida—

mayyoukeepthespirit.

Bryce:DivingUnderAllI’veeverwantedisforJuliBakertoleavemealone.Forhertobackoff–youknow,justgivemesomespace.

Itall started thesummerbeforesecondgradewhenourmovingvanpulled intoherneighborhood.And since we’re now about done with the eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half adecadeofstrategicavoidanceandsocialdiscomfort.

Shedidn’tjustbargeintomylife.Shebargedandshovedandwedgedherwayintomylife.Didweinvitehertogetintoourmovingvanandstartclimbingalloverboxes?No!Butthat’sexactlywhatshedid,takingoverandshowingofflikeonlyJuliBakercan.

Mydadtriedtostopher.“Hey!”hesaysasshe’scatapultingherselfonboard.“Whatareyoudoing?You’regettingmudeverywhere!”Sotrue,too.Hershoeswere,like,cakedwiththestuff.

Shedidn’thopout, though. Instead,sheplantedher rearendon thefloorandstartedpushingabigboxwithherfeet.“Don’tyouwantsomehelp?”Sheglancedmyway.“Itsurelookslikeyouneedit.”

Ididn’tliketheimplication.Andeventhoughmydadhadbeentossingmethesamesortoflookallweek, I could tell –hedidn’t like thisgirl either. “Hey!Don’t do that,”hewarnedher. “There aresomereallyvaluablethingsinthatbox.”

“Oh.Well,howaboutthisone?”ShescootsovertoaboxlabeledLENOXandlooksmywayagain.“Weshouldpushittogether!”

“No, no, no!”mydad says, then pulls her up by the arm. “Whydon’t you run along home?Yourmother ’sprobablywonderingwhereyouare.”

Thiswasthebeginningofmysoon-to-become-acuteawarenessthatthegirlcannottakeahint.Ofanykind.Doessheziponhomelikeakidshouldwhenthey’vebeeninvitedtoleave?No.Shesays,“Oh,mymomknowswhereIam.Shesaiditwasfine.”Thenshepointsacrossthestreetandsays,“Wejustliverightoverthere.”

Myfatherlookstowhereshe’spointingandmutters,“Ohboy.”Thenhelooksatmeandwinksashesays,“Bryce,isn’tittimeforyoutogoinsideandhelpyourmother?”

Iknewrightoffthatthiswasaditchplay.AndIdidn’tthinkaboutituntillater,butditchwasn’taplayI’d runwithmydadbefore.Face it, pulling aditch is not somethingdiscussedwithdads. It’s like,againstparental lawto tellyourkid it’sokay toditchsomeone,nomatterhowannoyingormuddytheymightbe.

Buttherehewas,puttingtheplayinmotion,andman,hedidn’thavetowinktwice.Ismiledandsaid,“Surething!”thenjumpedofftheliftgateandheadedformynewfrontdoor.

IheardhercomingaftermebutIcouldn’tbelieveit.Maybeitjustsoundedlikeshewaschasingme;maybeshewasreallygoingtheotherway.ButbeforeIgotupthenervetolook,sheblastedrightpastme,grabbingmyarmandyankingmealong.

Thiswas toomuch. I plantedmyself andwas about to tell her to get lostwhen theweirdest thinghappened. I was making this big windmill motion to break away from her, but somehow on thedownswingmyhandwounduptanglingintohers.Icouldn’tbelieveit.ThereIwas,holdingthemudmonkey’shand!

Itriedtoshakeheroff,butshejustclampedontightandyankedmealong,saying,“C’mon!”

Mymomcameoutof thehouseand immediatelygot theworld’s sappiest lookonher face.“Well,hello,”shesaystoJuli.

“Hi!”

I’mstilltryingtopullfree,butthegirl’sgotmeinadeathgrip.Mymom’sgrinning,lookingatourhandsandmyfieryredface.“Andwhat’syourname,honey?”

“JuliannaBaker.Iliverightoverthere,”shesays,pointingwithherunoccupiedhand.

“Well,Iseeyou’vemetmyson,”shesays,stillgrinningaway.

“Uh-huh!”

Finally I break free and do the onlymanly thing available when you’re seven years old – I divebehindmymother.

Mom puts her arm aroundme and says, “Bryce, honey,why don’t you show Julianna around thehouse?”

I flashherhelpandwarningsignalswitheverypartofmybody,but she’snot receiving.Thensheshakesmeoffandsays,“Goon.”

Juliwould’vetrampedrightinifmymotherhadn’tnoticedhershoesandtoldhertotakethemoff.And after those were off, my mom told her that her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn’tembarrassed.Notabit.Shejustpeeledthemoffandlefttheminacrustyheaponourporch.

Ididn’texactlygiveheratour.Ilockedmyselfinthebathroominstead.Andafterabouttenminutesof yelling back at her that no, Iwasn’t coming out anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall.AnothertenminuteswentbybeforeIgotthenervetopeekoutthedoor.

NoJuli.

Isnuckoutandlookedaround,andyes!Shewasgone.

Notaverysophisticatedditch,buthey,Iwasonlyseven.

Mytroubleswerefarfromover,though.Everydayshecameback,overandoveragain.“CanBryceplay?”Icouldhearheraskingfrommyhidingplacebehindthecouch.“Ishereadyyet?”Onetimesheevencut across theyardand looked throughmywindow. I spottedher in thenickof timeanddove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She’s got noconcept of personal space. No respect for privacy. The world is her playground, and watch outbelow–Juli’sontheslide!

Luckyforme,mydadwaswillingtorunblock.Andhediditoverandoveragain.HetoldherIwasbusyorsleepingorjustplaingone.Hewasalifesaver.

Mysister,ontheotherhand,triedtosabotagemeanychanceshegot.Lynetta’slikethat.She’sfouryearsolderthanme,andbuddy,I’velearnedfromwatchingherhownottorunyourlife.She’sgotANTAGONIZEwrittenalloverher.Justlookather–notcross-eyedorwithyourtonguestickingoutoranything–justlookatherandyou’vestartedanargument.

Iusedtoknock-down-drag-outwithher,butit’sjustnotworthit.Girlsdon’tfightfair.Theypullyourhairandgougeyouandpinchyou; then they runoffgasping tomommywhenyou tryanddefendyourselfwitha fist.Thenyouget locked into time-out, and forwhat?No,my friend, the secret is,don’tsnapatthebait.Letitdangle.Swimaroundit.Laughitoff.Afterawhilethey’llgiveupandtrytoluresomeoneelse.

Atleastthat’sthewayitiswithLynetta.Andthebonusofhavingherasapain-in-the-rearsisterwasfiguring out that this method works on everyone. Teachers, jerks at school, evenMom and Dad.Seriously.There’snowinningargumentswithyourparents,sowhygetallpumpedupoverthem?Itiswaybetter todivedownandgetoutof thewaythanit is togetclobberedbysomeparental tidalwave.

The funny thing is,Lynetta’s still cluelesswhen it comes to dealingwithMomandDad.She goesstraightintothrashmodeandistoobusydrowningintheargumenttotakeadeepbreathanddiveforcalmerwater.

AndshethinksI’mstupid.

Anyway,truetoform,LynettatriedtobaitmewithJulithosefirstfewdays.SheevensnuckherpastDadonceandmarchedherall around thehouse,huntingmedown. Iwedgedmyselfupon the topshelfofmycloset,andluckyforme,neitherofthemlookedup.AfewminuteslaterIheardDadyellatJulitogetofftheantiquefurniture,andonceagain,shegotbooted.

Idon’tthinkIwentoutsidethatwholefirstweek.IhelpedunpackstuffandwatchedTVandjustkindof hung around while mymom and dad arranged and rearranged the furniture, debating whetherEmpiresetteesandFrenchRococotablesshouldevenbeputinthesameroom.

Sobelieveme,Iwasdyingtogooutside.ButeverytimeIcheckedthroughthewindow,IcouldseeJulishowingoffinheryard.She’dbeheadingasoccerballordoinghighkickswithitordribblingitupanddowntheirdriveway.Andwhenshewasn’tbusyshowingoff,she’djustsitonthecurbwiththeballbetweenherfeet,staringatourhouse.

Mymom didn’t understandwhy it was so awful that “that cute little girl” had heldmy hand. Shethought I shouldmake friendswithher. “I thoughtyou liked soccer, honey.Whydon’t yougooutthereandkicktheballaround?”

BecauseIdidn’twanttobekickedaround, that’swhy.AndalthoughIcouldn’tsayit likethatat thetime,IstillhadenoughsenseatagesevenandahalftoknowthatJuliBakerwasdangerous.

Unavoidably dangerous, as it turns out. The minute I walked into Mrs. Yelson’s second-gradeclassroom,Iwasdeadmeat.“Bryce!”Julisqueals.“You’rehere.”Thenshechargesacrosstheroomandtacklesme.

Mrs.Yelsontriedtoexplainthisattackawayasa“welcomehug,”butman,thatwasnohug.Thatwasafront-line,take-’em-downtackle.AndeventhoughIshookheroff,itwastoolate.Iwasbrandedforlife.Everyone jeered,“Where’syourgirl friend,Bryce?”“Areyoumarriedyet,Bryce?”And thenwhenshechasedmearoundatrecessandtriedtolaykissesonme,thewholeschoolstartedsinging,“BryceandJulisittinginatree,K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

Myfirstyearintownwasadisaster.

Thirdgradewasn’tmuchbetter.ShewasstillhotonmytraileverytimeIturnedaround.Samewithfourth.ButtheninfifthgradeItookaction.

Itstartedoutslow–oneofthoseNah-that’s-not-rightideasyougetandforget.ButthemoreIplayedwith the idea, themore I thought,Whatbetterway towardJulioff?Whatbetterway tosay toher,“Juli,youarenotmytype”?

Andso,myfriend,Ihatchedtheplan.

IaskedShellyStallsout.

To fully appreciate the brilliance of this, you have to understand that Juli hates Shelly Stalls. Shealwayshas,thoughitbeatsmewhy.Shelly’sniceandshe’sfriendlyandshe’sgotalotofhair.What’snottolike?ButJulihatedher,andIwasgoingtomakethislittlegemofknowledgethesolutiontomyproblem.

WhatIwasthinkingwasthatShellywouldeatlunchatourtableandmaybewalkaroundalittlewithme.Thatway,anytimeJuliwasaround,allI’dhavetodowashangalittleclosertoShellyandthingswouldjustnaturallytakecareofthemselves.Whathappened, though,isthatShellytookthingswaytooseriously.Shewentaroundtellingeverybody–includingJuli–thatwewereinlove.

InnotimeJuliandShellygotintosomekindofcatfight,andwhileShellywasrecoveringfromthat,mysupposedfriendGarrett–whohadbeentotallybehindthisplan–toldherwhatIwasupto.He’salwaysdeniedit,butI’vesincelearnedthathiscodeofhonoriseasilycorruptedbyweepyfemales.

That afternoon the principal tried cross-examiningme, but I wouldn’t cop to anything. I just kepttellingherthatIwassorryandthatIreallydidn’tunderstandwhathadhappened.Finallysheletmego.

Shellycriedfordaysandfollowedmearoundschoolsnifflingandmakingmefeellikearealjerk,whichwasevenworsethanhavingJuliasashadow.

Everythingblewoverat theone-weekmark, though,whenShellyofficiallydumpedmeandstartedgoing outwithKyle Larsen. Then Juli started upwith the goo-goo eyes again, and Iwas back tosquareone.

Now,insixthgradethingschanged,thoughwhethertheyimprovedishardtosay.Idon’trememberJuliactuallychasingmeinthesixthgrade.ButIdorememberhersniffingme.

Yes,myfriend,Isaidsniffing.

Andyoucanblamethatonourteacher,Mr.Mertins.HestuckJulitomelikeglue.Mr.Mertinshasgotsomekindofdoctorate inseatingarrangementsorsomething,becauseheanalyzedandscrutinizedandpracticallybaptizedtheseatswehadtositin.AndofcoursehedecidedtoseatJulirightnexttome.

JuliBaker is thekindofannoyingpersonwhomakesapointof lettingyouknowshe’ssmart.Herhandisthefirstoneup;heranswersareusuallycompletedissertations;herprojectsarealwaysturnedinearlyandusedasweaponsagainsttherestoftheclass.Teachersalwayshavetoholdherprojectupandsay,“ThisiswhatI’mlookingfor,class.ThisisanexampleofA-pluswork.”Addalltheextracreditshedoestoanalreadyperfectscore,andIswearshe’snevergottenlessthan120percentinanysubject.

ButafterMr.MertinsstuckJulirightnexttome,herannoyingknowledgeofallsubjectsfarandwidecameinhandy.See,suddenlyJuli’sperfectanswers,writteninperfectcursive,wererightacrosstheaisle,justaneye-shotaway.Youwouldn’tbelievethenumberofanswersIsnaggedfromher.IstartedgettingA’sandB’soneverything!Itwasgreat!

But thenMr.Mertinspulledtheshift.Hehadsomenewideafor“optimizingpositional latitudeandlongitude,”andwhenthedustfinallysettled,IwassittingrightinfrontofJuliBaker.

Thisiswherethesniffingcomesin.Thatmaniacstartedleaningforwardandsniffingmyhair.She’dedgehernosepracticallyuptomyscalpandsniff-sniff-sniff.

I tried elbowing and back-kicking. I tried scootingmy chairway forward or puttingmybackpackbetweenmeand the seat.Nothinghelped.She’d just scootup, too,or leanover a little farther andsniff-sniff-sniff.

IfinallyaskedMr.Mertinstomoveme,buthewouldn’tdoit.Somethingaboutnotwantingtodisturbthedelicatebalanceofeducationalenergies.

Whatever. I was stuck with her sniffing. And since I couldn’t see her perfectly penned answersanymore,mygradestookadive.Especiallyinspelling.

Thenonetime,duringatest,Juli’sinthemiddleofsniffingmyhairwhenshenoticesthatI’veblowna spelling word. A lot of words. Suddenly the sniffing stops and the whispering starts. At first Icouldn’tbelieveit.JuliBakercheating?Butsureenough,shewasspellingwordsforme,rightinmyear.

Juli’dalwaysbeenslyaboutsniffing,whichreallybuggedmebecausenooneevernoticedherdoingit,butshewasjustasslyaboutgivingmeanswers,whichwasokaybyme.ThebadthingaboutitwasthatIstartedcountingonherspellinginmyear.Imean,whystudywhenyoudon’thaveto,right?Butafterawhile,takingallthoseanswersmademefeelsortofindebtedtoher.Howcanyoutellsomeonetobugofforquitsniffingyouwhenyouowethem?It’s,youknow,wrong.

So I spent the sixthgrade somewherebetweenuncomfortable andunhappy,but I kept thinking thatnextyear,nextyear, thingswouldbedifferent.We’dbein juniorhigh–abigschool– indifferentclasses.ItwouldbeaworldwithtoomanypeopletoworryabouteverseeingJuliBakeragain.

Itwasfinally,finallygoingtobeover.

Juli:FlippedThefirstdayImetBryceLoski,Iflipped.Honestly,onelookathimandIbecamealunatic.It’shiseyes.Somethinginhiseyes.They’reblue,andframedintheblacknessofhislashes,they’redazzling.Absolutelybreathtaking.

It’s been over six years now, and I learned long ago to hidemy feelings, but oh, those first days.Thosefirstyears!IthoughtIwoulddieforwantingtobewithhim.

Twodaysbeforethesecondgradeiswhenitstarted,althoughtheanticipationbeganweeksbefore—eversincemymotherhad toldme that therewasa familywithaboymyagemoving into thenewhouserightacrossthestreet.

Soccercamphadended,andI’dbeensoboredbecausetherewasnobody,absolutelynobody,intheneighborhoodtoplaywith.Oh,therewerekids,buteveryoneofthemwasolder.Thatwasdandyformybrothers,butwhatitleftmewashomealone.

Mymotherwas there, but she had better things to do than kick a soccer ball around. So she said,anyway. At the time I didn’t think there was anything better than kicking a soccer ball around,especially not the likes of laundry or dishes or vacuuming, but mymother didn’t agree. And thedangerofbeinghomealonewithherwasthatshe’drecruitmetohelpherwashordustorvacuum,andshewouldn’ttoleratethedribblingofasoccerballaroundthehouseasImovedfromchoretochore.

Toplayitsafe,Iwaitedoutsideforweeks,justincasethenewneighborsmovedinearly.Literally,itwasweeks. I entertained myself by playing soccer with our dog, Champ. Mostly he’d just blockbecauseadogcan’texactlykickandscore,butonceinawhilehe’ddribblewithhisnose.Thescentofaballmustoverwhelmadog,though,becauseChampwouldeventuallytrytochompit,thenlosetheballtome.

WhentheLoskis’movingvanfinallyarrived,everyoneinmyfamilywashappy.“LittleJulianna”wasfinallygoingtohaveaplaymate.

Mymother,beingthetrulysensibleadultthatsheis,mademewaitmorethananhourbeforegoingovertomeethim.“Givethemachancetostretchtheirlegs,Julianna,”shesaid.“They’llwantsometimetoadjust.”Shewouldn’tevenletmewatchfromtheyard.“Iknowyou,sweetheart.Somehowthatballwillwindupintheiryardandyou’lljusthavetogoretrieveit.”

SoIwatchedfromthewindow,andeveryfewminutesI’dask,“Now?”andshe’dsay,“Givethemalittlewhilelonger,wouldyou?”

Thenthephonerang.AndtheminuteIwassureshewasgoodandpreoccupied,Ituggedonhersleeveandasked,“Now?”

Shenoddedandwhispered,“Okay,buttakeiteasy!I’llbeoverthereinaminute.”

Iwastooexcitednottochargeacrossthestreet,butIdidtryveryhardtobecivilizedonceIgottothemovingvan.Istoodoutsidelookinginforarecord-breakinglengthoftime,whichwashardbecausetherehewas!Abouthalfwayback!Mynewsure-to-bebestfriend,BryceLoski.

Brycewasn’treallydoingmuchofanything.Hewasmorehangingback,watchinghisfathermoveboxesontothelift-gate.IrememberfeelingsorryforMr.Loskibecausehelookedwornout,movingboxesallbyhimself.IalsorememberthatheandBrycewerewearingmatchingturquoisepoloshirts,whichIthoughtwasreallycute.Reallynice.

WhenIcouldn’tstand itany longer, Icalled,“Hi!” into thevan,whichmadeBryce jump,and thenquickasacricket,hestartedpushingaboxlikehe’dbeenworkingallalong.

IcouldtellfromthewayBrycewasactingsoguiltythathewassupposedtobemovingboxes,buthewassickofit.He’dprobablybeenmovingthingsfordays!Itwaseasytoseethatheneededarest.Heneededsomejuice!Something.

ItwasalsoeasytoseethatMr.Loskiwasn’tabouttolethimquit.Hewasgoingtokeeponmovingboxesarounduntilhecollapsed,andbythenBrycemightbedead.Deadbeforehe’dhadthechancetomovein!

Thetragedyofitcatapultedmeintothemovingvan.Ihadtohelp!Ihadtosavehim!

WhenIgottohissidetohelphimshoveaboxforward,thepoorboywassoexhaustedthathejustmovedasideandletmetakeover.Mr.Loskididn’twantmetohelp,butatleastIsavedBryce.I’dbeenin themovingvanallof threeminuteswhenhisdadsenthimoff tohelphismotherunpack thingsinsidethehouse.

IchasedBryceupthewalkway,andthat’swheneverythingchanged.Yousee,Icaughtuptohimandgrabbedhisarm,tryingtostophimsomaybewecouldplayalittlebeforehegottrappedinside,andthenextthingIknowhe’sholdingmyhand,lookingrightintomyeyes.

Myheart stopped. It just stopped beating.And for the first time inmy life, I had that feeling.Youknow,liketheworldismovingallaroundyou,allbeneathyou,allinsideyou,andyou’refloating.Floating inmidair.And the only thing keeping you fromdrifting away is the other person’s eyes.They’reconnectedtoyoursbysomeinvisiblephysicalforce,andtheyholdyoufastwhiletherestoftheworldswirlsandtwirlsandfallscompletelyaway.

Ialmostgotmyfirstkissthatday.I’msureofit.Butthenhismothercameoutthefrontdoorandhewassoembarrassedthathischeeksturnedcompletelyred,andthenextthingyouknowhe’shidinginthebathroom.

Iwaswaitingforhimtocomeoutwhenhissister,Lynetta,sawmeinthehallway.Sheseemedbigandmature to me, and since she wanted to knowwhat was going on, I told her a little bit about it. Ishouldn’t have, though, because she wiggled the bathroom doorknob and started teasing Brycesomething fierce. “Hey, baby brother!” she called through the door. “There’s a hot chick out herewaitingforyou!Whatsamatter?Afraidshe’sgotcooties?”

Itwassoembarrassing!Iyankedonherarmandtoldhertostopit,butshewouldn’t,sofinallyIjustleft.

IfoundmymotheroutsidetalkingtoMrs.Loski.MomhadgivenherthebeautifullemonBundtcakethatwas supposed tobeourdessert that night.Thepowdered sugar looked soft andwhite, and thecakewasstillwarm,sendingsweetlemonsmellsintotheair.

Mymouthwaswateringjustlookingatit!ButitwasinMrs.Loski’shands,andIknewtherewasnogettingitback.AllIcoulddowastrytoeatupthesmellswhileIlistenedtothetwoofthemdiscussgrocerystoresandtheweatherforecast.

AfterthatMomandIwenthome.Itwasverystrange.Ihadn’tgottentoplaywithBryceatall.AllIknewwasthathiseyeswereadizzyingblue,thathehadasisterwhowasnottobetrusted,andthathe’dalmostkissedme.

Ifellasleepthatnightthinkingaboutthekissthatmighthavebeen.Whatdidakissfeellike,anyway?SomehowIknewitwouldn’tbeliketheoneIgotfromMomorDadatbedtime.Thesamespecies,maybe,butaradicallydifferentbeast,tobesure.Likeawolfandawhippet—onlysciencewouldputthemonthesametree.

Lookingbackonthesecondgrade,Iliketothinkitwasatleastpartlyscientificcuriositythatmademe chase after that kiss, but to be honest, it was probably more those blue eyes. All through thesecond and third grades I couldn’t seem to stopmyself from following him, from sitting by him,fromjustwantingtobenearhim.

BythefourthgradeI’d learnedtocontrolmyself.Thesightofhim—thethoughtofhim—stillsentmyhearthumming,butmylegsdidn’tactuallychaseafterhimanymore.Ijustwatchedandthoughtanddreamed.

TheninthefifthgradeShellyStallscameintothepicture.ShellyStallsisaninny.Awhiny,gossipy,backstabbingninnywhosaysonethingtoonepersonandtheoppositetoanother.Nowthatwe’reinjuniorhigh,she’stheundisputeddivaofdrama,butevenbackinelementaryschoolsheknewhowtoputonaperformance.EspeciallywhenitcametoP.E.Ineveroncesawherrunlapsordocalisthenics.Instead,shewouldgointoher“delicate”act,claimingherbodywouldabsolutelycollapsefromthestrainifsheranorjumpedorstretched.

Itworked.Everyyear.She’dbringinsomenoteandbesuretoswoonalittlefortheteacherthefirstfewdaysof theyear,afterwhichshe’dbeexcused fromanything that requiredmuscles.Sheneverevenputupherownchairattheendoftheday.Theonlymusclessheexercisedregularlyweretheones around her mouth, and those she worked out nonstop. If there was an Olympic contest fortalking,ShellyStallswouldsweeptheevent.Well,she’datleastwinthegoldandsilver–onemedalforeachsideofhermouth.

What buggedme about itwas not the fact that she got out ofP.E.—who’dwant her on their team,anyway?Whatbuggedmeaboutitwasthatanyonewhobotheredtolookwouldknowthatitwasn’tasthma or weak ankles or her being “delicate” that was stopping her. It was her hair. She hadmountainsofit,twistedthiswayorthat,clippedorbeaded,braidedorswirled.Herponytailsrivaledthe ones on carousel horses.And on the days she let it all hang down, she’d sort of shimmy and

cuddleinsideitlikeitwasablanket,sothatpracticallyallyousawofherfacewashernose.Goodluckplayingfour-squarewithablanketoveryourhead.

MysolutiontoShellyStallswastoignoreher,whichworkedjustdandyuntilabouthalfwaythroughthefifthgradewhenIsawherholdinghandswithBryce.

My Bryce. The onewhowas still embarrassed over holdingmy hand two days before the secondgrade.Theonewhowasstilltooshytosaymuchmorethanhellotome.

Theonewhowasstillwalkingaroundwithmyfirstkiss.

HowcouldShellyhavewormedherhandintohis?Thatpushylittleprincesshadnobusinesshangingontohimlikethat!

Brycelookedoverhisshoulderfromtimetotimeastheywalkedalong,andhewaslookingatme.Myfirstthoughtwasthathewastellingmehewassorry.Thenitdawnedonme–heneededmyhelp.Absolutely,that’swhatithadtobe!ShellyStallswastoodelicatetoshakeoff,tooswirlytobepushedaway. She’d unravel and start sniffling and oh, how embarrassing thatwould be for him!No, thiswasn’tajobaboycoulddogracefully.Thiswasajobforagirl.

Ididn’tevenbothercheckingaroundforothercandidates—Ihadheroffofhimintwosecondsflat.Bryceranawaytheminutehewasfree,butnotShelly.Oh,no-no-no!Shecameatme,scratchingandpullingandtwistinganythingshecouldgetherhandson,tellingmethatBrycewashersandtherewasnowayshewaslettinghimgo.

Howdelicate.

IwashopingforherdsofteacherstoappearsotheycouldseetherealShellyStallsinaction,butitwastoolatebythetimeanyonearrivedonthescene.IhadFluffyinaheadlockandherarmtwistedbackinahammerlock,andnoamountofhersquawkingorscratchingwasgoingtogetmetounlockheruntilateacherarrived.

Intheend,Shellywenthomeearlywithabadcaseofmussed-uphair,whileItoldmysideofthingstotheprincipal.Mrs.Shultzisasturdyladywhoprobablysecretlyappreciatesthevalueofaswiftkickwellplaced,andalthoughshetoldmethatitwouldbebetterifIletotherpeopleworkouttheirowndilemmas,shedefinitelyunderstoodaboutShellyStallsandherhairandtoldmeshewasgladI’dhadtheself-controltodonothingmorethanrestrainher.

Shellywasbackthenextdaywithaheadfullofbraids.Andofcourseshegoteverybodywhisperingaboutme,butIjustignoredthem.Thefactsspokeforthemselves.Brycedidn’tgoanywherenearherfortherestoftheyear.

That’snot to say thatBryceheldmy hand after that, but hedid start being a little friendlier tome.Especiallyinthesixthgrade,afterMr.Mertinssatusrightnexttoeachotherinthethirdrowback.

Sittingnext toBrycewasnice.Hewasnice.He’dsayHi, Juli tomeeverymorning,andonce inawhileI’dcatchhimlookingmyway.He’dalwaysblushandgobacktohisownwork,andIcouldn’thelpbutsmile.Hewassoshy.Andsocute!

Wetalkedtoeachothermore, too.EspeciallyafterMr.Mertinsmovedmebehindhim.Mr.Mertinshadadetentionpolicyaboutspelling,whereifyoumissedmorethansevenoutoftwenty-fivewords,youhadtospendlunchinsidewithhim,writingyourwordsoverandoverandoveragain.

ThepressureofdetentionmadeBrycepanic.Andeventhoughitbotheredmyconscience,I’dleaninand whisper answers to him, hoping that maybe I could spend lunch with him instead. His hairsmelled likewatermelon, and his ear-lobes had fuzz. Soft, blond fuzz.And Iwondered about that.Howdoesaboywithsuchblackhairwindupwithblondearfuzz?What’sitdoingthere,anyway?Icheckedmyownear-lobesinthemirrorbutcouldn’tfindmuchofanythingonthem,andIdidn’tspotanyonotherpeople’seither.

IthoughtaboutaskingMr.Mertinsaboutearlobefuzzwhenwewerediscussingevolutioninscience,butIdidn’t.Instead,Ispenttheyearwhisperingspellingwords,sniffingwatermelon,andwonderingifIwasevergoingtogetmykiss.

Bryce:Buddy,Beware!Seventhgradebroughtchanges,allright,butthebiggestonedidn’thappenatschool–ithappenedathome.GranddadDuncancametolivewithus.

Atfirst itwaskindofweirdbecausenoneofusreallyknewhim.Except forMom,ofcourse.Andeventhoughshe’sspentthepastyearandahalftryingtoconvinceushe’sagreatguy,fromwhatIcantell,thethinghelikestodobestisstareoutthefront-roomwindow.There’snotmuchtoseeoutthereexcept theBakers’ frontyard,butyoucanfindhimtheredayornight,sitting in thebigeasychairtheymovedinwithhim,staringoutthewindow.

Okay,sohealsoreadsTomClancynovelsandthenewspapersanddoescrosswordpuzzlesandtrackshisstocks,butthosethingsarealldistractions.Givennoonetojustifyitto,themanwouldstareoutthewindowuntilhefellasleep.Notthatthere’sanythingwrongwiththat.Itjustseemsso…boring.

MomsayshestareslikethatbecausehemissesGrandma,butthat’snotsomethingGranddadhadeverdiscussedwithme.As amatter of fact, he never discussedmuch of anythingwithme until a fewmonthsagowhenhereadaboutJuliinthenewspaper.

Now,JuliBakerdidnotwinduponthefrontpageoftheMayfieldTimes forbeinganeighth-gradeEinstein,likeyoumightsuspect.No,myfriend,shegotfront-pagecoveragebecausesherefusedtoclimboutofasycamoretree.

NotthatIcouldtellasycamorefromamapleorabirchforthatmatter,butJuli,ofcourse,knewwhatkindoftreeitwasandpassedthatknowledgealongtoeverycreatureinherwake.

Sothistree,thissycamoretree,wasupthehillonavacantlotonCollierStreet,anditwasmassive.Massiveandugly.Itwastwistedandgnarledandbent,andIkeptexpectingthethingtoblowoverinthewind.

OnedaylastyearI’dfinallyhadenoughofheryakkingabout thatstupidtree.Icamerightoutandtoldherthatitwasnotamagnificentsycamore,itwas,inreality,theugliesttreeknowntoman.Andyouknowwhatshesaid?ShesaidIwasvisuallychallenged.Visuallychallenged!Thisfromthegirlwho lives in a house that’s the scourge of the neighborhood. They’ve got bushes growing overwindows,weedsstickingoutallovertheplace,andabarnyard’sworthofanimalsrunningwild.I’mtalkingdogs,cats,chickens,evensnakes.IsweartoGod,herbrothershaveaboaconstrictorintheirroom.TheydraggedmeintherewhenIwasabouttenandmademewatchiteatarat.Alive,beady-eyedrat.Theyheldthatrodentupbyitstailandgulp,theboaswalloweditwhole.Thatsnakegavemenightmaresforamonth.

Anyway,normallyIwouldn’tcareaboutsomeone’syard,buttheBakers’messbuggedmydadbig-time,andhechanneledhisfrustrationintoouryard.Hesaiditwasourneighborlydutytoshowthemwhat ayard’s supposed to look like.SowhileMike andMatt arebusyplumpingup their boa, I’mhaving to mow and edge our yard, then sweep the walkways and gutter, which is going a littleoverboard,ifyouaskme.

Andyou’dthinkJuli’sdad—who’sabig,strong,bricklayingdude–wouldfixtheplaceup,butno.Accordingtomymom,hespendsallhisfreetimepainting.Hislandscapesdon’tseemlikeanythingspecialtome,butjudgingbyhispricetags,hethinksquitealotofthem.WeseethemeveryyearattheMayfieldCountyFair,andmyparentsalwayssaythesamething:“Theworldwouldhavemorebeautyinitifhe’dfixuptheyardinstead.”

MomandJuli’smomdotalksome.IthinkmymomfeelssorryforMrs.Baker–shesaysshemarriedadreamer,andbecauseofthat,oneofthetwoofthemwillalwaysbeunhappy.

Whatever.Maybe Juli’s aesthetic sensibilities have been permanently screwedup by her father andnoneofthisisherfault,butJulihasalwaysthoughtthatthatsycamoretreewasGod’sgifttoourlittlecorneroftheuniverse.

Backinthethirdandfourthgradessheusedtoclownaroundwithherbrothersinthebranchesorpeelbig chunks of bark off so they could slide down the crook in its trunk. It seemed like they wereplayinginitwhenevermymomtookussomewhereinthecar.Juli’dbeswingingfromthebranches,readytofallandbreakeveryboneinherbody,whilewewerewaitingatthestoplight,andmymomwouldshakeherheadandsay,“Don’tyoueverclimb that tree like that,doyouhearme,Bryce? Ineverwanttoseeyoudoingthat!Youeither,Lynetta.Thatismuchtoodangerous.”

Mysisterwouldrollhereyesandsay,“Asif,”whileI’dslumpbeneaththewindowandprayforthelighttochangebeforeJulisquealedmynamefortheworldtohear.

Ididtrytoclimbitonceinthefifthgrade.ItwasthedayafterJulihadrescuedmykitefromitsmutanttoy-eatingfoliage.Sheclimbedmilesuptogetmykite,andwhenshecamedown,shewasactuallyverycoolaboutit.Shedidn’tholdmykitehostageandstickherlipsoutlikeIwasafraidshemight.Shejusthandeditoverandthenbackedaway.

Iwasrelieved,butIalsofeltlikeaweenie.WhenI’dseenwheremykitewastrapped,Iwassureitwasagoner.NotJuli.Shescrambledupandgotitdowninnotime.Man,itwasembarrassing.

SoImadeamentalpictureofhowhighshe’dclimbed,andthenextdayIsetofftooutdoherbyatleasttwobranches.Imadeitpastthecrook,upafewlimbs,andthen–justtoseehowIwasdoing–Ilookeddown.

Mis-take!ItfeltlikeIwasontopoftheEmpireStateBuildingwithoutabungee.Itriedlookinguptowheremykitehadbeen,butitwashopeless.Iwasindeedatree-climbingweenie.

Then juniorhighstartedandmydreamofaJuli-freeexistenceshattered. Ihad to take thebus,andyou-know-who did, too. There were about eight kids altogether at our bus stop, which created abufferzone,butitwasnocomfortzone.Julialwaystriedtostandbesideme,ortalktome,orinsomeotherwaymortifyme.

Andthenshestartedclimbing.Thegirlisintheseventhgrade,andshe’sclimbingatree–way,wayupinatree.Andwhydoesshedoit?Soshecanyelldownatusthatthebusisfive!four!threeblocksaway!Blow-by-blowtrafficwatchfromatree–whateverykidinjuniorhighfeelslikehearingfirstthinginthemorning.

Shetriedtogetmetocomeuptherewithher,too.“Bryce,comeon!Youwon’tbelievethecolors!It’sabsolutelymagnificent!Bryce,you’vegottocomeuphere!”

Yeah,Icouldjusthearit:“BryceandJulisittinginatree…”WasIevergoingtoleavethesecondgradebehind?

OnemorningIwasspecificallynotlookingupwhenoutofnowheresheswingsdownfromabranchandpracticallyknocksmeover.Hearta-ttack!Idroppedmybackpackandwrenchedmyneck,andthatdid it. I refused to wait under that tree with that maniac monkey on the loose anymore. I startedleavingthehouseat theverylastminute.Imadeupmyownwaitingspot,andwhenI’dseethebuspullup,I’dtruckupthehillandgetonboard.

NoJuli,noproblem.

Andthat,myfriend,tookcareoftherestofseventhgradeandalmostallofeighth,too,untilonedayafewmonthsago.That’swhenIheardacommotionupthehillandcouldseesomebigtrucksparkeduponCollierStreetwherethebuspullsin.ThereweresomemenshoutingstuffupatJuli,whowas,ofcourse,fivestoriesupinthetree.

All theotherkidsstarted togatherunder the tree, too,andIcouldhear themtellinghershehad tocomedown.Shewasfine–thatwasobvioustoanyonewithapairofears–butIcouldn’tfigureoutwhattheywereallarguingabout.

Itruckedupthehill,andasIgotcloserandsawwhatthemenwereholding,IfiguredoutinahurrywhatwasmakingJulirefusetocomeoutofthetree.

Chainsaws.

Don’t getmewronghere, okay?The treewas anuglymutant tangle of gnarly branches.ThegirlarguingwiththosemenwasJuli–theworld’speskiest,bossiest,mostknow-it-allfemale.Butallofasuddenmystomachcompletelybailedonme.Julilovedthattree.Stupidasitwas,shelovedthattree,andcuttingitdownwouldbelikecuttingoutherheart.

Everyonetriedtotalkherdown.Evenme.Butshesaidshewasn’tcomingdown,notever,andthenshetriedtotalkusup.“Bryce,please!Comeupherewithme.Theywon’tcutitdownifwe’realluphere!”

ForasecondIconsideredit.ButthenthebusarrivedandItalkedmyselfoutofit.Itwasn’tmytree,andeventhoughsheactedlikeitwas,itwasn’tJuli’s,either.

Weboardedthebusandleftherbehind,butschoolwasprettymuchawaste.Icouldn’tseemtostopthinkingaboutJuli.Wasshestillupinthetree?Weretheygoingtoarresther?

Whenthebusdroppedusoffthatafternoon,Juliwasgoneandsowashalfthetree.Thetopbranches,theplacemykitehadbeenstuck,herfavoriteperch–theywereallgone.

Wewatched themwork for a littlewhile, the chain saws gunning at full throttle, smoking as theychewedthroughwood.Thetreelookedlopsidedandnaked,andafterafewminutesIhadtogetoutofthere.Itwaslikewatchingsomeonedismemberabody,andforthefirsttimeinages,Ifeltlikecrying.Crying.OverastupidtreethatIhated.

Iwenthomeandtriedtoshakeitoff,butIkeptwondering,ShouldIhavegoneupthetreewithher?Wouldithavedoneanygood?

IthoughtaboutcallingJulitotellherIwassorrythey’dcutitdown,butIdidn’t.Itwould’vebeentoo,Idon’tknow,weird.

Shedidn’tshowatthebusstopthenextmorninganddidn’tridethebushomethatafternoon,either.

Thenthatnight,rightbeforedinner,mygrandfathersummonedmeintothefrontroom.Hedidn’tcalltomeasIwaswalkingby– thatwouldhaveborderedonfriendliness.Whathedidwas talk tomymother,whotalkedtome.“Idon’tknowwhatit’sabout,honey,”shesaid.“Maybehe’sjustreadytogettoknowyoualittlebetter.”

Great.Theman’shadayearandahalftogetacquainted,andhechoosesnowtogettoknowme.ButIcouldn’texactlyblowhimoff.

My grandfather ’s a bigmanwith ameaty nose and greased-back salt-and-pepper hair.He lives inhouse slippers and a sports coat, and I’venever seen awhiskeronhim.Theygrow,but he shavesthemofflikethreetimesaday.It’sarealrecreationalactivityforhim.

Besideshismeatynose,he’salsogotbigmeatyhands.Isupposeyou’dnoticehishandsregardless,butwhatmakesyourealizejusthowbeefytheyareishisweddingring.Thatthing’snevergoingtocomeoff,andeventhoughmymothersaysthat’showitshouldbe,Ithinkheoughttogetitcutoff.Anotherfewpoundsandthatring’sgoingtoamputatehisfinger.

WhenIwentintoseehim,thosebighandsofhiswerewoventogether,restingonthenewspaperinhislap.Isaid,“Granddad?Youwantedtoseeme?”

“Haveaseat,son.”

Son?Halfthetimehedidn’tseemtoknowwhoIwas,andnowsuddenlyIwas“son”?Isatinthechairoppositehimandwaited.

“TellmeaboutyourfriendJuliBaker.”

“Juli?She’snotexactlymyfriend…!”

“Whyisthat?”heasked.Calmly.Likehehadpriorknowledge.

Istartedtojustifyit,thenstoppedmyselfandasked,“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”

Heopenedthepaperandpresseddownthecrease,andthat’swhenIrealizedthatJuliBakerhadmadethefrontpageoftheMayfieldTimes.Therewasahugepictureofherinthetree,surroundedbyafirebrigadeandpolicemen,andthensomesmallerphotosIcouldn’tmakeoutverywell.“CanIseethat?”

Hefoldeditupbutdidn’thanditover.“Whyisn’tsheyourfriend,Bryce?”

“Becauseshe’s…”Ishookmyheadandsaid,“You’dhavetoknowJuli.”

“I’dliketo.”

“What?Why?”

“Becausethegirl’sgotanironbackbone.Whydon’tyouinviteheroversometime?”

“An iron backbone?Granddad, you don’t understand! That girl is a royalpain. She’s a show-off,she’saknow-it-all,andsheispushybeyondbelief!”

“Isthatso.”

“Yes!That’sabsolutelyso!Andshe’sbeenstalkingmesincethesecondgrade!”

Hefrowned,thenlookedoutthewindowandasked,“They’velivedtherethatlong?”

“Ithinktheywereallbornthere!”

Hefrownedsomemorebeforehelookedbackatmeandsaid,“Agirllikethatdoesn’tlivenextdoortoeveryone,youknow.”

“Luckythem!”

Hestudiedme, longandhard.Isaid,“What?”buthedidn’tflinch.Hejustkeptstaringatme,andIcouldn’ttakeit–Ihadtolookaway.

KeepinmindthatthiswasthefirstrealconversationI’dhadwithmygrandfather.Thiswasthefirsttimehe’dmadetheefforttotalktomeaboutsomethingbesidespassingthesalt.Anddoeshewanttogettoknowme?No!HewantstoknowaboutJuli!

Icouldn’tjuststandupandleave,eventhoughthat’swhatIfeltlikedoing.SomehowIknewifIleftlikethat,he’dquittalkingtomeatall.Evenaboutsalt.SoIsattherefeelingsortoftortured.Washemadatme?Howcouldhebemadatme?Ihadn’tdoneanythingwrong!

When I looked up, he was sitting there holding out the newspaper to me. “Read this,” he said.“Withoutprejudice.”

Itookit,andwhenhewentbacktolookingoutthewindow,Iknew–I’dbeendismissed.

BythetimeIgotdowntomyroom,Iwasmad.Islammedmybedroomdoorandfloppeddownonthe bed, and after fuming about my sorry excuse for a grandfather for a while, I shoved thenewspaperinthebottomdrawerofmydesk.LikeIneededtoknowanymoreaboutJuliBaker.

AtdinnermymotheraskedmewhyIwassosulky,andshekeptlookingfrommetomygrandfather.Granddad didn’t seem to need any salt, whichwas a good thing because Imight have thrown theshakerathim.

Mysisteranddadwereallbusinessasusual,though.Lynettaateabouttworaisinsoutofhercarrotsalad,thenpeeledtheskinandmeatoffherchickenwingandnibbledgristleoffthebone,whilemyfather filled up airspace talking about office politics and the need for a shakedown in uppermanagement.

Noonewaslisteningtohim–nooneeverdoeswhenhegetsononeofhisif-I-ran-the-circusjags–but foronceMomwasn’tevenpretending.Andforonceshewasn’t trying toconvinceLynetta thatdinnerwasdeliciouseither.ShejustkepteyeingmeandGranddad,tryingtopickuponwhyweweremiffedateachother.

Notthathehadanythingtobemiffedatmeabout.WhathadIdonetohim,anyway?Nothing.Nada.Buthewas,Icouldtell.AndIcompletelyavoidedlookingathimuntilabouthalfwaythroughdinner,whenIsneakedapeek.

Hewasstudyingme,all right.Andeven though itwasn’tameanstare,orahardstare, itwas,youknow,firm.Steady.Anditweirdedmeout.Whatwashisdeal?

Ididn’tlookathimagain.Oratmymother.Ijustwentbacktoeatingandpretendedtolistentomydad.AndthefirstchanceIgot,Iexcusedmyselfandholedupinmyroom.

Iwas planning to callmy friendGarrett like I usually dowhen I’m bent about something. I evenpunchedinhisnumber,butIdon’tknow.Ijusthungup.

Andlaterwhenmymomcamein,IfakedlikeIwassleeping.Ihaven’tdonethatinyears.Thewholenightwasweirdlikethat.Ijustwantedtobeleftalone.

Juliwasn’tatthebusstopthenextmorning.OrFridaymorning.Shewasatschool,butyou’dneverknowitifyoudidn’tactuallylook.Shedidn’twhipherhandthroughtheairtryingtogettheteachertocallonherorchargethroughthehallsgettingtoclass.Shedidn’tmakeunsolicitedcommentsfortheteacher ’sedificationorchallengethekidswhotookcutsinthemilkline.Shejustsat.Quiet.

ItoldmyselfIshouldbegladaboutit–itwaslikeshewasn’teventhere,andisn’tthatwhatI’dalwayswanted?Butstill,Ifeltbad.Abouthertree,abouthowshehurriedofftoeatbyherselfinthelibraryatlunch,abouthowhereyeswereredaroundtheedges.Iwantedtotellher,Man,I’msorryaboutyoursycamoretree,butthewordsneverseemedtocomeout.

Bythemiddleof thenextweek, they’dfinishedtakingdownthetree.Theyclearedthelotandeventriedtopullupthestump,butthatsuckerwouldnotbudge,sotheywoundupgrindingitdownintothedirt.

Julistilldidn’tshowatthebusstop,andbytheendoftheweekIlearnedfromGarrettthatshewasridingabike.Hesaidhe’dseenheronthesideoftheroadtwicethatweek,puttingthechainbackonthederailleurofarustyoldten-speed.

Ifiguredshe’dbeback.ItwasalongrideouttoMayfieldJuniorHigh,andonceshegotoverthetree,she’d start riding the bus again. I even caught myself looking for her. Not on the lookout, justlooking.

ThenonedayitrainedandIthoughtforsureshe’dbeupatthebusstop,butno.Garrettsaidhesawhertruckingalongonherbikeinabrightyellowponcho,andinmathInoticedthatherpantswerestillsoakedfromthekneesdown.

Whenmathletout,Istartedtochaseafterhertotellherthatsheoughttotryridingthebusagain,butIstoppedmyself in the nick of time.What was I thinking? That Juli wouldn’t take a little friendlyconcernandcompletelymisinterpretit?Whoanow,buddy,beware!Bettertojustleavewellenoughalone.

Afterall,thelastthingIneededwasforJuliBakertothinkImissedher.

Juli:TheSycamoreTreeIlovetowatchmyfatherpaint.Orreally,Ilovetohearhimtalkwhilehepaints.Thewordsalwayscomeoutsoftandsomehowheavywhenhe’sbrushingonthelayersofalandscape.Notsad.Weary,maybe,butpeaceful.

Myfatherdoesn’thaveastudiooranything,andsincethegarageisstuffedwiththingsthateveryonethinkstheyneedbutnooneeveruses,hepaintsoutside.

Outside iswhere thebest landscapesare,only they’renowherenearourhouse.Sowhathedoes iskeepacamerainhistruck.Hisjobasamasontakeshimtolotsofdifferentlocations,andhe’salwayson the lookout foragreat sunriseor sunset,oreven justanice fieldwithsheeporcows.Thenhepicksoutoneofthesnapshots,clipsittohiseasel,andpaints.

Thepaintingscomeoutfine,butI’vealwaysfeltalittlesorryforhim,havingtopaintbeautifulscenesin our backyard,which is not exactly picturesque. It neverwasmuch of a yard, but after I startedraisingchickens,thingsdidn’texactlyimprove.

Dad doesn’t seem to see the backyard or the chickenswhen he’s painting, though. It’s not just thesnapshotorthecanvasheseeseither.It’ssomethingmuchbigger.Hegetsthislookinhiseyelikehe’stranscendedtheyard,theneighborhood,theworld.Andashisbig,callusedhandssweepatinybrushagainstthecanvas,it’salmostlikehisbodyhasbeenpossessedbysomegracefulspiritualbeing.

WhenIwaslittle,mydadwouldletmesitbesidehimontheporchwhilehepainted,aslongasI’dbequiet.Idon’tdoquieteasily,butIdiscoveredthatafterfiveortenminuteswithoutapeep,he’d starttalking.

I’velearnedalotaboutmydadthatway.Hetoldmeallsortsofstoriesaboutwhathe’ddonewhenhewasmyage,andotherthings,too—likehowhegothisfirstjobdeliveringhay,andhowhewishedhe’dfinishedcollege.

WhenIgota littleolder,hestill talkedabouthimselfandhischildhood,buthealsostartedaskingquestionsaboutme.Whatwerewelearningatschool?WhatbookwasIcurrentlyreading?WhatdidIthinkaboutthisorthat.

ThenonetimehesurprisedmeandaskedmeaboutBryce.WhywasIsocrazyaboutBryce?

Itoldhimabouthiseyesandhishairandthewayhischeeksblush,butIdon’tthinkIexplaineditverywellbecausewhenIwasdoneDadshookhisheadandtoldmeinsoft,heavywordsthatIneededtostartlookingatthewholelandscape.

I didn’t reallyknowwhathemeantby that, but itmademewant to arguewithhim.HowcouldhepossiblyunderstandaboutBryce?Hedidn’tknowhim!

Butthiswasnotanarguingspot.Thosewerescatteredthroughoutthehouse,butnotouthere.

Wewerebothquietforarecord-breakingamountoftimebeforehekissedmeontheforeheadandsaid,“Properlightingiseverything,Julianna.”

Proper lighting?Whatwas that supposed tomean? I sat therewondering, but Iwas afraid that byasking I’d be admitting that I wasn’t mature enough to understand, and for some reason it feltobvious.LikeIshouldunderstand.

After thathedidn’t talk somuchabout events ashedidabout ideas.And theolder Igot, themorephilosophicalheseemedtoget.Idon’tknowifhereallygotmorephilosophicalorifhejustthoughtIcouldhandleitnowthatIwasinthedoubledigits.

Mostlythethingshetalkedaboutfloatedaroundme,butonceinawhilesomethingwouldhappenandIwould understand exactlywhat he hadmeant. “A painting ismore than the sum of its parts,” hewouldtellme,andthengoontoexplainhowthecowbyitselfisjustacow,andthemeadowbyitselfisjustgrassandflowers,andthesunpeekingthroughthetreesisjustabeamoflight,butputthemalltogetherandyou’vegotmagic.

Iunderstoodwhathewassaying,butIneverfeltwhathewassayinguntilonedaywhenIwasupinthesycamoretree.

Thesycamoretreehadbeenatthetopofthehillforever.Itwasonabigvacantlot,givingshadeinthesummerandaplaceforbirdstonestinthespring.Ithadabuilt-inslideforus,too.Itstrunkbentupandaroundinalmostacompletespiral,anditwassomuchfuntoridedown.Mymomtoldmeshethoughtthetreemusthavebeendamagedasasaplingbutsurvived,andnow,maybeahundredyearslater,itwasstillthere,thebiggesttreeshe’deverseen.“Atestimonytoendurance”iswhatshecalledit.

Ihadalwaysplayedinthetree,butIdidn’tbecomeaseriousclimberuntilthefifthgrade,whenIwentuptorescueakitethatwasstuckinitsbranches.I’dfirstspottedthekitefloatingfreethroughtheairandthensawitdive-bombsomewhereupthehillbythesycamoretree.

I’ve flown kites before and I know—sometimes they’re gone forever, and sometimes they’re justwaitinginthemiddleoftheroadforyoutorescuethem.Kitescanbeluckyortheycanbeornery.I’vehadbothkinds,andaluckykiteisdefinitelyworthchasingafter.

Thiskitelookedluckytome.Itwasn’tanythingfancy,justanold-fashioneddiamondwithblueandyellowstripes.Butitstutteredalonginafriendlyway,andwhenitdive-bombed,itseemedtodosofromexhaustionasopposedtospite.Ornerykitesdive-bomboutofspite.Theynevergetexhaustedbecausetheywon’tstayuplongenoughtopoopout.Thirtyfeetuptheyjustsortofsmirkatyouandcrashforthefunofit.

SoChampandIranuptoCollierStreet,andafterscoutingouttheroad,Champstartedbarkingatthesycamoretree.Ilookedupandspottedit,too,flashingblueandyellowthroughthebranches.

Itwasalongwaysup,butIthoughtI’dgiveitashot.Ishinniedupthetrunk,tookashortcutacrosstheslide,andstartedclimbing.Champkeptagoodeyeonme,barkingmealong,andsoonIwashigherthanI’deverbeen.Butstillthekiteseemedforeveraway.

ThenbelowmeInoticedBrycecomingaroundthecornerandthroughthevacantlot.AndIcouldtellfromthewayhewaslookingupthatthiswashiskite.

Whatalucky,luckykitethiswasturningouttobe!

“Canyouclimbthathigh?”hecalleduptome.

“Sure!”Icalledback.Andup,up,upIwent!

Thebrancheswerestrong,withjusttherightamountofintersectionstomakeclimbingeasy.AndthehigherIgot,themoreamazedIwasbytheview.I’dneverseenaviewlikethat!Itwaslikebeinginanairplaneabovealltherooftops,abovetheothertrees.Abovetheworld!

ThenIlookeddown.DownatBryce.AndsuddenlyIgotdizzyandweakintheknees.Iwasmilesofftheground!Bryceshouted,“Canyoureachit?”

Icaughtmybreathandmanagedtocalldown,“Noproblem!”thenforcedmyselftoconcentrateonthose blue and yellow stripes, to focus on them and only them as I shinnied up, up, up. Finally Itouchedit;Igraspedit;Ihadthekiteinmyhand!

But the stringwas tangled in the branches above and I couldn’t seem to pull it free.Bryce called,“Breakthestring!”andsomehowImanagedtodojustthat.

WhenIhad thekite free, Ineededaminute to rest.Torecoverbeforestartingdown.So insteadoflookingatthegroundbelowme,Iheldontightandlookedout.Outacrosstherooftops.

That’swhenthefearofbeingupsohighbegantolift,andinitsplacecamethemostamazingfeelingthatIwasflying.Justsoaringabovetheearth,sailingamongtheclouds.

ThenIbegantonoticehowwonderfulthebreezesmelled.Itsmelledlike…sunshine.Likesunshineandwildgrassandpomegranatesandrain!Icouldn’tstopbreathingitin,fillingmylungsagainandagainwiththesweetestsmellI’deverknown.

Bryce calledup, “Areyou stuck?”whichbroughtmedown to earth.Carefully I backedup, prizedstripes inhand,andasIworkedmywaydown,IcouldseeBrycecircling the tree,watchingmetomakesureIwasokay.

BythetimeIhittheslide,theheadyfeelingI’dhadinthetreewaschangingintotheheadyrealizationthatBryceandIwerealone.

Alone!

My heart was positively racing as I held the kite out to him. But before he could take it, ChampnudgedmefrombehindandIcouldfeelhiscold,wetnoseagainstmyskin.

Againstmyskin?!

Igrabbedmyjeansinback,andthat’swhenIrealizedtheseatofmypantswasrippedwideopen.

Brycelaughedalittlenervouslaugh,soIcouldtellheknew,andforonceminewerethecheeksthatwerebeetred.Hetookhiskiteandranoff,leavingmetoinspectthedamage.

Idideventuallygetovertheembarrassmentofmyjeans,butInevergotovertheview.Ikeptthinkingofwhatitfeltliketobeupsohighinthattree.Iwantedtoseeit,tofeelit,again.Andagain.

Itwasn’t longbeforeIwasn’tafraidofbeingupsohighandfound thespot thatbecamemy spot. Icouldsitthereforhours,justlookingoutattheworld.Sunsetswereamazing.Somedaysthey’dbepurpleandpink,somedaysthey’dbeablazingorange,settingfiretocloudsacrossthehorizon.

Itwasonadaylikethatwhenmyfather ’snotionofthewholebeinggreaterthanthesumofitspartsmovedfrommyheadtomyheart.Theviewfrommysycamorewasmorethanrooftopsandcloudsandwindandcolorscombined.

Itwasmagic.

AndIstartedmarvelingathowIwasfeelingbothhumbleandmajestic.Howwasthatpossible?HowcouldIbesofullofpeaceandfullofwonder?Howcouldthissimpletreemakemefeelsocomplex?Soalive.

IwentupthetreeeverychanceIgot.AndinjuniorhighthatbecamealmosteverydaybecausethebustoourschoolpicksuponCollierStreet,rightinfrontofthesycamoretree.

At first I justwanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up, but before long IwasleavingthehouseearlysoIcouldgetclearuptomyspottoseethesunrise,orthebirdsflutterabout,orjusttheotherkidsconvergeonthecurb.

Itriedtoconvincethekidsatthebusstoptoclimbupwithme,evenalittleways,butallofthemsaidtheydidn’twant to get dirty.Turndowna chance to feelmagic for fear of a little dirt? I couldn’tbelieveit.

I’dnevertoldmymotheraboutclimbingthetree.Beingthetrulysensibleadultthatsheis,shewouldhavetoldmeitwastoodangerous.Mybrothers,beingbrothers,wouldn’thavecared.

Thatleftmyfather.TheonepersonIknewwouldunderstand.Still,Iwasafraidtotellhim.He’dtellmymotherandprettysoonthey’dinsistthatIstop.SoIkeptquiet,keptclimbing,andfeltasomewhatlonelyjoyasIlookedoutovertheworld.

ThenafewmonthsagoIfoundmyselftalkingtothetree.Anentireconversation,justmeandatree.Andon theclimbdownI felt likecrying.Whydidn’t Ihavesomeone real to talk to?Whydidn’t Ihaveabestfriendlikeeveryoneelseseemedto?Sure,therewerekidsIknewatschool,butnoneofthemwereclosefriends.They’dhavenointerestinclimbingthetree.Insmellingthesunshine.

Thatnightafterdinnermyfatherwentoutsidetopaint.Inthecoldofthenight,undertheglareoftheporchlight,hewentouttoputthefinishingtouchesonasunrisehe’dbeenworkingon.

Igotmyjacketandwentouttositbesidehim,quietasamouse.

Afterafewminuteshesaid,“What’sonyourmind,sweetheart?”

InallthetimesI’dsatouttherewithhim,he’dneveraskedmethat.Ilookedathimbutcouldn’tseemtospeak.

Hemixedtwohuesoforangetogether,andverysoftlyhesaid,“Talktome.”

Isighedsoheavilyitsurprisedevenme.“Iunderstandwhyyoucomeouthere,Dad.”

Hetriedkiddingme.“Wouldyoumindexplainingittoyourmother?”

“Really,Dad.Iunderstandnowaboutthewholebeinggreaterthanthesumoftheparts.”

Hestoppedmixing.“Youdo?Whathappened?Tellmeaboutit!”

SoItoldhimaboutthesycamoretree.Abouttheviewandthesoundsandthecolorsandthewind,andhowbeingupsohighfeltlikeflying.Feltlikemagic.

Hedidn’t interruptmeonce,andwhenmyconfessionwas through,I lookedathimandwhispered,“Wouldyouclimbuptherewithme?”

He thought about this a long time, then smiled and said, “I’m not much of a climber anymore,Julianna,butI’llgiveitashot,sure.Howaboutthisweekend,whenwe’vegotlotsofdaylighttoworkwith?”

“Great!”

IwenttobedsoexcitedthatIdon’tthinkIsleptmorethanfiveminutesthewholenight.Saturdaywasrightaroundthecorner.Icouldn’twait!

The nextmorning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree. I caught the sun risingthroughtheclouds,sendingstreaksoffirefromoneendoftheworldtotheother.AndIwasinthemiddleofmakingamentallistofallthethingsIwasgoingtoshowmyfatherwhenIheardanoisebelow.

Ilookeddown,andparkedrightbeneathmeweretwotrucks.Bigtrucks.Oneofthemwastowingalong,emptytrailer,andtheotherhadacherrypickeronit—thekindtheyusetoworkonoverheadpowerlinesandtelephonepoles.

Therewerefourmenstandingaroundtalking,drinkingfromthermoses,andIalmostcalleddowntothem,“I’msorry,butyoucan’tparkthere….That’sabusstop!”ButbeforeIcould,oneofthemenreachedintothebackofatruckandstartedunloadingtools.Gloves.Ropes.Achain.Earmuffs.Andthenchainsaws.Threechainsaws.

AndstillIdidn’tgetit.Ikeptlookingaroundforwhatitwastheycouldpossiblybetheretocutdown.Thenoneofthekidswhoridesthebusshowedupandstartedtalkingtothem,andprettysoonhewaspointingupatme.

Oneofthemencalled,“Hey!Youbettercomedownfromthere.Wegottatakethisthingdown.”

Iheldontothebranchtight,becausesuddenlyitfeltasthoughImightfall.Imanagedtochokeout,“Thetree?”

“Yeah,nowcomeondown.”

“Butwhotoldyoutocutitdown?”

“Theowner!”hecalledback.

“Butwhy?”

Evenfromforty feetupIcouldseehimscowl.“Becausehe’sgonnabuildhimselfahouse,andhecan’tverywelldothatwiththistreeintheway.Nowcomeon,girl,we’vegotworktodo!”

By that timemost of the kids had gathered for the bus. Theyweren’t saying anything tome, justlookingupatmeandturningfromtimetotimetotalktoeachother.ThenBryceappeared,soIknewthebuswasabout toarrive. I searchedacross the rooftopsandsureenough, there itwas, less thanfourblocksaway.

Myheartwascrazywithpanic.Ididn’tknowwhattodo!Icouldn’tleaveandletthemcutdownthetree!Icried,“Youcan’tcutitdown!Youjustcan’t!”

Oneofthemenshookhisheadandsaid,“Iamthisclosetocallingthepolice.Youaretrespassingandobstructingprogressonacontractedjob.Nowareyougoingtocomedownorarewegoingtocutyoudown?”

Thebuswasthreeblocksaway.I’dnevermissedschoolforanyreasonotherthanlegitimateillness,butIknewinmyheartthatIwasgoingtomissmyride.“You’regoingtohavetocutmedown!”Iyelled.ThenIhadanidea.They’dnevercutitdownifallofuswereinthetree.They’dhavetolisten!“Hey,guys!”Icalledtomyclassmates.“Getupherewithme!Theycan’tcutitdownifwe’realluphere!Marcia!Tony!Bryce!C’mon,youguys,don’tletthemdothis!”

Theyjuststoodthere,staringupatme.

Icouldseethebus,oneblockaway.“Comeon,youguys!Youdon’thavetocomeupthishigh.Justalittleways.Please!”

Thebusblastedupandpulledtothecurbinfrontofthetrucks,andwhenthedoorsfoldedopen,onebyonemyclassmatesclimbedonboard.

Whathappenedafterthatisabitofablur.Iremembertheneighborsgathering,andthepolicewithmegaphones.Irememberthefirebrigade,andsomeguysayingitwashisblastedtreeandI’ddarnwellbettergetoutofit.

Somebody trackeddownmymother,whocriedandpleadedandactednotatall thewayasensiblemothershould,butIwasnotcomingdown.Iwasnotcomingdown.

Thenmyfathercameracingup.Hejumpedoutofhispickuptruck,andaftertalkingwithmymotherforafewminutes,hegottheguyinthecherrypickertogivehimaliftuptowhereIwas.Afterthatitwasallover.Istartedcryingandtriedtogethimtolookoutovertherooftops,buthewouldn’t.Hesaidthatnoviewwasworthhislittlegirl’ssafety.

Hegotmedownandhetookmehome,onlyIcouldn’tstaythere.Icouldn’tstandthesoundofchainsawsinthedistance.

SoDadtookmewithhimtowork,andwhileheputupablockwall,Isatinhistruckandcried.

Imust’vecriedfortwoweeksstraight.Oh,sure,IwenttoschoolandIfunctionedthebestIcould,butIdidn’tgothereonthebus.Istartedridingmybikeinstead,takingthelongwaysoIwouldn’thavetogouptoCollierStreet.Uptoapileofsawdustthatusedtobetheearth’smostmagnificentsycamoretree.

Then one eveningwhen Iwas locked up inmy room,my father came inwith something under atowel.Icouldtellitwasapaintingbecausethat’showhetransportstheimportantoneswhenheshowstheminthepark.Hesatdown,restingthepaintingonthefloorinfrontofhim.“Ialwayslikedthattreeofyours,”hesaid.“Evenbeforeyoutoldmeaboutit.”

“Oh,Dad,it’sokay.I’llgetoverit.”

“No,Julianna.No,youwon’t.”

Istartedcrying.“Itwasjustatree….”

“Ineverwantyoutoconvinceyourselfofthat.YouandIbothknowitisn’ttrue.”

“ButDad…”

“Bearwithmeaminute,wouldyou?”Hetookadeepbreath.“Iwantthespiritofthattreetobewithyoualways.Iwantyoutorememberhowyoufeltwhenyouwereupthere.”Hehesitatedamoment,thenhandedmethepainting.“SoImadethisforyou.”

I pulled off the towel, and there was my tree.My beautiful, majestic sycamore tree. Through thebrancheshe’dpaintedthefireofsunrise,anditseemedtomeIcouldfeelthewind.Andwayupinthetreewasatinygirllookingoffintothedistance,hercheeksflushedwithwind.Withjoy.Withmagic.

“Don’tcry,Julianna.Iwantittohelpyou,nothurtyou.”Iwipedthetearsfrommycheeksandgaveamightysniff.“Thankyou,Daddy,”Ichokedout.“Thankyou.”

Ihungthepaintingacrosstheroomfrommybed.It’sthefirstthingIseeeverymorningandthelastthingIseeeverynight.AndnowthatIcanlookatitwithoutcrying,Iseemorethanthetreeandwhatbeingupinitsbranchesmeanttome.

Iseethedaythatmyviewofthingsaroundmestartedchanging.

Bryce:Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!Eggs scareme.Chickens, too.And buddy, you can laugh at that all youwant, but I’m being deadserioushere.

Itstartedinthesixthgradewitheggs.

Andasnake.

AndtheBakerbrothers.

TheBakerbrothers’namesareMattandMike,butevennowIcan’ttellyouwhichone’swhich.Younever seeonewithout theother.Andeven though they’renot twins, theydo lookandsound prettymuchthesame,andthey’rebothinLynetta’sclass,somaybeoneofthemgotheldback.

AlthoughIcan’texactlyseeateachervoluntarilyhavingeitherofthosemaniacstwoyearsinarow.

Regardless,MattandMikearetheoneswhotaughtmethatsnakeseateggs.AndwhenIsaytheyeateggs,I’mtalkingtheyeatthemrawandshell-onwhole.

Iprobablywould’vegonemyentirelifewithoutthislittlebitofreptiliantriviaifithadn’tbeenforLynetta.Lynettahad thismajor-league thingforSkylerBrown,who livesabout threeblocksdown,andeverychanceshegot,shewentdowntheretohangoutwhilehepracticedthedrums.Well,boom-boom-whap,whatdid I care, right?But thenSkyler and Juli’s brothers formedaband,which theynamedMysteryPisser.

Whenmymomheardaboutit,shecompletelywiggedout.“WhatkindofparentswouldallowtheirchildrentobeinabandnamedMysteryPisser?It’svile.It’sdisgusting!”

“That’s thewholepoint,Mom,”Lynetta tried toexplain.“Itdoesn’tmeananything.It’s just togetariseoutofoldpeople.”

“Areyoucallingmeold,younglady?Becauseit’scertainlygettingariseoutofme!”

Lynettajustshrugged,implyingthatmymomcoulddrawherownconclusion.

“Go!Gotoyourroom,”mymothersnapped.

“Forwhat?”Lynettasnappedback.“Ididn’tsayathing!”

“Youknowperfectlywellwhatfor.Nowyougointhereandadjustyourattitude,younglady!”

SoLynettagotanotheroneofherteenagetime-outs,andafterthatanytimeLynettawastwominuteslatecominghomefordinner,mymotherwouldmessengermedowntoSkyler ’shousetodragherhome.ItmighthavebeenembarrassingforLynetta,butitwasworseforme.Iwasstillinelementaryschool,andtheMysteryPisserguyswereinhighschool.Theywereripeandragged,ragingpowerchordsthroughtheneighborhood,whileIlookedlikeI’djustgottenbackfromSundayschool.

I’dgetsonervousgoingdowntherethatmyvoicewouldsqueakwhenI’dtellLynettaitwastimefordinner.Itliterallysqueaked.ButafterawhilethebanddroppedMysteryfromtheirname,andPisseranditsentouragegotusedtomeshowingup.Andinsteadofglaringatme,theystartedsayingstufflike,“Hey,babybrother,comeonin!”“Hey,Brycieboy,wannajam?”

This,then,ishowIwoundupinSkylerBrown’sgarage,surroundedbyhighschoolkids,watchingaboaconstrictorswalloweggs.SinceI’dalreadyseenitdownarat in theBakerbrothers’bedroom,Pisserhadlostatleastsomeoftheelementofsurprise.Plus,Ipickeduponthefactthatthey’dbeensavingthislittleshowtofreakmeout,andIreallydidn’twanttogivethemthesatisfaction.

Thiswasn’teasy, though,becausewatchinga snakeswallowanegg isactuallymuchcreepier thanyoumightthink.Theboaopeneditsmouthtoanenormoussize,thenjusttooktheegginandglub!Wecouldseeitrolldownitsthroat.

Butthatwasn’tall.Afterthesnakehadglubbeddownthreeeggs,Matt-or-Mikesaid,“So,Brycieboy,how’shegonnadigestthose?”

IshruggedandtriednottosqueakwhenIanswered,“Stomachacid?”

Heshookhisheadandpretendedtoconfide,“Heneedsatree.Oraleg.”Hegrinnedatme.“Wannavolunteeryours?”

Ibackedawayalittle.Icouldjustseethatmonstertrytoswallowmylegwholeasanafter-eggchaser.“N-no!”

Helaughedandpointedattheboaslitheringacrosstheroom.“Aw,toobad.He’sgoingtheotherway.He’sgonnausethepianoinstead!”

Thepiano!Whatkindofsnakewasthis?Howcouldmysisterstandbeinginthesameroomasthesedementos? I looked at her, and even though shewas pretending to be coolwith the snake, I knowLynetta–shewastotallycreepedoutbyit.

Thesnakewrappeditselfaroundthepianolegaboutthreetimes,andthenMatt-or-Mikeputhishandsupandsaid,“Shhh!Shhh!Everybodyquiet.Heregoes!”

Thesnakestoppedmoving,thenflexed.Andasitflexed,wecouldheartheeggscrunchinsidehim.“Oh,gross!” thegirlswailed.“Whoa,dude!” theguysall said.MikeandMatt smiledateachotherrealbigandsaid,“Dinnerisserved!”

I tried to act cool about the snake, but the truth is I started having bad dreams about the thingswallowingeggs.Andrats.Andcats.

Andme.

Thenthereal-lifenightmarebegan.

OnemorningabouttwoweeksaftertheboashowinSkyler ’sgarage,Juliappearsonourdoorstep,and what’s she got in her hands? A half-carton of eggs. She bounces around like it’s Christmas,saying,“Hiya,Bryce!RememberAbbyandBonnieandClydeandDexter?EuniceandFlorence?”

Ijuststaredather.SomehowIrememberedSanta’sreindeeralittledifferentthanthat.

“Youknow…mychickens?TheonesIhatchedforthesciencefairlastyear?”

“Oh,right.HowcouldIforget.”

“They’relayingeggs!”Shepushedthecartonintomyhands.“Here,takethese!They’reforyouandyourfamily.”

“Oh.Uh,thanks,”Isaid,andclosedthedoor.

I used to really like eggs.Especially scrambled,with baconor sausage.But evenwithout the littlesnakeincident,Iknewthatnomatterwhatyoudidtotheseeggs,theywouldtastenothingbutfoultome.TheseeggscamefromthechickensthathadbeenthechicksthathadhatchedfromtheeggsthathadbeenincubatedbyJuliBakerforourfifth-gradesciencefair.

Itwasclassic Juli.She totallydominated the fair, andget this–herprojectwasall aboutwatchingeggs.My friend, there isnota lotofaction to reportonwhenyou’re incubatingeggs.You’vegotyour light, you’ve got your container, you’ve got some shredded newspaper, and that’s it. You’redone.

Juli,though,managedtowriteaninch-thickreport,plusshemadediagramsandcharts–I’mtalkinglinechartsandbarchartsandpiecharts–abouttheactivityofeggs.Eggs!

Shealsomanagedto timetheeggsso that they’dhatchthenightof thefair.Howdoesapersondothat?Here I’vegot a live-actioneruptingvolcano that I’veworkedpretty stinkinghardon, andallanybodycaresaboutisJuli’schickspeckingoutoftheirshells.Ievenwentovertotakealookformyself, and – I’m being completely objective here – it was boring. They pecked for about fiveseconds,thenjustlaythereforfiveminutes.

IgottohearJulijabberawaytothejudges,too.Shehadapointer–canyoubelievethat?Notapencil,an actual retractablepointer, so she could reach across her incubator and tap on this chart or thatdiagramassheexplainedtheexcitementofwatchingeggsgrowfortwenty-onedays.Theonlythingshecould’vedonetobemoreoverboardwasputonachickencostume,andbuddy,I’mconvinced–ifshe’dthoughtofit,shewouldhavedoneit.

Buthey–Iwasoverit.ItwasjustJulibeingJuli,right?ButallofasuddenthereIamayearlater,holdingacartonofhome-growneggs.AndI’mhavingahardtimenotgettingannoyedalloveragainaboutherstupidblue-ribbonprojectwhenmymotherleansoutfromthehallwayandsays,“Whowasthat,honey?Whathaveyougotthere?Eggs?”

Icouldtellbythelookonherfacethatshewashottoscramble.“Yeah,”Isaid,andhandedthemtoher.“ButI’mhavingcereal.”

Sheopenedthecarton,thencloseditwithasmile.“Hownice!”shesaid.“Whobroughtthemover?”

“Juli.Shegrewthem.”

“Grewthem?”

“Well,herchickensdid.”

“Oh?”Hersmilestartedfallingassheopenedthecartonagain.“Isthatso.Ididn’tknowshehad…chickens.”

“Remember?YouandDadspentanhourwatchingthemhatchatlastyear ’ssciencefair?”

“Well,howdoweknowthere’renot…chicksinsidetheseeggs?”

Ishrugged.“LikeIsaid,I’mhavingcereal.”

Weallhadcereal,butwhatwetalkedaboutwereeggs.Mydadthoughtthey’dbejustfine–he’dhadfarm-fresheggswhenhewasakidandsaidtheyweredelicious.Mymother,though,couldn’tgetpasttheideathatshemightbecrackingopenadeadchick,andprettysoondiscussionturnedtotheroleoftherooster–somethingmeandmyCheerioscould’vedonewithout.

FinallyLynetta said,“If theyhada rooster,don’tyou thinkwe’dknow?Don’tyou think thewholeneighborhoodwouldknow?”

Hmmm,weallsaid,goodpoint.Butthenmymompipesupwith,“Maybetheygotitde-yodeled.Youknow–liketheyde-barkdogs?”

“A de-yodeled rooster,”my dad says, like it’s themost ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Then helooksatmymomandrealizesthathe’dbewaybetteroffgoingalongwithherde-yodeledideathanmakingfunofher.“Hmmm,”hesays,“I’veneverheardofsuchathing,butmaybeso.”

Lynettashrugsandsaystomymom,“Sojustaskthem,whydon’tyou.CallupMrs.Bakerandaskher.”

“Oh,”mymomsays.“Well,I’dhatetocallhereggsintoquestion.Itdoesn’tseemverypolite,now,doesit?”

“JustaskMattorMike,”IsaytoLynetta.

Shescowlsatmeandhisses,“Shutup.”

“What?What’dIdonow?”

“Haven’tyounoticedIhaven’tbeengoingdownthere,youidiot?”

“Lynetta!”mymomsays.Likethisisthefirsttimeshe’sheardmysistertalktomeorsomething.

“Well,it’strue!Howcanhenothavenoticed?”

“Iwasgoingtoaskyouaboutthat,honey.Didsomethinghappen?”

Lynettastandsupandshovesherchairin.“Likeyoucare,”shesnaps,andchargesdowntoherroom.

“Oh,boy,”mydadsays.

Momsays,“Excuseme,”andfollowsLynettadownthehall.

Whenmymother ’sgone,mydadsays,“So,son,whydon’tyoujustaskJuli?”

“Dad!”

“It’sjustalittlequestion,Bryce.Noharm,nofoul.”

“Butit’llgetmeahalf-houranswer!”

Hestudiesmeforaminute,thensays,“Noboyshouldbethisafraidofagirl.”

“I’mnotafraidofher…!”

“Ithinkyouare.”

“Dad!”

“Seriously,son.Iwantyoutogetusananswer.Conqueryourfearandgetusananswer.”

“Towhetherornottheyhavearooster?”

“That’sright.”Hegetsupandclearshiscerealbowl,saying,“I’vegottogettoworkandyou’vegottogettoschool.I’llexpectareporttonight.”

Great. Justgreat.Thedaywasdoomedbefore ithadstarted.But thenatschoolwhenI toldGarrettaboutwhathadhappened,hejustshruggedandsaid,“Well,shelivesrightacrossthestreetfromyou,right?”

“Yeah,so?”

“Sojustgolookoverthefence.”

“Youmeanspy?”

“Sure.”

“But…howcanItellifoneofthem’saroosterornot?”

“Roostersare…Idon’tknow…bigger.Andtheyhavemorefeathers.”

“Feathers?LikeI’vegottogoandcountfeathers?”

“No,stupid!Mymomsaysthat themale’salwaysbrighter.”Thenhelaughsandsays,“AlthoughinyourcaseI’mnotsosure.”

“Thanks.Youaregivingmebig-timehelphere,buddy.Ireallyappreciateit.”

“Look,arooster ’sgoingtobebiggerandhavebrighterfeathers.Youknow,thoselongonesintheback? They’re redder or blacker or whatever. And don’t roosters have some rubbery red stuff

growingoffthetopoftheirhead?Andsomeofftheirneck,too?Yeah,therooster ’sgotallsortsofrubberyredstuffallarounditsface.”

“Soyou’resayingI’msupposedtolookoverthefenceforbigfeathersandrubberyredstuff.”

“Well,cometothinkofit,chickenshavethatrubberyredstuff,too.Justnotasmuchofit.”

Irolledmyeyesathimandwasabouttosay,Forgetit,I’lljustaskJuli,butthenhesays,“I’llcomewithyouifyouwant.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,dude.Seriously.”

Andthat,myfriend,ishowIwoundupspyingovertheBakers’backfencewithGarrettAndersonatthree-thirtythatafternoon.Notmychoiceofcovertoperations,butanecessaryoneinordertoreportbacktomydadthatnightatdinner.

Wegottherefast,too.ThebellrangandwebasicallychargedoffcampusbecauseIfiguredifwegottotheBakers’quickenough,wecouldlookandleavebeforeJuliwasanywherenearherhouse.Wedidn’tevendropoffourbackpacks.Wewentstraightdownthealleyandstartedspying.

It’snotreallynecessarytolookovertheBakers’fence.Youcanseealmostaswelllookingthroughit.ButGarrettkeptstickinghisheadup,soIfiguredIshouldtoo,althoughinthebackofmymindIwasawarethatGarrettdidn’thavetoliveinthisneighborhood–Idid.

The backyardwas amess. Big surprise. The busheswere out of control, therewas some kind ofhodgepodgewood-and-wirecoopofftooneside,andtheyardwasn’tgrass,itwashighlyfertilizeddirt.

Garrettwasthefirsttonoticetheirdog,sackedoutonthepatiobetweentwosorry-lookingfoldingchairs.Hepointsathimandsays,“Youthinkhe’sgoingtogiveustrouble?”

“We’renotgoingtobeherelongenoughtogetintrouble!Wherearethosestupidchickens?”

“Probably in the coop,” he says, then picks up a rock and throws it at the mess of plywood andchickenwire.

Atfirstallwehearisabunchoffeathersflapping,butthenoneofthebirdscomesflutteringout.Notveryfar,butenoughsowecanseeit’sgotfeathersandrubberyredstuff.

“So?”Iaskhim.“Isthatarooster?”

Heshrugs.“Lookslikeachickentome.”

“Howcanyoutell?”

Heshrugsagain.“Justdoes.”

Wewatchitscratchingatthedirtforaminute,andthenIask,“What’sahen,anyway?”

“Ahen?”

“Yeah.Yougotroosters,yougotchickens,andthenthere’shens.What’sahen?”

“It’soneofthose,”hesays,pointingintotheBakers’backyard.

“Thenwhat’sachicken?”

HelooksatmelikeI’mcrazy.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Chickens!What’sachicken?”

Hetakesastepbackfrommeandsays,“Brycieboy,youarelosin’it.That’sachicken!”Hestoopsdowntopickupanotherrock,andhe’sjustabouttoletitflywhenthesliding-glassdoortothebackpatioopensupandJulistepsoutside.

Webothduck.Andaswe’recheckingheroutthroughthefence,Isay,“Whendidshegethome?”

Garrett grumbles, “While youwere losing it about chickens.” Then he whispers, “But hey, this’llworkgreat.She’sgotabasket,right?She’sprobablycomingouttocollecteggs.”

Firstshehadtogetallmushywiththatmangymuttofhers.Shegotdownandnuzzledandruffledandpattedandhugged,tellinghimwhatagoodboyhewas.Andwhenshefinallylethimgobacktosleep,shehadtostopandcooatthebirdGarretthadscaredout,andthenshestartedsinging.Singing.Atthetopofherlungs,shegoes,“I’vegotsunshineonacloudyday.Whenit’scoldoutsi-ye-yide,I’vegotthemonthofMay.Iguessyou’dsay,whatcanmakemefeelthisway?Mygirls.Talkin’’boutmylittlegir-ur-rls…”She looks inside thecoopandcoos,“Hello,Flo!Goodafternoon,Bonnie!Comeonout,punkin!”

Thecoopwasn’tbigenoughforhertowalkin.Itwasmorelikeaminilean-toshackthatevenherdogwouldhavetroublecrawlingin.DoesthatstopJuliBaker?No.Shegetsdownonherhandsandkneesanddivesrightin.Chickenscomesquawkingandflappingout,andprettysoontheyard’sfullofbirds,andallwecanseeofJuliisherpoop-coveredshoes.

That’snotallwecanhear, though.She’swarblinginsidethatcoop,going,“Idon’tneedmoney,nofortuneorfaaa-ya-yame.Igotalltheriches,baby,anyonecanclaim.Well,Iguessyou’dsay,whatcanmakemefeelthisway?Mygirls.Talkin’’boutmylittlegir-ur-rls,mygirls…”

AtthispointIwasn’tcheckingthechickensoutforrubberyredstufforfeathers.Iwaslookingatthebottom of Juli Baker ’s feet, wondering how in the world a person could be so happy tunnelingthroughadilapidatedchickencoopwithpoopstuckalloverhershoes.

Garrettgotmebackontrack.“They’reallchickens,”hesays.“Lookat’em.”

IquitcheckingoutJuli’sshoesandstartedcheckingoutbirds.ThefirstthingIdidwascountthem.One-two-three-four-five-six.Allaccountedfor.Afterall,howcouldanyoneforgetshe’dhatchedsix?Itwastheall-timeschoolrecord–everyoneinthecountyhadheardaboutthat.

ButIwasnotreallysurehowtoaskGarrettaboutwhathehadsaid.Yeah,theywereallchickens,butwhatdidthatmean?Isuredidn’twanthimcomingdownonmeagain,butitstilldidn’tmakesense.FinallyIaskedhim,“Youmeanthere’snorooster?”

“Correctomundo.”

“Howcanyoutell?”

Heshrugged.“Roostersstrut.”

“Strut.”

“That’sright.Andlook–noneofthemhavelongfeathers.Orverymuchofthatrubberyredstuff.”Henodded.“Yeah.They’redefinitelyallchickens.”

Thatnightmyfathergotrighttothepoint.“So,son,missionaccomplished?”heaskedashestabbedintoamountainoffettuccineandwhirledhisforkaround.

Iattackedmynoodlestooandgavehimasmile.“Uhhuh,”IsaidasIsatuptalltodeliverthenews.“They’reallchickens.”

Theturningofhisforkcametoagrindinghalt.“And…?”

Icouldtellsomethingwaswrong,butIdidn’tknowwhat.I triedtokeepthesmileplasteredonmyfaceasIsaid,“Andwhat?”

Herestedhisforkandstaredatme.“Isthatwhatshesaid?‘They’reallchickens’?”

“Uh,notexactly.”

“Thenexactlywhatdidshesay?”

“Uh…shedidn’texactlysayanything.”

“Meaning?”

“MeaningIwentover thereand tooka lookformyself.” I triedveryhard tosound like thiswasamajoraccomplishment,buthewasn’tbuying.

“Youdidn’taskher?”

“I didn’t have to. Garrett knows a lot about chickens, and we went over there and found out forourselves.”

LynettacamebackfromrinsingtheRomanosauceoffhersevenandahalfnoodles,thenreachedforthesaltandscowledatme,saying,“You’rethechicken.”

“Lynetta!”mymothersaid.“Benice.”

Lynettastoppedshakingthesalt.“Mother,hespied.Yougetit?Hewentoverthereandlookedoverthefence.Areyousayingyou’reokaywiththat?”

Mymomturnedtome.“Bryce?Isthattrue?”

Everyonewasstaringatmenow,andIfeltlikeIhadtosaveface.“What’sthebigdeal?Youtoldmetofindoutaboutherchickens,andIfoundoutaboutherchickens!”

“Brawk-brawk-brawk!”mysisterwhispered.

Myfatherstillwasn’teating.“Andwhatyoufoundout,”hesaid,likehewasmeasuringeveryword,“wasthatthey’reall…chickens.”

“Right.”

Hesighed,thentookthatbiteofnoodlesandcheweditforthelongesttime.

ItfeltlikeIwassinkingfast,butIcouldn’tfigureoutwhy.SoItriedtobailoutwith,“Andyouguyscangoaheadandeatthoseeggs,butthere’snowayI’mgoingtotouchthem,sodon’tevenask.”

Mymother ’slookingbackandforthfrommydadtomewhilesheeatshersalad,andIcantellshe’swaiting for him to address my adventure as a neighborhood operative. But since he’s not sayinganything,sheclearsherthroatandsays,“Why’sthat?”

“Becausethere’s…well,there’s…Idon’tknowhowtosaythisnicely.”

“Justsayit,”myfathersnaps.

“Well,there’s,youknow,excrementeverywhere.”

“Oh,gross!”mysistersays,throwingdownherfork.

“Youmeanchickendroppings?”mymotherasks.

“Yeah.There’snotevenalawn.It’salldirtand,uh,youknow,chickenturds.Thechickenswalkinitandpeckthroughitand…”

“Oh,gross!”Lynettawails.

“Well,it’strue!”

Lynettastandsupandsays,“Youexpectmetoeatafterthis?”andstalksoutoftheroom.

“Lynetta!Youhavetoeatsomething,”mymothercallsafterher.

“No,Idon’t!”sheshoutsback;thenasecondlatershesticksherheadbackintothediningroomandsays,“Anddon’texpectmetoeatanyofthoseeggseither,Mother.Doesthewordsalmonellamean

anythingtoyou?”

Lynettatakesoffdownthehallandmymothersays,“Salmonella?”Sheturnstomyfather.“Doyousupposetheycouldhavesalmonella?”

“Idon’tknow,Patsy.I’mmoreconcernedthatoursonisacoward.”

“Acoward!Rick,please.Bryceisnosuchthing.He’sawonderfulchildwho’s—”

“Who’safraidofagirl.”

“Dad,I’mnotafraidofher,shejustbugsme!”

“Why?”

“Youknowwhy!Shebugsyou,too.She’soverthetopabouteverything!”

“Bryce,Iaskedyoutoconqueryourfear,butallyoudidwasgiveintoit.Ifyouwereinlovewithher,thatwouldbeonething.Loveissomethingtobeafraidof,butthis,thisisembarrassing.Soshetalks toomuch, so she’s too enthused about every little thing, sowhat? Get in, get your questionanswered,andgetout.Standuptoher,forcryin’outloud!”

“Rick…,”mymomwassaying,“Rick,calmdown.Hedidfindoutwhatyouaskedhimto—”

“No,hedidn’t!”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Hetellsmethey’reallchickens!Ofcoursethey’reallchickens!Thequestionishowmanyarehens,andhowmanyareroosters.”

Icouldalmostheartheclickinmybrain,andman,Ifeltlikeacompletedoofus.Nowonderhewasdisgustedwithme. Iwasan idiot!Theywereall chickens…du-uh!Garrettacted likehewassomeexpertonchickens,andhedidn’tknowdiddly-squat!WhyhadIlistenedtohim?

Butitwastoolate.MydadwasconvincedIwasacoward,andtogetmeoverit,hedecidedthatwhatIshoulddowastakethecartonofeggsbacktotheBakersandtellthemwedidn’teateggs,orthatwewereallergictothem,orsomething.

Thenmymombuttsinwith,“Whatareyouteachinghimhere,Rick?Noneofthatistrue.Ifhereturnsthem,shouldn’thetellthemthetruth?”

“What,thatyou’reafraidofsalmonellapoisoning?”

“Me?Aren’tyoualittleconcerned,too?”

“Patsy,that’snotthepoint.Thepointis,Iwillnothaveacowardforason!”

“Butteachinghimtolie?”

“Fine.Thenjustthrowthemaway.ButfromnowonIexpectyoutolookthatlittletigersquareintheeye,youhearme?”

“Yes,sir.”

“Okay,then.”

Iwasoff thehook for all of about eightdays.Then there shewas again, at seven in themorning,bouncingupanddownonourporchwitheggsinherhands.“Hi,Bryce!Hereyougo.”

Itriedtolookhersquareintheeyeandtellher,Nothanks,butshewassodarnedhappy,andIwasn’treallyawakeenoughto tackle the tiger.Shewounduppushinganothercartonintomyhands,andIwoundupditchingtheminthekitchentrashbeforemyfathersatdowntobreakfast.

Thiswentonfortwoyears.Twoyears!Anditgottoapointwhereitwasjustpartofmymorningroutine. I’dbeon the lookout for Juli so I couldwhip thedooropenbefore shehad thechance toknockorringthebell,andthenI’dburytheeggsinthetrashbeforemydadshowedup.

ThencamethedayIblewit.Juli’dactuallybeenmakingherselfprettyscarcebecauseitwasaroundthe time they’d taken the sycamore tree down, but suddenly one morning she was back on ourdoorstep,deliveringeggs.I tookthem,asusual,andIwenttochuckthem,asusual.Butthekitchentrashwassofullthattherewasn’tanyroomforthecarton,soIputitontop,pickedupthetrash,andbeatitoutthefrontdoortoemptyeverythingintothegarbagecanoutside.

Well,guesswho’sjuststandingtherelikeastatueonmyporch?

TheEggChick.

Iaboutspilledthetrashallovertheporch.“Whatareyoustilldoinghere?”Iaskedher.

“I…Idon’tknow.Iwasjust…thinking.”

“Aboutwhat?”Iwasdesperate.Ineededadistraction.Somewayaroundherwiththisgarbagebeforeshenoticedwhatwassittingrightthereontop.

Shelookedawaylikeshewasembarrassed.JuliBakerembarrassed?Ididn’tthinkitwaspossible.

Whatever.Thegoldenopportunitytowhipasoggymagazineovertheeggcartonhadpresenteditself,andbuddy,Itookit.ThenItriedtomakeafastbreakforthegarbagecaninthesideyard,onlyshebody-blockedme.Seriously.Shesteppedrightinmywayandputherarmsoutlikeshe’sguardingthegoal.

Shechasedmeandblockedmeagain.“Whathappened?”shewantstoknow.“Didtheybreak?”

Perfect.Whyhadn’t I thoughtof that?“Yeah, Juli,” I toldher. “And I’m real sorryabout that.”ButwhatI’mthinkingis,Please,God,ohplease,God,letmemakeittothegarbagecan.

Godmust’vebeensleepingin.Julitackledthetrashandpulledoutherpreciouslittlecartonofeggs,andshecouldtellrightoffthattheyweren’tbroken.Theyweren’tevencracked.

ShestoodfrozenwiththeeggsinherhandswhileIdumpedtherestofthetrash.“Whydidyouthrowthemout?”sheasked,buthervoicedidn’tsoundlikeJuliBaker ’svoice.Itwasquiet.Andshaky.

SoItoldherwewereafraidofsalmonellapoisoningbecauseheryardwasamessandthatwewerejusttryingtospareherfeelings.Itoldittoherlikewewererightandshewaswrong,butIfeltlikeajerk.Acompletecluck-facedjerk.

Thenshetellsmethatacoupleofneighborshavebeenbuyingeggsoffher.Buyingthem.AndwhileI’mcoming togripswith this incrediblebitofnews,shewhipsouthermentalcalculator.“DoyourealizeI’velostoverahundreddollarsgivingtheseeggstoyou?”Thensheracesacrossthestreetinafloodoftears.

AsmuchasItriedtotellmyselfthatIhadn’taskedherfortheeggs—Ihadn’tsaidwewantedthemorneededthemorlikedthem—thefactwas,I’dneverseenJulicrybefore.Notwhenshe’dbrokenherarminP.E.,notwhenshe’dbeenteasedatschoolorditchedbyherbrothers.Notevenwhenthey’dcutdownthesycamoretree.I’mprettysureshecriedthen,butIdidn’tactuallyseeit.Tome,JuliBakerhadalwaysbeentootoughtocry.

Iwent down tomy room to packmy stuff for school, feeling like the biggest jerk to ever hit theplanet. I’dbeensneakingaround throwingouteggsforover twoyears,avoidingher,avoidingmyfather–whatdidthatmakeme?Whyhadn’tIjuststoodupandsaid,Nothanks,don’twant’em,don’tneed’em,don’tlike’em….Givethemtothesnake,whydon’tyou?Something!

WasIreallyafraidofhurtingherfeelings?

OrwasIafraidofher?

Juli:TheEggsAftertheycutdownthesycamoretree,itseemedlikeeverythingelsefellapart,too.Champdied.AndthenIfoundoutabouttheeggs.ItwasChamp’stimetogo,andeventhoughIstillmisshim,Ithinkit’sbeeneasierformetodealwithhisdeaththanithasbeenformetodealwiththetruthabouttheeggs.Istillcannotbelieveitabouttheeggs.

Theeggscamebeforethechickensinourcase,butthedogcamebeforethemboth.OnenightwhenIwasaboutsixyearsold,Dadcamehomefromworkwithafull-growndogtieddowninthebackofhistruck.Someonehadhititinthemiddleofanintersection,andDadhadstoppedtoseehowbadlyitwashurt.Thenhenoticedthatthepoorthingwasskinnyasarailanddidn’thaveanytags.“Starvingandcompletelydisoriented,”he toldmymother.“Canyou imaginesomeoneabandoning theirdoglikethat?”

Thewhole familyhad convergedon the frontporch, and I couldhardly containmyself.Adog!Awonderful,happy,pantydog!IrealizenowthatChampwasnevermuchofalooker,butwhenyou’resix,anydog—nomatterhowmangy—isaglorious,huggablecreature.

Helookedprettygoodtomybrothers,too,butfromthewaymymother ’sfacewaspinched,Icouldtellshewasthinking,Abandonthisdog?Oh,Icanseeit.Icandefinitelyseeit.Whatshesaid,though,wassimply,“Thereisnoroomforthatanimalinthishouse.”

“Trina,”mydadsaid,“it’snotamatterofownership.It’samatterofcompassion.”

“You’renotspringingitonmeasa…apet,then?”

“Thatisdefinitelynotmyintention.”

“Well,thenwhatdoyouintendtodo?”

“Givehimadecentmeal,abath…thenmaybewe’llplaceanadandfindhimahome.”

Sheeyedhimfromacrossthethreshold.“There’llbeno‘maybe’aboutit.”

Mybrotherssaid,“Wedon’tgettokeephim?”

“That’sright.”

“ButMo-om,”theymoaned.

“It’snotopentodiscussion,”shesaid.“Hegetsabath,hegetsameal,hegetsanadinthepaper.”

MyfatherputonearmaroundMatt’sshoulderand theotheraroundMike’s.“Someday,boys,we’llgetapuppy.”

Mymotherwasalreadyheadingbackinside,butoverhershouldercame,“Notuntilyoulearntokeepyourroomneat,boys!”

Bytheendoftheweek,thedogwasnamedChamp.Bytheendofthenextweek,he’dmadeitfromthebackyard into thekitchenarea.Andnot too longafter that,hewasallmoved in. It seemednobodywantedafull-growndogwithahappybark.Nobodybutfour-fifthsoftheBakerfamily,anyway.

Thenmymotherstartednoticinganodor.Amysteriousodorofindeterminateorigin.Wealladmittedwesmelledit,too,butwheremymotherwasconvinceditwasEaudeChamp,wedisagreed.Shehadusbathinghimsooftenthatitcouldn’tpossiblybehim.Weeachsniffedhimoutprettygoodandhesmelledperfectlyrosy.

MypersonalsuspicionwasthatMattandMikeweretheonesnotbathingenough,butIdidn’twanttogetcloseenoughtosniff them.Andsinceourcampwasdividedonjustwhotheculpritorculpritswere, the odorwas dubbed theMystery Smell.Whole dinnertime discussions revolved around theMysterySmell,whichmybrothersfoundamusingandmymotherdidnot.

Thenonedaymymothercrackedthecase.AndshemighthavecrackedChamp’sskullaswellifmydadhadn’tcometotherescueandshooedhimoutside.

Momwasfuming.“Itoldyouitwashim.TheMysterySmellcomesfromtheMysteryPisser!Didyouseethat?Didyouseethat?Hejustsquirtedontheendtable!”

MyfatherracedwitharollofpapertowelstowhereChamphadbeen,andsaid,“Where?Whereisit?”

All of three drops were dripping down the table leg. “There,” mymother said, pointing a shakyfingeratthewetness.“There!”

Dadwipeditup,thencheckedthecarpetandsaid,“Itwasbarelyadrop.”

“Exactly!”mymothersaidwithherhandsonherhips.“Which iswhyI’veneverbeenable to findanything. That dog stays outside from now on.Do you hearme?He is no longer allowed in thishouse!”

“Howaboutthegarage?”Iasked.“Canhesleepinthere?”

“Andhavehimtageverythingthat’soutthere?No!”

MikeandMattweregrinningateachother.“MysteryPisser!Thatcouldbethenameforourband!”

“Yeah!Cool!”

“Band?”mymotherasked.“Waitaminute,whatband?”But theywerealreadyflyingdowntotheirroom,laughingaboutthepossibilitiesforalogo.

MyfatherandIspenttherestofthedaysniffingoutanddestroyingcriminalevidence.Mydadusedaspraybottleofammonia;IfollowedupwithLysol.Wedidtrytorecruitmybrothers,buttheywoundupgettingintoaspray-bottlefight,whichgotthemlockedintheirroom,which,ofcourse,wasfinewiththem.

SoChampbecameanoutsidedog,andhemighthavebeenouronlypeteverifithadn’tbeenformyfifth-gradesciencefair.

Everyone aroundme had great project ideas, but I couldn’t seem to come upwith one. Then ourteacher,Mrs.Brubeck,tookmeasideandtoldmeaboutafriendofherswhohadchickens,andhowshecouldgetmeafertilizedeggformyproject.

“ButIdon’tknowanythingabouthatchinganegg,”Itoldher.

She smiled and put her arm aroundmy shoulders. “You don’t have to be an immediate expert ateverything,Juli.Theideahereistolearnsomethingnew.”

“Butwhatifitdies?”

“Then it dies. Document your work scientifically and you’ll still get an A, if that’s what you’reworriedabout.”

AnA?Beingresponsible for thedeathofababychick—that’swhat Iwasworriedabout.Suddenlythere was real appeal in building a volcano or making my own neoprene or demonstrating thevariousscientificapplicationsofgearratios.

Buttheballwasinmotion,andMrs.Brubeckwouldhavenomorediscussionaboutit.ShepulledTheBeginner’sGuide toRaisingChickens fromher bookshelf and said, “Read the section on artificialincubationandsetyourselfuptonight.I’llgetyouaneggtomorrow.”

“But…”

“Don’tworrysomuch,Juli,”shesaid.“Wedothiseveryyear,andit’salwaysoneofthebestprojectsatthefair.”

Isaid,“But…,”butshewasgone.Offtoputanendtosomeotherstudent’sbattlewithindecision.

ThatnightIwasmoreworriedthanever.I’dreadthechapteronincubationatleastfourtimesandwasstillconfusedaboutwheretostart.Ididn’thappentohaveanoldaquariumlyingaround!Wedidn’thappentohaveanincubationthermometer!Wouldadeep-frymodelwork?

Iwassupposedtocontrolhumidity,too,orhorriblethingswouldhappentothechick.Toodryandthechickcouldn’tpeckout;toowetanditwoulddieofmushychickdisease.Mushychickdisease?!

Mymother,beingthesensiblepersonthatsheis,toldmetotellMrs.BrubeckthatIsimplywouldn’tbehatchingachick.“Haveyouconsideredgrowingbeans?”sheaskedme.

My father, however, understood that you can’t refuse to do your teacher ’s assignment, and hepromisedtohelp.“Anincubator ’snotdifficulttobuild.We’llmakeoneafterdinner.”

Howmyfatherknowsexactlywherethingsareinourgarageisoneofthewondersoftheuniverse.Howheknewaboutincubators,however,wasrevealedtomewhilehewasdrillingaone-inchholeinanoldscrapofPlexiglas.“IraisedaduckfromaneggwhenIwasinhighschool.”Hegrinnedatme.“Sciencefairproject.”

“Aduck?”

“Yes, but the principle is the same for all poultry.Keep the temperature constant and the humidityright,turntheeggseveraltimesaday,andinafewweeksyou’llhaveyourselfalittlepeeper.”

Hehandedmealightbulbandanextensioncordwithasocketattached.“FastenthisthroughtheholeinthePlexiglas.I’llfindsomethermometers.”

“Some?Weneedmorethanone?”

“Wehavetomakeyouahygrometer.”

“Ahygrometer?”“Tocheckthehumidityinsidetheincubator.It’sjustathermometerwithwetgauzearoundthebulb.”

Ismiled.“Nomushychickdisease?”

Hesmiledback.“Precisely.”

BythenextafternoonIhadnotone,butsixchickeneggsincubatingatacozy102degreesFahrenheit.“Theydon’tallmakeit,Juli,”Mrs.Brubecktoldme.“Hopeforone.Therecord’sthree.Thegrade’sinthedocumentation.Beascientist.Goodluck.”Andwiththat,shewasoff.

Documentation?Ofwhat?Ihadto turntheeggsthreetimesadayandregulate thetemperatureandhumidity,butasidefromthatwhatwastheretodo?

Thatnightmyfathercameouttothegaragewithacardboardtubeandaflashlight.Hetapedthetwotogethersothatthelightbeamwasforcedstraightoutthetube.“Letmeshowyouhowtocandleanegg,”hesaid,thenswitchedoffthegaragelight.

I’dseenasectiononcandlingeggsinMrs.Brubeck’sbook,butIhadn’treallyreadityet.“Whydotheycallitthat?”Iaskedhim.“Andwhydoyoudoit?”

“People used candles to do this before they had incandescent lighting.” He held an egg up to thecardboardtube.“Thelightletsyouseethroughtheshellsoyoucanwatchtheembryodevelop.Thenyoucanculltheweakones,ifnecessary.”

“Killthem?”

“Cullthem.Removetheonesthatdon’tdevelopproperly.”

“But…wouldn’tthatalsokillthem?”

Helookedatme.“Leavinganeggyoushouldcullmighthavedisastrousresultsonthehealthyones.”

“Why?Wouldn’titjustnothatch?”

Hewentbacktolightinguptheegg.“Itmightexplodeandcontaminatetheothereggswithbacteria.”

Explode!Betweenmushychickdisease,explodingeggs,andculling,thisprojectwasturningouttobe the worst! Then my father said, “Look here, Julianna. You can see the embryo.” He held theflashlightandeggoutsoIcouldsee.

Ilookedinsideandhesaid,“Seethedarkspotthere?Inthemiddle?Withalltheveinsleadingtoit?”

“Thethingthatlookslikeabean?”

“That’sit!”

Suddenlyitfeltreal.Thiseggwasalive.Iquicklycheckedtherestofthegroup.Therewerelittlebeanbabiesinallofthem!Surelytheyhadtolive.Surelytheywouldallmakeit!

“Dad?CanItaketheincubatorinside?Itmightgettoocoldouthereatnight,don’tyouthink?”

“Iwasgoingtosuggestthesamething.Whydon’tyoupropopenthedoor?I’llcarryitforyou.”

ForthenexttwoweeksIwascompletelyconsumedwiththegrowingofchicks.IlabeledtheeggsA,B,C,D,E, andF, but before long they had names, too:Abby,Bonnie,Clyde,Dexter,Eunice, andFlorence.EverydayIweighedthem,candledthem,andturnedthem.Ieventhoughtitmightbegoodfor them to hear some clucking, so for awhile I did that, too, but clucking is tiring! Itwasmucheasier tohumaroundmyquiet littleflock,soIdidthat, instead.SoonIwashummingwithouteventhinkingaboutit,becausewhenIwasaroundmyeggs,Iwashappy.

I read The Beginner’s Guide to Raising Chickens cover to cover twice. For my project I drewdiagramsofthevariousstagesofanembryo’sdevelopment,Imadeagiantchickenposter,Igraphedthedaily fluctuations in temperatureandhumidity, and Imadea linechartdocumenting theweightlossofeachegg.Ontheoutsideeggswereboring,butIknewwhatwashappeningontheinside!

ThentwodaysbeforethesciencefairIwascandlingBonniewhenInoticedsomething.Icalledmydadintomyroomandsaid,“Look,Dad!Lookatthis!Isthattheheartbeating?”

Hestudieditforamoment,thensmiledandsaid,“Letmegetyourmother.”

SothethreeofuscrowdedaroundandwatchedBonnie’sheartbeat,andevenmymotherhadtoadmitthatitwasabsolutelyamazing.

Clydewasthefirsttopip.AndofcoursehediditrightbeforeIhadtoleaveforschool.Hislittlebeakcrackedthrough,andwhileIheldmybreathandwaited,herested.Andrested.Finallyhisbeakpokedthroughagain,butalmostrightaway,herestedagain.HowcouldIgotoschoolandjust leavehimthisway?Whatifheneededmyhelp?Surelythiswasavalidreasontostayhome,atleastforalittlewhile!

Myfathertriedtoassuremethathatchingoutcouldtakealldayandthatthere’dbeplentyofactionleftafterschool,butI’dhavenoneofthat.Oh,no-no-no!IwantedtoseeAbbyandBonnieandClydeandDexterandEuniceandFlorencecomeintotheworld.Everysingleoneofthem.“Ican’tmissthehatch!”Itoldhim.“Notevenasecondofit!”

“Sotakeittoschoolwithyou,”mymothersaid.“Mrs.Brubeckshouldn’tmind.Afterall,thiswasheridea.”

Sometimesitpaystohaveasensiblemother.I’djustsetupforthesciencefairearly,that’swhatI’ddo!Ipackedupmyentireoperation,posters,charts,andall,andgotaridetoschoolfrommymom.

Mrs.Brubeckdidn’tmindabit.ShewassobusyhelpingkidswiththeirprojectsthatIgottospendnearlytheentiredaywatchingthehatch.

ClydeandBonniewerethefirstonesout.Itwasdisappointingatfirstbecausetheyjustlaythereallwetandmatted,lookingexhaustedandugly.ButbythetimeAbbyandDexterbrokeout,BonnieandClydewerefluffingup,lookingforaction.

The last two took forever, butMrs. Brubeck insisted that I leave them alone, and thatworked outpretty great because they hatched out during the fair that night.Mywhole family came, and eventhoughMattandMikeonlywatchedforabouttwominutesbeforetheytookofftolookatsomeotherdemonstration,mymomanddadstuckaroundforthewholething.MomevenpickedBonnieupandnuzzledher.

ThatnightafteritwasalloverandIwaspackinguptogohome,Momasked,“SodothesegobacktoMrs.Brubecknow?”

“DowhatgobacktoMrs.Brubeck?”Iaskedher.

“Thechicks,Juli.You’renotplanningtoraisechickens,areyou?”

Tobehonest,Ihadn’tthoughtbeyondthehatch.Myfocushadbeenstrictlyonbringingthemintotheworld.Butshewasright—heretheywere.Sixfluffylittleadorablechicks,eachofwhichhadanameand,Icouldalreadytell,itsownuniquepersonality.

“I…Idon’tknow,”Istammered.“I’llaskMrs.Brubeck.”

I tracked downMrs.Brubeck, but Iwas praying that she didn’twantme to give them back to herfriend.Afterall,I’dhatchedthem.I’dnamedthem.I’dsavedthemfrommushychickdisease!Theselittlepeepersweremine!

Tomy relief andmymother ’shorror,Mrs.Brubeck said theywere indeedmine.Allmine. “Havefun,”shesaid,thenzippedofftohelpHeididismantleherexhibitonBernoulli’slaw.

Momwasquietthewholewayhome,andIcouldtell—shewantedchickenslikeshewantedatractorandagoat.“Please,Mom?”Iwhisperedasweparkedatthecurb.“Please?”

Shecoveredherface.“Wherearewegoingtoraisechickens,Juli?Where?”

“Inthebackyard?”Ididn’tknowwhatelsetosuggest.

“WhataboutChamp?”

“They’llgetalong,Mom.I’llteachhim.Ipromise.”

Mydadsaidsoftly,“They’reprettyself-sufficient,Trina.”

But then theboyspipedupwith,“Champ’llpiss ’em todeath,Mom,”andsuddenly theywereonaroll.“Yeah!Butyouwon’tevennotice’causethey’reyellowalready!”“Whoa!YellowAlready—coolname.” “That couldwork!Butwait– peoplemight thinkwemean our bellies!” “Oh, yeah—forgetthat!”“Yeah,justlethimkillthechicks.”

Mybrotherslookedateachotherwithenormouseyesandstartedupalloveragain.“KilltheChicks!That’sit!Getit?”“Youmeanlikewe’rechickkillers?Orlikewekillthechicks?”

Dadturnedaroundandsaid,“Out.Bothofyou,getout.Gofindanameelsewhere.”

Sotheyscrambledout,andthethreeofussatinthecarwithonlythegentlepeep-peep-peepfrommylittle flockbreaking thesilence.Finallymymotherheavedaheavysighandsaid,“Theydon’tcostmuchtokeep,dothey?”

Mydadshookhishead.“Theyeatbugs,Trina.Andalittlefeed.They’reverylow-maintenance.”

“Bugs?Really?Whatsortofbugs?”

“Earwigs,worms,roly-polys…probablyspiders,iftheycancatchthem.Ithinktheyeatsnails,too.”

“Seriously?”Mymothersmiled.“Well,inthatcase…”

“Oh,thankyou,Mom.Thankyou!”

And that’s how we wound up with chickens. What none of us thought of was that six chickensscratching for bugs not only gets rid of bugs, it also tears up grass.Within sixmonths therewasnothingwhatsoeverleftofouryard.

Whatwe also didn’t think ofwas that chicken feed attractsmice, andmice attract cats. Feral cats.Champwasprettygoodatkeepingthecatsoutoftheyard,butthey’dhangaroundthefrontyardorthesideyard,justwaitingforhimtosnoozesotheycouldsneakinandpounceonsometenderlittlemousyvittles.

Thenmybrothersstarted trapping themice,which I thoughtwas just tohelpout. Ididn’t suspectathinguntilthedayIheardmymotherscreamingfromthedepthsoftheirroom.Theywere,itturnsout,raisingaboaconstrictor.

Mom’sfootcamedowninabigway,andIthoughtshewasgoingtothrowusout,lock,stock,andboa,butthenImadethemostamazingdiscovery—chickenslayeggs!Beautiful,shiny,creamywhiteeggs!IfirstfoundoneunderBonnie,thenClyde—whomIimmediatelyrenamedClydette—andonemoreinFlorence’sbed.Eggs!

I raced inside toshowmymom,andafterabriefmomentofblinkingat them,shewithered intoachair.“No,”shewhimpered.“Nomorechicks!”

“They’renotchicks,Mom…they’reeggs!”

Shewasstilllookingquitepale,soIsatinthechairnexttoherandsaid,“Wedon’thavearooster…?”

“Oh.”Thecolorwascomingbacktohercheeks.“Isthatso?”

“I’veneverheardacock-a-doodle-do,haveyou?”

Shelaughed.“AblessingIguessI’veforgottentocount.”Shesatupalittleandtookaneggfrommypalm.“Eggs,huh.Howmanydoyousupposethey’lllay?”

“Ihavenoidea.”

Asitturnsout,myhenslaidmoreeggsthanwecouldeat.Atfirstwetriedtokeepup,butsoonweweretiredofboilingandpicklinganddeviling,andmymotherstartedcomplainingthatallthesefree

eggswerecostingherwaytoomuch.

ThenoneafternoonasIwascollectingeggs,ourneighborMrs.Stuebyleanedoverthesidefenceandsaid,“Ifyoueverhaveanyextra,I’dbehappytobuythemfromyou.”

“Really?”Iasked.

“Mostcertainly.Nothingquitelikefree-rangeeggs.Twodollarsadozensoundfairtoyou?”

Twodollarsadozen!Ilaughedandsaid,“Sure!”

“Okay,then.Wheneveryouhavesomeextras,justbring’emover.Mrs.HelmsandIgottodiscussingitlastnightonthephone,butIaskedyoufirst,somakesureyouoffer’emuptomebeforeher,okay,Juli?”

“Surething,Mrs.Stueby!”

BetweenMrs.StuebyandMrs.Helmsthreedoorsdown,myeggoverflowproblemwassolved.Andmaybe I should’ve turned the money over to my mother as payment for having destroyed thebackyard,butone“Nonsense,Julianna.It’syours,”wasallittookformetostartsquirrelingitaway.

Then one day as Iwaswalking down toMrs.Helms’ house,Mrs. Loski drove by. Shewaved andsmiled,and I realizedwithapangofguilt that Iwasn’tbeingveryneighborlyaboutmyeggs.Shedidn’tknowthatMrs.HelmsandMrs.Stuebywerepayingmefortheseeggs.SheprobablythoughtIwasdeliveringthemoutofthekindnessofmyheart.

And maybe I should’ve been giving the eggs away, but I’d never had a steady income before.Allowanceatourhouseisahit-or-misssortofthing.Usuallyamiss.Andearningmoneyfrommyeggs gave me this secret happy feeling, which I was reluctant to have the kindness of my heartencroachupon.

ButthemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreIrealizedthatMrs.Loskideservedsomefreeeggs.Shehadbeenagoodneighbortous,lendingussupplieswhenweranoutunexpectedlyandbeinglatetoworkherselfwhenmymotherneededaridebecauseourcarwouldn’tstart.Afeweggsnowandagain…itwastheleastIcoulddo.

TherewasalsothedecidedlyblissfulpossibilityofrunningintoBryce.Andinthechillysparkleofanewday,Bryce’seyesseemedbluerthanever.Thewayhelookedatme—thesmile,theblush—itwasaBryceIdidn’tgettoseeatschool.TheBryceatschoolwaswaymoreprotected.

BythethirdtimeIbroughteggsovertotheLoskis,IrealizedthatBrycewaswaitingforme.Waitingtopullthedooropenandsay,“Thanks,Juli,”andthen,“Seeyouatschool.”

Itwasworthit.EvenafterMrs.HelmsandMrs.Stuebyofferedmemoremoneyperdozen,itwasstillworth it. So, through the rest of sixth grade, through all of seventh grade and most of eighth, IdeliveredeggstotheLoskis.Theverybest,shiniesteggswentstraighttotheLoskis,andinreturnIgotafewmomentsalonewiththeworld’smostdazzlingeyes.

Itwasabargain.

Thentheycutdownthesycamoretree.AndtwoweekslaterChampdied.He’dbeenspendingalotoftimesleeping,andeventhoughwedidn’treallyknowhowoldhewas,noonewasreallysurprisedwhenonenightDadwentouttofeedhimanddiscoveredhewasdead.Weburiedhiminthebackyard,andmybrothersputupacrossthatreads:

HERELIESTHEMYSTERYPISSER

P.I.P.

Iwasupsetandprettydazedforawhile. Itwasraininga lotandIwasridingmybike toschool toavoidhavingtotakethebus,andeachdaywhenI’dgethome,I’dretreattomyroom,losemyselfinanovel,andsimplyforgetaboutcollectingeggs.

Mrs.Stuebywastheonewhogotmebackonschedule.Shecalledtosayshe’dreadaboutthetreeinthepaperandwassorryabouteverythingthathadhappened,butithadbeensometimenowandshemissedhereggsandwasworriedthatmyhensmightquit laying.“Distresscanpushabirdstraightinto amolting, andwewouldn’twant that!Feathers everywhere andnot an egg in sight. I’mquiteallergictothefeathersmyselforI’dprobablyhaveaflockofmyown,butneveryoumind.Youjustbring’emoverwhenyou’reuptoit.All’sIwantedwastocheckinandletyouknowhowsorryIwasaboutthetree.Andyourdog,too.Yourmothermentionedhepassedaway.”

So I got back to work. I cleared away the eggs I’d neglected and got back into my routine ofcollectingandcleaning.AndonemorningwhenIhadenough,Imadetherounds.FirstMrs.Stueby,thenMrs.Helms,andfinallytheLoskis.AndasIstoodattheLoskis’threshold,itoccurredtomethat

Ihadn’tseenBryceinthelongesttime.Sure,we’dbothbeenatschool,butI’dbeensopreoccupiedwithotherthingsthatIhadn’treallyseenhim.

Myheartstartedbeatingfaster,andwhenthedoorwhooshedopenandhisblueeyeslookedrightatme,ittookeverythingIhadjusttosay,“Here.”

Hetookthehalf-cartonandsaid,“Youknow,youdon’thavetogiveusthese….”

“Iknow,”Isaid,andlookeddown.

Westood there fora record-breakingamountof timesayingnothing.Finallyhe said,“Soareyougoingtostartridingthebusagain?”

Ilookedupathimandshrugged.“Idon’tknow.Ihaven’tbeenuptheresince…youknow.”

“Itdoesn’tlooksobadanymore.It’sallcleared.They’llprobablystartonthefoundationsoon.”

Itsoundedperfectlyawfultome.

“Well,”hesaid,“I’vegottogetreadyforschool.Seeyouthere.”Thenhesmiledandclosedthedoor.

ForsomereasonIjuststoodthere.Ifeltodd.Outofsorts.Disconnectedfromeverythingaroundme.WasIevergoingtogobackuptoCollierStreet?Ihadtoeventually,orsomymothersaid.WasIjustmakingitharder?

SuddenlythedoorflewopenandBrycecamehurryingoutwithanoverfullkitchentrashcaninhishands.“Juli!”hesaid.“Whatareyoustilldoinghere?”

Hestartledme, too. Ididn’tknowwhat Iwas still doing there.And Iwas so flustered that Iwouldprobablyjusthaverunhomeifhehadn’tstartedstrugglingwiththetrash,tryingtoshovethecontentsdown.

Ireachedoverandsaid,“Doyouneedsomehelp?”becauseit lookedlikehewasabouttospill thetrash.ThenIsawthecornerofaneggcarton.

This wasn’t just any egg carton either. It was my egg carton. The one I’d just brought him. AndthroughthelittlebluecardboardarcsIcouldseeeggs.

Ilookedfromhimtotheeggsandsaid,“Whathappened?Didyoudropthem?”

“Yeah,”hesaidquickly.“Yeah,andI’mreallysorryaboutthat.”

Hetriedtostopme,butItookthecartonfromthetrash,saying,“Allofthem?”Iopenedthecartonandgasped.Sixwhole,perfecteggs.“Why’dyouthrowthemaway?”

Hepushedpastmeandwent around thehouse to the trashbin, and I followedhim,waiting for ananswer.

Heshookthegarbageout,thenturnedtofaceme.“Doesthewordsalmonellameananythingtoyou?”

“Salmonella?But…”

“Mymomdoesn’tthinkit’sworththerisk.”

Ifollowedhimbacktotheporch.“Areyousayingshewon’teatthembecause—”

“Becauseshe’safraidofbeingpoisoned.”

“Poisoned!Why?”

“Becauseyourbackyardis,like,coveredinturds!Imean,lookatyourplace,Juli!”Hepointedatourhouseandsaid,“Justlookatit.It’sacompletedive!”

“It is not!” I cried, but the truth was sitting right across the street, impossible to deny.My throatsuddenlychokedclosedandIfounditpainfultospeak.“Haveyou…alwaysthrownthemaway?”

Heshruggedandlookeddown.“Juli,look.Wedidn’twanttohurtyourfeelings.”

“Myfeelings?DoyourealizeMrs.StuebyandMrs.Helmspaymeformyeggs?”

“You’rekidding.”

“No!Theypaymetwodollarsadozen!”

“Noway.”

“It’strue!AllthoseeggsIgavetoyouIcould’vesoldtoMrs.StuebyorMrs.Helms!”

“Oh,”hesaid,andlookedaway.Thenheeyedmeandsaid,“Well,whydidyoujustgivethemtous?”

Iwasfightingbacktears,butitwashard.Ichokedout,“Iwastryingtobeneighborly…!”

Heputdownthetrashcan,thendidsomethingthatmademybrainfreeze.Heheldmebytheshouldersand lookedme right in the eyes. “Mrs.Stueby’s your neighbor, isn’t she?So’sMrs.Helms, right?Whybeneighborlytousandnotthem?”

Whatwashetryingtosay?WasitstillsoobvioushowIfeltabouthim?Andifheknew,howcouldhehavebeensoheartless,justthrowingmyeggsawaylikethat,weekafterweek,yearafteryear?

Icouldn’tfindanywords.Noneatall.Ijuststaredathim,attheclear,brilliantblueofhiseyes.

“I’msorry,Juli,”hewhispered.

Istumbledhome,embarrassedandconfused,myheartcompletelycrackedopen.

Bryce:GetaGrip,ManItdidn’ttakelongformetorealizethatI’dtradedinmyoldproblemswithJuliBakerforawholenewsetofproblemswithJuliBaker.Icouldfeelherangeramileaway.

Itwasactuallyworsehavinghermadatmethanhavingherharassme.Why?BecauseI’dscrewedup,that’swhy.Ihadeggallovermyface,andblamingitonheryardhaddonenothingtowashitoff.Thewaysheignoredme,orsoobviouslyavoidedme,wasascreamingloudremindertomethatI’dbeenajerk.Aroyalcluck-facedjerk.

ThenonedayI’mcominghomefromhangingoutwithGarrettafterschool,andthere’sJuliinherfrontyard,hackingatashrub.Sheisthrashingonthething.Branchesareflyingoverhershoulder,andclearacrossthestreetIcanhearhergruntingandgrowlingandsayingstufflike,“No…you…don’t!Youarecoming…off…whetheryoulikeitor…not!”

DidIfeelgoodaboutthis?No,myfriend,Ididnot.Yeah,theiryardwasamess,anditwasabouttimesomeonedidsomethingaboutit,butc’mon–where’sthedad?WhataboutMattandMike?WhyJuli?

BecauseI’dembarrassedherintoit,that’swhy.Ifeltworsethanever.

So I snuck insideand tried to ignore the fact thathere’smydeskandhere’smywindow,and rightacrossthestreetfrommeisJuli,beatingupabush.Notconducivetoconcentration.Nosiree,Bob.Igotallofzerohomeworkdone.

ThenextdayatschoolIwastryingtogetupthenervetosaysomethingtoher,butIneverevengotthechance.Shewouldn’tletmegetanywherenearher.

ThenontheridehomeIhadthisthought.Itkindoffreakedmeoutatfirst,butthemoreIplayedwithit,themoreIfiguredthat,yeah,helpingherwiththeyardwouldmakeupformyhavingbeensuchajerk.Assumingshedidn’tbossmetoomuch,andassumingshedidn’tdecidetogetallgooey-eyedorsomethingstupidlikethat.No,I’dgoupandjusttellherthatIfeltbadforbeingajerkandIwantedtomakeituptoherbyhelpinghercutbacksomebushes.Period.Endofstory.Andifshestillwantedtobemadatmeafterthat,thenfine.Thatwasherproblem.

My problem was, I never got the chance. I came trekking down from the bus stop to find mygrandfatherdoingmygooddeed.

Now,jumpback.ThiswasnotsomethingIcouldimmediatelyabsorb.Mygrandfatherdidnotdoyardwork.Atleast,he’dneverofferedtohelpmeout.Mygrandfatherlivedinhouseslippers–where’dhegetthoseworkboots?Andthosejeansandthatflannelshirt–whatwasupwiththose?

I crouched behind a neighbor ’s hedge andwatched them for ten or fifteenminutes, andman, thelongerIwatched,themadderIgot.Mygrandfatherhadalreadysaidmoretoherinthislittlesliceoftimethanhe’dsaidtomethewholeyearandahalfhe’dbeenlivingwithus.WhatwashisdealwithJuliBaker?

Itookthebackwayhome,whichinvolvedclimbingtwofencesandkickingofftheneighbor ’sstupidlittleterrier,butitwasworthit,consideringIavoidedthegardenpartyacrossthestreet.

AgainIgotnohomeworkdone.ThemoreIwatchedthem,themadderIgot.Iwasstillacluck-facedjerk,whileJuliwaslaughingitupwithmygrandfather.HadIeverseenhimsmile?Reallysmile?Idon’tthinkso!Butnowhewasknee-highinnettles,laughing.

Atdinnerthatnighthe’dshoweredandchangedbackintohisregularclothesandhouseslippers,buthedidn’tlookthesame.Itwaslikesomeonehadpluggedhiminandturnedonthelight.

“Goodevening,”hesaidashesatdownwiththerestofus.“Oh,Patsy,thatlooksdelicious!”

“Well,Dad,”mymomsaidwithalaugh,“yourexcursionacrossthestreetseemstohavedoneyouaworldofgood.”

“Yeah,”myfathersaid.“Patsytellsmeyou’vebeenoverthereallafternoon.Ifyouwereinthemoodforhomeimprovementprojects,whydidn’tyoujustsayso?”

Myfatherwasjustjokingaround,butIdon’tthinkmygrandfathertookitthatway.Hehelpedhimselftoacheese-stuffedpotatoandsaid,“Passthesalt,won’tyou,Bryce?”

So there was this definite tension between my father and my grandfather, but I think if Dad haddroppedthesubjectrightthen,thevibewould’vevanished.

Daddidn’tdropit,though.Instead,hesaid,“Sowhy’sthegirltheonewho’sfinallydoingsomethingabouttheirplace?”

Mygrandfathersaltedhispotatoverycarefully,thenlookedacrossthetableatme.Ah-oh,Ithought.Ah-oh. Ina flash Iknewthosestupideggswerenotbehindme.Twoyearsofsneaking themin thetrash,twoyearsofavoidingdiscussionofJuliandhereggsandherchickensandherearly-morningvisits,andforwhat?Granddadknew,Icouldseeitinhiseyes.Inamatterofsecondshe’dcrackopenthetruth,andI’dbeasgoodasfried.

Enteramiracle.Mygrandfatherpetrifiedmeforaminutewithhiseyesbutthenturnedtomyfatherandsaid,“Shewantsto,isall.”

Aragingriverofsweatrandownmytemples,andasmyfathersaid,“Well,it’sabouttimesomeonedid,”mygrandfatherlookedbackatmeandIknew—hewasnotgoingtoletmeforgetthis.We’djusthadanotherconversation,onlythistimeIwasdefinitelynotdismissed.

Afterthedisheswerecleared,Iretreatedtomyroom,butmygrandfathercamerightin,closedthedoorbehindhim,andthensatonmybed.Hedidthisallwithoutmakingasound.Nosqueaking,noclanking,noscraping,nobreathing…Iswear,theguymovedthroughmyroomlikeaghost.

AndofcourseI’mbangingmykneeanddroppingmypencilanddeterioratingintoapatheticpoolofJell-O.ButItriedmybesttosoundcoolasIsaid,“Hello,Granddad.Cometocheckoutthedigs?”

Hepinchedhislipstogetherandlookedatnothingbutme.

Icracked.“Look,Granddad,IknowImessedup.Ishould’vejusttoldher,butIcouldn’t.AndIkeptthinking they’d stop. I mean, how long can a chicken lay eggs? Those things hatched in the fifthgrade!Thatwaslike,threeyearsago!Don’ttheyeventuallyrunout?AndwhatwasIsupposedtodo?TellherMomwasafraidofsalmonellapoisoning?AndDadwantedmetotellherwewereallergic—c’mon, who’s going to buy that? So I just kept, you know, throwing them out. I didn’t know shecould’vesoldthem.Ithoughttheywerejustextras.”

Hewasnodding,butveryslowly.

Isighedandsaid,“Thankyoufornotsayinganythingaboutitatdinner.Ioweyou.”

Hepulledmycurtainasideandlookedacrossthestreet.“One’scharacterissetatanearlyage,son.Thechoicesyoumakenowwillaffectyoufortherestofyourlife.”Hewasquietforaminute,thendroppedthecurtainandsaid,“Ihatetoseeyouswimoutsofaryoucan’tswimback.”

“Yes,sir.”

Hefrownedandsaid,“Don’tyes-sirme,Bryce.”Thenhestoodandadded,“JustthinkaboutwhatI’vesaid,andthenexttimeyou’refacedwithachoice,dotherightthing.Ithurtseveryonelessinthelongrun.”

Withthat,poof,hewasgone.

ThenextdayIwenttoshootsomehoopsatGarrett’safterschool,andwhenhismomdroppedmeofflater thatafternoon,mygranddaddidn’tevennotice.HewastoobusybeingJoeCarpenterinJuli’sfrontyard.

Itriedtodomyhomeworkatthebreakfastbar,butmymomcamehomefromworkandstartedbeingall chatty, and then Lynetta appeared and the two of them started fighting about whether Lynetta’smakeupmadeherlooklikeawoundedraccoon.

Lynetta.Iswearshe’llneverlearn.

Ipackedupmystuffandescapedtomyroom,which,ofcourse,wasatotalwaste.They’vegotasawrevvingandwailingacrossthestreet,andinbetweencutsIcanhearthewhack,whack,whack!whack,whack,whack!ofahammer.Ilookoutthewindowandthere’sJuli,spittingoutnailsandslammingthem inplace.Nokidding.She’sgotnails linedupbetweenher lips like steel cigarettes, and she’sswingingthathammerfull-arc,wayaboveherhead,drivingnailsintopicketslikethey’regoingintobutter.

Forasplitsecondthere,Isawmyheadastherecipientofherhammer,crackingopenlikeHumptyDumpty.Ishudderedanddroppedthecurtain,ditchedthehomework,andheadedfortheTV.

Theyhandymannedallweek.AndeverynightGranddadwouldcomeinwithrosycheeksandahugeappetiteandcomplimentmymomonwhatagreatcookshewas.ThenSaturdayhappened.Andthelast thing Iwantedwas to spend thedayathomewhilemygrandfatherchurnedupdirt andhelpedplant Juli’s yard. Mom tried to get me to do our own yard, but I would have felt ridiculousmicromowingourgrasswithGranddadandJulimakingrealchangesrightacrossthestreet.

SoIlockedmyselfinmyroomandcalledGarrett.Hewasn’thome,andeverybodyelseIcalledhadstufftheyhadtodo.AndhittingupMomorDadforaridetothemoviesorthemallwashopeless.They’dtellmeIwassupposedtobedoingtheyard.

WhatIwas,wasstuck.

AndwhatIwoundupdoingwaslookingoutthestupidwindowatJuliandmygrandfather.Itwasatotallylamethingtodo,butthat’swhatIdid.

Igotnaileddoingit, too.Bymygrandfather.Andhe,ofcourse,hadtopointmeout toJuli,whichmademefeelanothertwoinchesshorter.Idroppedthecurtainandblastedoutthebackdoorandoverthefence.Ihadtogetoutofthere.

IswearIwalkedtenmilesthatday.AndIdon’tknowwhoIwasmadderat–mygrandfather,Juli,orme.Whatwaswrongwithme?IfIwantedtomakeituptoJuli,whydidn’tIjustgooverthereandhelp?Whatwasstoppingme?

IwoundupatGarrett’shouse,andman,I’dneverbeensogladtoseeanyoneinmylife.LeaveittoGarretttogetyourmindoffanythingimportant.Thatdude’sthemaster.Wewentoutbackandshothoops,watchedthetube,andtalkedabouthittingthewaterslidesthissummer.

AndwhenIgothome,therewasJuli,sprinklingtheyard.

Shesawme,allright,butshedidn’twaveorsmileoranything.Shejustlookedaway.

NormallywhatI’ddointhatsituationismaybepretendlikeIhadn’tseenher,orgiveaquickwaveandchargeinside.Butshe’dbeenmadatmeforwhatseemedlikeages.Shehadn’tsaidwordonetomesincethemorningoftheeggs.She’dcompletelydissedmeinmathacoupledaysbeforewhenI’dsmiledather,tryingtotellherIwassorry.Shedidn’tsmilebackornodoranything.Shejustturnedawayandneverlookedback.

Ievenwaitedforheroutsidetheclassroomtosaysomething,anything,aboutherfixinguptheyardandhowbadIfelt,butsheditchedmeouttheotherdoor,andafterthatanytimeIgotanywherenearher,she’dfindsomewaytoskatearoundme.

Sothereshewas,wateringtheyard,makingmefeellikeajerk,andI’dhadenoughofit.Iwentuptoherandsaid,“It’slookingrealgood,Juli.Nicejob.”

“Thanks,”shesaidwithoutsmiling.“Chetdidmostofit.”

Chet?Ithought.Chet?Whatwasshedoing,callingmygrandfatherbyhisfirstname?“Look,Juli,”Isaid,tryingtogetonwithwhyIwasthere.“I’msorryforwhatIdid.”

Shelookedatmeforasecond,thenwentbacktowatchingthewatersprayacrossthedirt.Finallyshesaid,“Istilldon’tgetit,Bryce.Whydidn’tyoujusttellme?”

“I… I don’t know. Itwas dumb. I should have.And I shouldn’t have said anything about the yard,either.Itwas,youknow,outofline.”

Iwasalreadyfeelingbetter.Alotbetter.ThenJulisays,“Well,maybeit’sallforthebetter,”andstartsbouncingupanddownontheballsofherfeet,actingmorelikeheroldself.“Doesn’titlookgreat?IlearnedsomuchfromChetit’samazing.Youaresolucky.Idon’tevenhavegrandparentsanymore.”

“Oh,”Isaid,notknowingwhattosay.

“Idofeelsorryforhim,though.Hesuremissesyourgrandmother.”Thenshelaughsandshakesherhead,saying,“Canyoubelieveit?HesaysIremindhimofher.”

“What?”

“Yeah,”shelaughsagain.“That’swhatIsaid.Buthemeantitinaniceway.”

IlookedatJuliandtriedtopicturemygrandmotherasaneighthgrader.Itwashopeless.Imean,Juli’sgotlong,fluffybrownhairandanosefulloffreckles,wheremygrandmotherhadalwaysbeensomevarietyofblond.Andmygrandmotherhadusedpowder.Puffywhitepowder.She’dputitonherfaceandinherhair,inherslippersandonherchest….Thatwomanpowderedeverything.

IcouldnotseeJulicoatedinpowder.Okay,maybegunpowder,butthewhiteperfumystuff?Forgetit.

IguessIwasstaring,becauseJulisays,“Look,Ididn’tsayit,hedid.Ijustthoughtitwasnice,that’sall.”

“Yeah,whatever.Well,goodluckwiththegrass.I’msureit’llcomeupgreat.”ThenItotallysurprisedmyself by saying, “Knowing you, you’ll get ’emall to hatch.” I didn’t say itmean or anything, Ireallymeantit.Ilaughed,andthenshelaughed,andthat’showIlefther—sprinklinghersoon-to-besod,smiling.

I hadn’t been in such a good mood in weeks. The eggs were finally behind me. I was absolved.Relieved.Happy.

IttookmeafewminutesatthedinnertabletorealizethatIwastheonlyonewhowas.Lynettahadonherusualpout, so thatwasn’t it.Butmy father ’s ideaof sayinghellowas to lay intomeabout thelawn.

“Nosweat,”Itoldhim.“I’lldoittomorrow.”

Allthatgotmewasascowl.

ThenMomsaystomygranddad,“Youtiredtonight,Dad?”

Ihadn’tevennoticedhimsittingtherelikeastone.

“Yeah,”myfathertossesdownthetableathim.“Thatgirlworkingyoutoohard?”

Mygrandfatherstraightenshis forkonhisnapkinandsays,“‘Thatgirl’ isnamedJuli,andno,sheisn’t‘workingmetoohard,’asyousocallouslyputit.”

“Callous?Me?”Mydadlaughsandsays,“Developedquiteasoftspotforthatgirl,haven’tyou?”

EvenLynetta letherpoutgo foraminute.Thesewere fightingwordsandeveryoneknew it.MomnudgedDadwith her foot, but that onlymade thingsworse. “No,Patsy! Iwant to knowwhyyourfatherhastheenergyandinclinationtobefriendacompletestrangerwhenhe’sneverdonesomuchastossabaseballaroundwithhisowngrandson!”

Well,yeah!Ithought.ButthenIremembered–Iowedmygrandfather.Owedhimbig-time.Withoutthinking,Isaid,“Takeiteasy,Dad.JulijustremindshimofGrandma.”

Everyoneclammedupandstaredatme.SoIlookedatmygrandfatherandsaid,“Uh…isn’tthatright,Granddad?”

Henoddedandrearrangedhisforksomemore.

“OfRenée?”MyfatherlookedatmymotherandthenatGranddad.“Shecan’tpossibly!”

Mygranddadclosedhiseyesandsaid,“It’sherspiritthatremindsmeofRenée.”

“Herspirit,”myfathersays.Likehe’stalkingtoalyingkindergartner.

“Yes, her spirit.”My grandfather ’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “Do you know why the Bakershaven’tfixeduptheyarduntilnow?”

“Why?Sure.They’retrash,that’swhy.They’vegotabeat-uphouse,twobeat-upcars,andabeat-upyard.”

“Theyarenottrash,Rick.Theyaregood,honest,hardworkingpeople—”

“Whohaveabsolutelynoprideinhowtheypresentthemselvestotherestoftheworld.We’velivedacrossthestreetfromthosepeopleforoversixyears,andthereisnoexcuseforthestatethey’rein.”

“No?”Mygrandfathertakesadeepbreathandseemstoweighthingsinhismindforafewseconds.Thenhesays,“Tellmethis,Rick.Ifyouhadabrotherorsisterorchildwhohadaseverementalorphysicalhandicap,whatwouldyoudo?”

Itwas likemy granddad had passed gas in church.My father ’s face pinched, his head shook, andfinallyhesaid,“Chet,whatdoesthathavetodowithanything?”

Mygrandfatherlooksathimforaminute,thenquietlysays,“Juli’sfatherhasaretardedbrother,and—”

Myfatherinterruptshimwithalaugh.“Well,thatexplainsalot,doesn’tit!”

“Explains…alot?”mygrandfatherasks.Quietly.Calmly.

“Sure!Itexplainswhythosepeoplearethewaytheyare…!”Hegrinsaroundthetableatus.“Mustruninthefamily.”

Everyonelooksathim.Lynetta’sjawdrops,andforonceshe’sspeechless.Mymothersays,“Rick!”but all my father can do is laugh a nervous kind of laugh and say, “It was just a joke! I mean,

obviouslysomething’swrongwiththosepeople.Oh,excuseme,Chet.Iforgot.ThegirlremindsyouofRenée.”

“Rick!”mymothersaysagain,onlythistimeshe’smad.

“Oh,Patsy,please.Your father ’sbeingoverlydramatic, trying tomakeme feelbad forcriticizingourneighborsbecausethere’saretardedrelativesomeplace.Otherpeoplehavefamilytroublesandstillmanagetomowtheirlawn.Theyshouldhavealittleprideinownership,forcryin’outloud!”

Mygrandfather ’scheeksareseriouslyflushed,buthisvoice is rock-steadyashesays,“Theydon’townthathouse,Rick.The landlord issupposed tomaintain thepremises,buthedoesn’t.AndsinceJuli’sfatherisresponsibleforhisbrother,alltheirreservesgotohiscare,andobviouslyitdoesn’tcomecheap.”

Veryquietlymymomasks,“Don’ttheyhavegovernmentfacilitiesforthatkindofthing?”

“Idon’tknowthedetails,Patsy.Maybetherearenogovernmentfacilitiesnearby.Maybetheythoughtaprivatefacilitywasabetterplaceforhimtobe.”

“Still,”mydadsays,“therearegovernmentfacilitiesavailable,andiftheydon’twanttogothatroute,that’stheirchoice. It’snotourfault their familyhadsomesortofchromosomalabnormality,andIrefusetofeelguiltyforwanting—”

My grandfather slams his hand on the table and half-stands as he says, “It had nothing to dowithchromosomes,Rick! Itwas causedby a lackof oxygen at birth.”Hebringshis voicedown,but itmakeshiswordsseemevenmoreforceful.“Juli’sunclehadtheumbilicalcordwrappedaroundhisneck.Twice.Oneminutehewasaperfect littlebaby, just likeyourson,Bryce,andthenexthewasirreversiblydamaged.”

Mymotherwassuddenlyhysterical.Insecondsshewasbawlinghereyesout,wailing,andmyfatherwasalloverher, trying tocalmherdown.Itwasnouse.Shebasicallydissolvedright thereon thespot.

Lynettathrewhernapkindownandmuttered,“Thisfamilyisajoke,”andtookoff.Thenmymotherbolted out of the room, sobbing into her hands, and my father raced after her, throwing mygrandfatherthewickedestlookI’deverseen.

ThatleftGranddadandmeandatablefullofcoldfood.“Wow,”Ifinallysaid.“Ihadnoidea.”

“Youstilldon’t,”hetoldme.

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Hesattherelikegraniteforaminute,thenleanedacrossthetabletowardmeandsaid,“Whydoyousupposethatupsetyourmothersomuch?”

“I…Idon’tknow.”Igaveahalfheartedgrinandsaid,“Becauseshe’sfemale?”

Hesmiled,butjustbarely.“No.She’supsetbecausesheknowsthatshecouldverywellbestandinginMr.Baker ’sshoesrightnow.”

Ithoughtaboutitaminuteandfinallyasked,“Didherbrotherhavethecordaroundhisneckwhenhewasborn?”

Heshookhishead.

“Well,then…”

Heleanedforwardevenfartherandwhispered,“Youdid.”

“Idid?”

Henodded.“Twice.”

“But…”

“Thedoctorwhodeliveredyouwasontheball,plusapparentlytherewassomeslackinthecord,sohewasable to loop itoffasyoucameout.Youdidn’thangyourselfcoming into theworld,but itcouldveryeasilyhavegonetheotherway.”

IfI’dbeentoldyearsorevenweeksagothatI’dcomedownthechutenoosedandreadytohang,I’dhavemadesomekindofjokeaboutit,ormorelikelyI’dhavesaid,Yeah,that’snice;nowcanyousparemethediscussion?

Butaftereverythingthathadhappened,Iwasreallyfreakingout,andIcouldn’tescapethequestionstidal-wavingmybrain.Wherewould Ibe if thingshadbeendifferent?Whatwould theyhavedonewithme?Fromthewaymydadwastalking,hewouldn’thavehadmuchuseforme,that’sforsure.He’dhavestuckmeinanuthousesomewhere,anywhere,andforgottenaboutme.ButthenIthought,No!I’mhiskid.Hewouldn’tdothat…wouldhe?

Ilookedaroundateverythingwehad–thebighouse,thewhitecarpet,theantiquesandartworkandstuffthatwaseverywhere.Wouldtheyhavegivenupallthestufftomakemylifemorepleasant?

I doubted it, andman, I doubted it big-time. I’d have been an embarrassment. Something to try toforgetabout.Howthingslookedhadalwaysbeenabiggietomyparents.Especiallytomydad.

Very quietlymy granddad said, “You can’t dwell onwhatmight have been,Bryce.” Then, like hecouldreadmymind,headded,“Andit’snotfairtocondemnhimforsomethinghehasn’tdone.”

Inoddedandtriedtogetagrip,butIwasn’tdoingaverygoodjobofit.Thenhesaid,“Bytheway,Iappreciatedyourcommentbefore.”

“What?”Iasked,butmythroatwasfeelingallpinchedandswollen.

“Aboutyourgrandmother.Howdidyouknowthat?”

Ishookmyheadandsaid,“Julitoldme.”

“Oh?Youspokewithher,then?”

“Yeah.Actually,Iapologizedtoher.”

“Well…!”

“AndIwasfeelingalotbetterabouteverything,butnow…God,Ifeellikesuchajerkagain.”

“Don’t.Youapologized,andthat’swhatmatters.”Hestoodupandsaid,“Say,I’minthemoodforawalk.Wanttojoinme?”

Goforawalk?WhatIwantedtodowasgotomyroom,lockthedoor,andbeleftalone.

“I find it really helps to clear themind,” he said, and that’swhen I realized that thiswasn’t just awalk–thiswasaninvitationtodosomethingtogether.

Istoodupandsaid,“Yeah.Let’sgetoutofhere.”

Foraguywho’donlybasicallyever saidPass the salt tome,mygranddad turnedout tobea realtalker.Wewalkedourneighborhoodandthenextneighborhoodandthenextneighborhood,andnotonlydidIfindoutthatmygranddadknowsalotofstuff,Ifoundoutthattheguyisfunny.Inasubtlekindofdryway.It’sthestuffhesays,plusthewayhesaysit.It’sreally,Idon’tknow,cool.

Aswewerewindingbackintoourownterritory,wepassedbythehousethat’sgoingupwherethesycamoretreeusedtobe.Mygranddadstopped,lookedupintothenight,andsaid,“Itmust’vebeenaspectacularview.”

Ilookedup,too,andnoticedforthefirsttimethatnightthatyoucouldseethestars.“Didyoueverseeherupthere?”Iaskedhim.

“Yourmotherpointedherouttomeonetimeaswedroveby.Itscaredmetoseeherupsohigh,butafterIreadthearticleIunderstoodwhyshedidit.”Heshookhishead.“Thetree’sgone,butshe’sstillgotthesparkitgaveher.KnowwhatImean?”

Luckily I didn’t have to answer.He just grinned and said, “Someofusget dipped in flat, some insatin, some in gloss….” He turned to me. “But every once in a while you find someone who’siridescent,andwhenyoudo,nothingwillevercompare.”

Aswewalkeduptoourfrontporch,mygrandfatherputhisarmaroundmyshoulderandsaid,“Itwasnicewalkingwithyou,Bryce.Ienjoyedmyselfverymuch.”

“Metoo,”Itoldhim,andwewentinside.

Rightawayweknewwe’dsteppedintoawarzone.Andeventhoughnoonewasyellingorcrying,fromthelookonmyparents’facesIcouldtell there’dbeenamajormeltdownwhilemygranddadandIwereout.

Granddadwhisperedtome,“I’vegotanotherfencetomend,I’mafraid,”andheadedintothediningroomtotalktomyparents.

I wanted nothing to do with that vibe. I went straight to my room, closed the door, and floppedthroughthedarknessontomybed.

Ilaythereawhileandletthedinnerdisasterplaythroughmymind.AndwhenI’dtotallyburnedafusethinking about it, I sat up and looked out thewindow.Therewas a light on somewhere inside theBakers’houseandthestreetlightswereglowing,butthenightstillseemedreallydense.Likeitwasdarkerthanusualand,Idon’tknow,heavy.

I leaned closer to the window and looked up into the sky, but I couldn’t see the stars anymore. IwonderedifJulihadeverbeeninthesycamoreatnight.Amongthestars.

Ishookmyhead.Flat,glossy,iridescent.Whatwasupwiththat?JuliBakerhadalwaysseemedjustplaindustytome.

IsnappedonmydesklampanddugthenewspaperwiththearticleaboutJulioutofthedrawerwhereI’dtossedit.

JustlikeIthought–theymadeitsoundlikeJuliwastryingtosaveMountRushmoreorsomething.Theycalledhera“strongvoiceinanurbanwilderness”and“aradiantbeacon,sheddinglightontheneedtocurtailcontinuedoverdevelopmentofouroncequaintandtranquilcommunity.”

Spareme. Imean,what’swrongwith lettingaguycutdowna treeonhisownproperty sohecanbuildahouse?Hislot,histree,hisdecision.Endofstory.Thepieceinthepaperwasgag-megush.

Except.Exceptfor theplaceswhere theyquotedJuli.Maybe itwas just incontrast to thereporter ’sslantorsomething,butJuli’spartsdidn’tcomeoffoh-woe-is-melikeIwasexpecting.Theywere,Idon’tknow,deep.Sittinginthattreewasseriouslyphilosophicaltoher.

Andtheoddthingis,itallmadesensetome.Shetalkedaboutwhatitfeltliketobeupinthattree,andhowit, like, transcendeddimensionalspace.“Tobeheldabovetheearthandbrushedbythewind,”shesaid,“it’slikeyourhearthasbeenkissedbybeauty.”Whoinjuniorhighdoyouknowthatwouldputtogetherasentencelikethat?Noneofmyfriends,that’sforsure.

Therewasotherstuff,too,likehowsomethingcanbesomuchmorethanthepartsittooktomakeit,and why people need things around them that lift them above their lives and make them feel themiracleofliving.

Iwoundupreadingandre-readingherparts,wonderingwhenintheworldshestartedthinkinglikethat.Imean,nokidding,JuliBaker ’ssmart,butthiswassomethingwaybeyondstraightA’s.

AmonthagoifI’dreadthisarticle,Iwouldhavechuckeditinthetrashascompletegarbage,butforsomereasonitmadesensetomenow.Alotofsense.

Amonthago Ialsowouldn’thavepaidanyattention to thepictureof Juli,butnowI foundmyselfstaringatit.Nottheoneofthewholescene–thatwasmoreemergencyrescueequipmentthanJuli.Theotherone,onthebottomhalfofthepage.Someonemust’veusedakillertelephotolens,becauseyoucan tell that she’s in the tree,but it’smostly from the shouldersup.She’s lookingoff into thedistanceandthewindisblowingherhairbacklikeshe’satthehelmofashiporsomething,sailingintothesun.

I’d spent somany years avoiding Juli Baker that I’d never really looked at her, and now all of asuddenIcouldn’tstop.Thisweirdfeelingstartedtakingoverthepitofmystomach,andIdidn’tlikeit.Notonebit.Totellyouthetruth,itscaredtheSheetrockoutofme.

IburiedthepaperundermypillowandtriedtoremindmyselfofwhatapainJuliBakerwas.Butmymindstartedtowanderagain,andprettysoonIhadthatstupidpaperoutfromundermypillow.

Thiswasinsane!WhatwasIdoing?

Imademyselfshutoutthelightandgotobed.Iwasslipping,man,anditwasdefinitelytimetogetagrip.

Juli:TheYardI’dneverbeenembarrassedbywherewelivedbefore.I’dneverlookedatourhouse,orevenoursideofthestreet,andsaid,Oh!Iwishwelivedinthenewdevelopment—thosehousesaresomuchnewer,somuchbetter!ThisiswhereI’dgrownup.Thiswasmyhome.

I was aware of the yard, sure. My mother had grumbled about it for years. But it was a lowgrumbling,notworthyofdeepconcern.OrsoI’dsupposed.ButmaybeIshouldhavewondered.Whylettheoutsidegoandkeeptheinsidesonice?Itwasspotlessinsideourhouse.Exceptfortheboys’room,thatis.Momgaveuponthataftershediscoveredthesnake.Iftheywereoldenoughtoadoptasnake,shetoldmybrothers,theywereoldenoughtocleantheirownroom.MattandMiketranslatedthistokeepthedoorclosed,andbecamequitediligentaboutdoingjustthat.

Besidestheyard,Ialsoneverreallywonderedaboutthemoney,ortheapparentlackthereof.Iknewweweren’trich,butIdidn’tfeellikeIwasmissinganything.Anythingyoucouldbuy,anyway.

MattandMikedidaskforthingsalot,buteventhoughmymotherwouldtellthem,No,boys,wejustcan’taffordthat,Itookthistomean,No,boys,youdon’tdeservethat,or,No,boys,youdon’treallyneedthat.Itwasn’tuntilBrycecalledourhomeacompletedivethatIstartedreallyseeingthings.

Itwasn’tjusttheyard.Itwasmydad’struck,mymother ’scar,thefamilybikethatwasmorerustthansteel,andthefactthatwhenwedidbuysomethingnew,italwaysseemedtocomefromasecond-time-aroundstore.Plus,weneverwentonvacation.Ever.

Whywas that?My father was the hardest-workingman in the world, andmymother worked forTempServicedoingsecretarialjobswhenevershecould.Whatwasallthathardworkaboutifthisiswhereitgotyou?

Askingmyparentswhetherwewerepoorseemedincrediblyimpolite.Butasthedayswentby,IknewIhadtoask.Justhadto.EverydayI’dridehomefromschoolonourrustybike,pullpastthebrokenfenceandpatchyyard,andthink,Tonight.I’llaskthemtonight.

ButthenIwouldn’taskthem.Ijustdidn’tknowhow.

ThenonedayIhadanidea.Awaytotalktothemaboutitandmaybehelpoutalittle,too.Andsincemybrotherswereworkingatthemusicstorethatnight,andnobodywassayingmuchofanythingatthetable,Itookadeepbreathandsaid,“Iwasthinking,youknow,thatitwouldn’tbehardtofixupthefrontyardifIcouldgetsomenailsandahammerandmaybesomepaint?Andhowmuchdoesgrassseedcost?Itcan’tbethatmuch,right?Icouldplantalawn,andmaybeevensomeflowers?”

Myparentsstoppedeatingandstaredatme.

“Iknowhowtouseasawandahammer—itcouldbe,youknow,aproject.”

Mymotherquitlookingatmeandstaredatmyfather,instead.

Myfathersighedandsaid,“Theyardisnotourresponsibility,Julianna.”

“It’s…it’snot?”

Heshookhisheadandsaid,“It’sMr.Finnegan’s.”

“Who’sMr.Finnegan?”

“Themanwhoownsthishouse.”

Icouldn’tbelievemyears.“What?”

Myfatherclearedhisthroatandsaid,“Thelandlord.”

“Youmeanwedon’townthishouse?”

Theylookedateachother,havingsomeprivatewordlessconversationIcouldn’tdecipher.Finallymyfathersaid,“Ididn’trealizeyoudidn’tknowthat.”

“But…but thatdoesn’tmakesense!Aren’t landlordssupposedtocomeanddothings?Likefix theroofwhenitleaksandclearthedrainswhenthey’replugged?Youalwaysdothatstuff,Dad.Whydoyoudoitwhenhe’ssupposedto?”

“Because,”hesighed,“it’seasierthanaskinghimforhelp.”

“Butif—”

“And,”myfatherinterruptedme,“itkeepshimfromraisingtherent.”

“But…”

Mymother reached over and tookmy hand. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry if this is a shock. I guesswealwaysthoughtyouknew.”

“Butwhatabouttheyard?Whykeepuptheinsidebutnottheoutside?”

Myfatherfrownedandsaid,“Whenwesignedthelease,heassuredushewouldfixthefences,frontandback,andplantsodinthefrontyard.Obviouslythatneverhappened.”Heshookhishead.“It’samajorundertaking,andfencingisnotcheap.Ican’tseeputtingthatsortofinvestmentintoapropertythat’snotours.Plus,it’stheprincipleofthething.”

“Butwelivehere,”Iwhispered,“anditlookssobad.”

Myfatherstudiedme.“Julianna,whathappened?”

“Nothing,Daddy,”Isaid,butheknewIwaslying.

“Sweetheart,”hewhispered,“tellme.”

Iknewwhathe’dsayifItoldhim,andyetIcouldn’tnottellhim.Notwiththewayhewaslookingatme.SoI tookadeepbreathandsaid,“TheLoskishavebeen throwingmyeggsawaybecause they

wereafraidthey’dhavesalmonellabecauseouryardissuchamess.”

Myfathersaid,“Oh, that’sridiculous,”butmymothergasped,“What?”Thenshecried,“DidPatsysaythat?”

Ilookeddown.“No,Brycedid.”

“Butitmust’vebeenafamilydiscussion!Aboydoesn’tcomeupwiththatonhisown…!”Mymotherlookedforalltheworldlikeadoewaitingtobeshotthroughtheheart.Shecoveredherfacewithherhandsandsaid,“Ican’tgoonlikethis!Robert,thingshavegottochange.They’vejustgotto!”

“Trina,youknowI’mdoing thebest Ican. I’msorryabout theyard, I’msorryabout thesituation.Thisisn’tthepictureIhadformylife,either,butsometimesyouhavetosacrificeforwhat’sright.”

Mymother lookedupfromherhandsandsaid,“This isnot right forour family.Yourdaughter issufferingbecausewewon’tfixupourownyard.”

“It’snotouryard.”

“Howcanyou say that?Robert,wake up!We have lived here for twelve years. It’s not temporaryanymore!Ifweeverwanttohaveadecentplacewithourownyard,ifwe’regoingtohelpthekidsthrough college or do any of the other thingswe’ve promised each other,we’re going to have tomovehimintogovernmentcare.”

Myfatherletoutadeepsighandwhispered,“We’vediscussedthissomanytimes,Trina.IntheendyoualwaysagreethatkeepinghimatGreenhavenistherightthingtodo.”

Iwantedtosay,Wait!Whatareyoutalkingabout?Whoareyoutalkingabout?Buttheconversationwasflyingsofastandfurious thatIcouldn’tseemtobreak in,anditwasn’t longbefore theywerebickeringsobadlythatitwasalmostlikeIwasn’tthere.

Theninthebackofmymind,itclicked.Everythingclicked.Itwasmydad’sbrothertheyweretalkingabout.Myuncle.David.

TomeUncleDavidwasonlyaname.Someonemyparentshadexplainedtome,butnotsomeoneI’deveractuallymet.AndeventhoughIknewmydadvisitedhim,Ineverknewexactlywhen.Henevertalkedaboutit.

Dadalsothoughtweshouldn’ttalkaboutUncleDavidtoothersbecauseDavidwasretarded.“Peoplejumptoconclusions,”he’dtoldme.“Theyassumethat,byassociation,somethingmustalsobewrongwithyou.Trustme,Iknow.”

Sowedidn’ttalkaboutit.Notathome,notwithfriends.ItwasalmostliketherewasnoUncleDavid.

Untilnow.Nowhefeltlargerthanlife,andIcouldtellfromtheirargumentthathewasthereasonwedidn’thaveourownhouse;hewasthereasonwedidn’thavenicecarsorfancythings.Hewasthereasontherealwaysseemedtobeacloudofwearinesshangingovermyparents.

WhydidIhavetobringuptheyardinthefirstplace?I’dneverseenmyparentsfightlikethis.Ever.Iwantedtograbthemandsay,Stopit!Stopit!Youloveeachother!Youdo!ButI justsat therewithtearsstreamingdownmyface.

Mymotherstoppedsuddenlyandwhispered,“Weshouldnotbedoingthisinfrontofher!”

“I’msorry,Julianna,”mydadsaid,thenreachedoverandheldmyforearm.“Don’tcry.Noneofthisisyourfault.We’llworkitout,Ipromisewewill.”

Mymothertriedtolaughthroughhertears,saying,“Wealwayshave,andwealwayswill.”

Thatnightmyparentscameintomyroomandtalkedtome,oneatatime.Myfathertalkedabouthisbrotherandhowmuchhelovedhimandhowhe’dpromisedhisparentshe’dalwaystakecareofhim.Mymothertalkedabouthowmuchshelovedmyfatherforhisstrengthandkindheart,aboutdreamsandreality,andtheneedtocountyourblessings.Andshemademecryalloveragainwhenshekissedmegoodnightandwhisperedthatofallhermanyblessings,Iwasherbestandbrightest.

Ifeltsorryformyfather.Ifeltsorryformymother.ButmostofallIfeltluckyformethattheyweremine.

Andinthemorning,asIrodemyrustybikeoutthedrivewaytoschool,IpromisedmyselfthatwhenIgothome,I’dtackletheyard.Rentedornot,thiswasourhome,andIwasgoingtohelpmakelivingherebetter.

Asitturnsout,thiswaseasierthoughtthandone.Firstittookmehalfanhourofrummagingthroughthegaragetofindahammerandaboxofnails,asaw,andsomepruners.Thenittookanotherhalfhourofstandingaroundtofigureoutjustwheretostart.Theactualyardwasjustclumpsofweeds,but what about the bordering shrubs? Should I dig them up, or prune themway back?Were theyshrubs,orjustovergrownweeds?Andwhataboutthefence?ShouldIknockitdown,orrebuildit?MaybeIshouldtakeoutthefrontendentirelyandusethewoodtofixupthesides.

ThelongerIlookedaround,themoreIfeltlikeforgettingthewholething.Whybother?Itwasn’tourproperty.Mr.Finneganshouldbetheonemakingrepairs.

ButthenIrememberedmymother ’swordsfromthenightbefore.Surely,Ithought,afewbushesandsomedilapidatedwoodcouldn’tstopsomeone’sbestandbrightestblessing!Surelynot!

Andwiththat,Ipickeduptheclippersandgottowork.

Halfanhour later Iwaskeeperof theknowledge thatonebushequalsmanybranches,and that thevolume of a bush increases exponentially as it’s cut and tossed into the middle of a yard. It wasridiculous!WherewasIgoingtoputallthisstuff?

Momcamehomeandtriedtotalkmeoutofmymission,butI’dhavenoneofit.Oh,no-no-no!I’dalreadyprunedtwobushesdowntoarespectablesize,andbeforelongshe’dsee–theplacewasgoingtolookjustdandy.

“Youdidn’tgetthatstubbornstreakfromme,”shesaid,butcamebackoutsidewithaglassofjuiceandakissformycheek.Goodenoughforme!

By the endof that first day,what I’dmadewas a bigmess.But if chaos is a necessary step in theorganizationofone’suniverse,thenIwaswellonmyway.Atleastthat’swhatItriedtotellmyselfwhenIfloppedintobedthatnight,deadtired.

And thenextafternoonIwasbusilyexpanding thechaosofmy littleuniversewhen Iheardadeepvoicesay,“That’squiteanundertaking,younglady.”

ThemanstandingonoursidewalkwasBryce’sgrandfather,Iknewthatmuch.ButI’donlyeverseenhimoutsideonetime.AlltheothertimesI’dseenhimhadbeenthroughwindows–eitheroneintheirsitting room or one in their car. Tome hewas just a dark-hairedman behind glass. Having himappearonmysidewalkwaslikehavingsomeonefromTVstepthroughthescreenandtalktoyou.

“Iknowwe’veseeneachotherfromtimetotime,”hewassaying.“I’msorryit’stakenmeoverayeartocomeintroducemyself.I’mChesterDuncan,Bryce’sgrandfather.Andyou,ofcourse,areJuliannaBaker.”

Hestuckouthishand,soItookoffmyworkgloveandwatchedmyhandcompletelydisappearinsidehisasweshook.“Nicetomeetyou,Mr.Duncan,”Isaid,thinkingthatthismanwaswaybiggerthanhelookedfromthesitting-roomwindow.

Thenthestrangestthinghappened.Hepulledhisownworkglovesandapairofclippersfromabackpocketandsaid,“Areyoupruningallofthesetothesameheight?”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, yes. That iswhat Iwas thinking.Although now I don’t know.Do you think itwouldlookbettertojusttakethemout?”

Heshookhisheadandsaid,“They’reAustralianteashrubs.They’llpruneupnicely.”Andwiththat,heputonhisglovesandstartedclipping.

AtfirstIdidn’tknowwhattosaytothisman.Itwasverystrangetobegettinghishelp,butfromthewayhewasacting,itwasasthoughIshouldn’thavethoughtathingofit.Clip-clip-clip,hewent,likethiswassomethinghereallyenjoyeddoing.

ThenIrememberedwhatBrycehadsaidaboutouryard,andsuddenlyIknewwhyhewasthere.

“What’sthematter?”heasked,throwinghisclippingsintomypile.“DidIcutitdowntoofar?”

“N-no.”

“Thenwhythelook?”heasked.“Idon’tmeantomakeyouuncomfortable.Ijustthoughtyoumightlikealittlehelp.”

“Well,Idon’t.Icandothisbymyself.”

Helaughedandsaid,“Oh,Ihavenodoubtaboutthat,”thengotbacktoclipping.“Yousee,Julianna,Ireadaboutyouinthepaper,andI’velivedacrossthestreetfromyouforoverayearnow.It’seasytoseethatyou’reaverycompetentperson.”

Webothworkedquietlyforaminute,butIfoundmyselfthrowingtheclippingsintothepileharderandharder.AndbeforelongIcouldn’tstandit.Ijustcouldn’tstandit!Ispunonhimandsaid,“You’reherebecauseyoufeelbadabouttheeggs,aren’tyou?Well,oureggsareperfectlyfine!We’vebeeneatingthemfornearlythreeyearsandnoneofushavegottenpoisoned.Mrs.StuebyandMrs.Helmsseemingoodhealthtome,too,andthefactofthematteris,ifyoudidn’twantthem,youshould’vejusttoldmeso!”

Hishandsfelltohissidesandheshookhisheadashesaid,“Eggs?Poisoned?Julianna,Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”

InsideIwassoangryandhurtandembarrassedthatIdidn’tevenfeellikeme.“I’mtalkingabouttheeggsthatI’vebeenbringingovertoyourhouseformorethantwoyears–eggsthatmychickenslaidthatIcould’vesold!Eggsthatyourfamilyhasbeenthrowingaway!”Iwasshoutingathim.Shoutingatanadult,likeI’dnevershoutedatanyoneinmyentirelife.

Hisvoicegotveryquiet.“I’msorry.Idon’tknowaboutanyeggs.Whodidyougivethemto?”

“Bryce!”MythroatchokedclosedasIsaidhisnameagain.“Bryce.”

Mr. Duncan nodded slowly and said, “Well,” then went back to pruning his bush. “That probablyexplainsit.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Hesighed.“Theboystillhasawaystogo.”

Ijuststaredathim,nottrustingmyselfwiththewordssizzlingonmytongue.

“Oh,he’saveryhandsomeboy, there’snodenying that,”hesaidwitha frown.Thenhesnappedabranchandadded,“Thespittingimageofhisfather.”

Ishookmyhead.“Whyareyouoverhere,Mr.Duncan?Ifyoudon’tthinkIneedthehelpandyou’renotfeelingbadabouttheeggs,thenwhywouldyoudothis?”

“Honestly?”

Ijustlookedathim,straightintheeye.

Henodded,thensaid,“Becauseyouremindmeofmywife.”

“Yourwife?”

“That’sright.”Hegavemealittlesmileandsaid,“Renéewould’vesatupinthattreewithyou.Shewould’vesatthereallnight.”

Andwiththosetwosentences,myangervanished.“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“She’s…shedied?”

Henodded.“AndImissherterribly.”Hetossedabranchintotheheapandchuckled.“There’snothinglikeahead-strongwomantomakeyouhappytobealive.”

The last thing in the world I expected was to become friends with Bryce’s grandfather. But bydinnertime I knew somuch about him and his wife and the adventures they’d had together that itseemedlikeI’dknownhimforaverylongtime.Plus,allhisstoriesmadetheworkseemeasy.WhenIwent in for the night, the busheswere all pruned back, and except for the enormous heap in thecenteroftheyard,thingswerealreadylookingawholelotbetter.

Thenextdayhewasback.AndwhenIsmiledandsaid,“Hi,Mr.Duncan,”hesmiledbackandsaid,“CallmeChet,won’tyou?”Helookedatthehammerinmyhandandsaid,“Itakeitwe’restartingonthefencetoday?”

Chet taughtmehowtoplumbalinefor thepickets,howtoholdahammerdownontheendof thehandleinsteadofchokinguponit,howtocalculateanadjustedspacingforthepickets,andhowtousealeveltogetthewoodexactlyvertical.Weworkedonthefencefordays,andthewholetimeweworkedwetalked.Itwasn’tjustabouthiswife,either.HewantedtoknowaboutthesycamoretreeandseemedtounderstandexactlywhatImeantwhenItoldaboutthewholebeinggreaterthanthesumofitsparts.“It’sthatwaywithpeople,too,”hesaid,“onlywithpeopleit’ssometimesthatthewholeislessthanthesumoftheparts.”

Ithoughtthatwasprettyinteresting.AndthenextdayduringschoolIlookedaroundatthepeopleI’dknownsinceelementaryschool,tryingtofigureoutiftheyweremoreorlessthanthesumoftheirparts.Chetwasright.Alotofthemwereless.

Topofthelist,ofcourse,wasShellyStalls.Tolookather,you’dthinkshehadeverything,butthere’snotmuchsolidunderneathherMountEveresthair.Andeventhoughshe’slikeablackholeatsuckingpeople in, it doesn’t take them long to figure out that being friendswith her requires fanning theflamesofawildfireego.

Butofallmyclassmates,theonepersonIcouldn’tseemtoplacewasBryce.UntilrecentlyI’dhavesaidwithabsolutecertaintythathewasgreater—fargreater—thanthesumofhisparts.Whathedidto

myheartwassheer,inexplicablemagic.

Butinexplicablewastheoperativewordhere.AndasIlookedacrosstheroomathimduringmath,Icouldn’thelpfeelingcrushedalloveragainabouthowhe’dthrownoutmyeggs.Whatkindofpersonwoulddothat?

Thenhelookedmywayandsmiled,andmyheartlurched.ButIwasmadatmyselfforit.HowcouldIstillfeelthiswayafterwhathe’ddone?

Iavoidedhimtherestoftheday,butbytheendofschooltherewasatornadoinsideme,tearingmeupfromoneendtotheother.IjumpedonmybikeandrodehomefasterthanIeverhadbefore.Therightpedalclankedagainst thechainguard,andthewholebikerattledandsqueaked, threateningtocollapseintoapileofrustyparts.

The tornado, however, was still going strong when I skidded to a halt in our driveway. So Itransferredpedal power intopaintingpower. I priedopen thegallonofNavajoWhitemydadhadboughtmeandstartedsloppingpaintaround.

Chetappearedabouttenminuteslater.“My,”helaughed,“you’vegotanenviableamountofenergytoday,don’tyou?”

“No,”Isaid,brushingbacksomehairwiththebackofmyhand,“I’mjustmad.”

Heproducedhisownbrushandanemptycoffeecan.“Uhoh.Whoat?”

“Myself!”

“Oh,that’satoughone.Didyoudopoorlyonatest?”

“No!I…”Iturnedtohimandsaid,“Howdidyoufallinlovewithyourwife?”

HepouredsomeNavajoWhiteintohiscanandsmiled.“Ah,”hesaid.“Boyproblems.”

“Idonothaveboyproblems!”

Hehesitatedbutdidn’targue.Instead,hesaid,“Ifellinlovewithherbymistake.”

“Bymistake?Whatdoyoumean?”

“Ididn’t intend to.At the time Iwasengaged to somebodyelse, and innoposition to fall in love.FortunatelyformeIsawhowblindI’dbeenbeforeitwastoolate.”

“Blind?”

“Yes.Myfiancéewasverybeautiful.Shehadthemostmagnificentbrowneyes,andskinlikeanangel.AndforatimeallIcouldseewasherbeauty.Butthen…well,let’sjustsayIdiscoveredshewasn’tafractionof thepersonRenéewas.”Hedippedhisbrush in thecoffeecanandstrokedapicketwithpaint.“It’seasytolookbackandseeit,andit’seasytogivetheadvice,butthesadfactis,mostpeopledon’tlookbeneaththesurfaceuntilit’stoolate.”

Wewerequietaminute,butIcouldseeChetthinking.Andfromthefurrowinhisbrow,Iknewithadnothingtodowithmyproblems.“I’m…I’msorryIbroughtupyourwife,”Isaid.

“Oh,don’tbe,that’sallright.”Heshookhisheadandtriedonasmile.“Besides,Iwasn’tthinkingofRenée.Iwasthinkingofsomeoneelse.Someonewho’sneverbeenabletolookbeneaththesurface.AtthispointIdon’tsupposeIevenwantherto.”

Whowashetalkingabout?Iwantedtoknow!ButIfeltitwouldbecrossingsomelinetoask,sowepaintedpicketsinsilence.Atlastheturnedtomeandsaid,“Getbeyondhiseyesandhissmileandthesheenofhishair—lookatwhat’sreallythere.”

Thewayhesaiditsentachillthroughme.Itwasasthoughheknew.AndsuddenlyIfeltdefensive.Washetellingmehisgrandsonwasn’tworthit?

Whenitwastimetogoinfordinner,Istilldidn’tfeelright,butatleastthetornadowasgone.MomsaidDadwasworkinglate,andsincetheboyswereoffwiththeirfriends,itwasjustthetwoofus.ShetoldmethatsheandDadhadtalkedaboutitandthattheybothfeltalittlestrangehavingChetcomeoverlikehewas.Maybe,shesaid,theyshouldfindawaytopayhimforhishelp.

ItoldherIthoughtChetwouldfindthatinsulting,butthenextdayshewentaheadandinsultedhimanyway.Chetsaid,“No,Mrs.Baker.It’sbeenmypleasuretohelpoutyourdaughteronthisproject,”andwouldn’thearanotherwordaboutit.

TheweekendedwithmydadloadingthebackofhistruckwithalltheclippingsandscrapsbeforehesetoffforworkonSaturdaymorning.ThenChetandIspenttherestofthedayhoeingupweedsandrakingandreadyingthedirtforseeding.

ItwasonthislastdaythatChetasked,“Yourfamily’snotmoving,areyou?”

“Moving?Whydoyousaythat?”

“Oh,my daughter brought up the possibility at the dinner table last night. She thought thatmaybeyou’refixingupthehousebecauseyou’regettingreadytosellit.”

EventhoughChetandIhadtalkedaboutalotofthingswhilewewereworking,Iprobablywouldn’thavetoldhimaboutMr.FinneganorUncleDavidorwhytheyardwassuchamessifhehadn’taskedmeaboutmoving.Butsincehehad,well,Iwounduptellinghimeverything.Anditfeltgoodtotalkaboutit.EspeciallyaboutUncleDavid.Itfeltlikeblowingadandelionintothewindandwatchingallthelittleseedsfloatoff,upandaway.Iwasproudofmyparents,andlookingaroundthefrontyard,Iwasproudofme,too.JustwaituntilIgotmyhandsonthebackyard!ThenmaybeI’devenpaintthehouse.Icoulddoit.Icould.

Chet was pretty quiet after I told him the story, and when Mom brought us out sandwiches atlunchtime,wesatontheporchandatewithoutsayingaword.Thenhebrokethesilencebynoddingacrossthestreetandsaying,“Idon’tknowwhyhedoesn’tjustcomeoutandsayhello.”

“Who?” I asked, then looked across the street towherehe’dnodded.The curtain inBryce’s roommovedquicklybackintoplace,andIcouldn’thelpasking,“Bryce?”

“That’sthethirdtimeI’veseenhimwatching.”

“Really?”Myheartwasflutteringaboutlikeababybirdtryingtofly.

Hefrownedandsaid,“Let’sfinishupandgetthatseedsown,shallwe?You’llwantthewarmthofthedaytohelpwiththegermination.”

Iwashappytofinallybeplanting theyard,but Icouldn’thelpbeingdistractedbyBryce’swindow.Washewatching?Duringtherestoftheafternoon,IcheckedmoreoftenthanI’dliketoadmit.AndI’mafraidChetnoticed, too,becausewhenwewerealldoneandwe’dcongratulatedeachotheronwhatwassuretobeafine-lookingyard,hesaid,“Hemaybeactinglikeacowardnow,butIdoholdouthopefortheboy.”

A coward?What on earth could I say to that? I just stood therewith the hose in one hand and thespigotvalvebeneaththeother.

Andwiththat,Chetwavedsolongandwalkedacrossthestreet.

AfewminuteslaterIsawBrycecomingdownthesidewalktowardhishouse.Ididadoubletake.AllthistimeI’dthoughthewasinsidethehousewatching,andhewasreallyoutsidewalkingaround?Iwasembarrassedalloveragain.

Iturnedmybackonhimandconcentratedonwateringtheyard.WhatafoolIwas!Whatacompleteidiot!AndIhadjustbuiltupaniceheadofangrysteamwhenIheard,“It’slookinggood,Juli.Nicejob.”

ItwasBryce,standingrightthereonourdriveway.AndsuddenlyIwasn’tmadatmeanymore.Iwasmadathim.Howcouldhestandtherelikemysupervisorandtellme,Nicejob?Hehadnobusinesssayinganythingafterwhathe’ddone.

I was about to hose him downwhen he said, “I’m sorry for what I did, Juli. It was, you know…wrong.”

Ilookedathim—intothosebrilliantblueeyes.AndItriedtodowhatChethadsaid—Itriedtolookpastthem.Whatwasbehindthem?Whatwashethinking?Washereallysorry?Orwashejustfeelingbadaboutthethingshe’dsaid?

Itwaslikelookingintothesun,though,andIhadtoturnaway.

Icouldn’ttellyouwhatwetalkedaboutafterthat,exceptthathewasnicetomeandhemademelaugh.Andafterheleft,Ishutoffthewaterandwentinsidefeelingvery,verystrange.

TherestoftheeveningIbouncedbackandforthbetweenupsetanduneasy.Theworstpartbeing,Icouldn’treallyputmyfingeronwhatexactlyIwasupsetoruneasyabout.OfcourseitwasBryce,butwhywasn’tIjustmad?He’dbeensucha…scoundrel.Orhappy?Whywasn’tIjusthappy?He’dcomeovertoourhouse.He’dstoodonourdriveway.He’dsaidnicethings.We’dlaughed.

But I wasn’t mad or happy. And as I lay in bed trying to read, I realized that upset had beenovershadowedbyuneasy.Ifeltasthoughsomeonewaswatchingme.IgotsospookedIevengotup

andcheckedoutthewindowandintheclosetandunderthebed,butstillthefeelingdidn’tgoaway.

Ittookmeuntilnearlymidnighttounderstandwhatitwas.

Itwasme.Watchingme.

Bryce:LoomingLargeandSmellySundayIwokeupfeelinglikeI’dbeensickwiththeflu.LikeI’dhadoneofthosebad,convoluted,unexplainablefeverdreams.

AndwhatI’vefiguredoutaboutbad,convoluted,unexplainabledreamsofanykindisthatyou’vejustgottoshakethemoff.Trytoforgetthattheyeverhappened.

Ishookitoff,allright,andgotoutofbedearly’causeIhadeatenalmostnothingthenightbeforeandIwasstarving!ButasIwastruckingintothekitchen,Iglancedintothefamilyroomandnoticedthatmydadwassackedoutonthecouch.

Thiswasnotgood.Thiswasasignofbattlesstillinprogress,anditmademefeellikeaninvaderinmyownterritory.

Herolledoverandkindofgroaned,thencurleduptighterunderhisskinnylittlequiltandmutteredsomeprettyunfriendly-soundingstuffintohispillow.

Ibeatitintothekitchenandpouredmyselfakillerbowlofcornflakes.AndIwasabouttodrownitinmilkwhenmymothercomeswaltzinginandsnagsitawayfromme.“Youaregoingtowait,youngman,”shesays.“ThisfamilyisgoingtohaveSundaybreakfasttogether.”

“ButI’mstarving!”

“Soaretherestofus.Nowgo!I’mmakingpancakes,andyou’retakingashower.Go!”

Likeashower ’sgoingtopreventimminentstarvation.

ButIheadeddownto thebathroom,andonmywayInoticedthat thefamilyroomwasempty.Thequiltwasfoldedandbackonthearmrest,thepillowwasgone…itwaslikeI’dimaginedthewholething.

Atbreakfastmyfatherdidn’tlooklikehe’dspentthenightonthecouch.Nobagsunderhiseyes,nowhiskersonhischin.Hewasdeckedoutintennisshortsandalavenderpoloshirt,andhishairwasallblowndrylikeitwasaworkday.PersonallyIthoughttheshirtlookedkindofgirly,butmymomsaid,“Youlookverynicethismorning,Rick.”

Myfatherjusteyedhersuspiciously.

Thenmygrandfathercamein,saying,“Patsy,thehousesmellswonderful!Goodmorning,Rick.Hithere,Bryce,”andwinkedatmeashesatdownandputhisnapkininhislap.

“Lyn-et-ta!”mymothersangout.“Break-fast!”

Mysisterappeared ina triple-Xminiskirtandplatformshoes,witheyes thatweredefinitelyof theraccoonvariety.Mymother gasped, but then took a deep breath and said, “Goodmorning, honey.You’re…you’re…Ithoughtyouweregoingtochurchthismorningwithyourfriends.”

“Iam.”Lynettascowledandsatdown.

Mombroughtpancakes, friedeggs,andhashbrowns to the table.Myfather just sat therestiffasaboardforaminute,butfinallyheshookouthisnapkinandtuckeditintohiscollar.

“Well,”mymothersaidasshesatdown,“Ihavecomeupwithasolutiontooursituation.”

“Hereitcomes…,”myfathermuttered,butmymothergavehimaglarethatshuthimdowncold.

“Thesolutionis…,”mymomsaidassheservedherselfsomepancakes,“…we’regoingtoinvitetheBakersoverfordinner.”

My father blurts out,“What?”; Lynetta asks, “All of them?”; I put in, “Are you serious?”; butmygrandfatherheapsonanotherfriedeggandsays,“That,Patsy,isamarvelousidea.”

“Thanks,Dad,”shesayswithasmile,thentellsLynettaandme,“OfcourseI’mserious,andyes,ifJuliandtheboyswanttocome,they’llbeinvited.”

Mysisterstartscrackingup.“Doyouknowwhatyou’resaying?”

Momsmoothsthenapkinintoherlap.“Maybeit’sabouttimeIfoundout.”

Lynetta turns to me and says, “She’s inviting the core of Piss Poor over for dinner – oh, this issomethingIreallywokeupexpecting!”

My father shakes his head and says, “Patsy,what purpose does this serve?So Imade some stupidcrackslastnight.Isthisthenextphaseinmypunishment?”

“Itissomethingweshouldhavedoneyearsago.”

“Patsy,please.Iknowyoufeelbadaboutwhatyoufoundout,butanawkwarddinnerpartyisn’tgoingtochangeanything!”

Mymotherransyrupalloverherpancakes,poppedthetopclosed,lickedherfinger,thenlockedeyeswithmydad.“WearehavingtheBakersoverfordinner.”

Andthat,shedidn’thavetotellhim,wasthat.

Dadtookadeepbreath,thensighedandsaid,“Whateveryouwant,Patsy.Justdon’tsayIdidn’twarnyou.”Hetookabiteofhashbrownsandmumbled,“Abarbecue,Isuppose?”

“No,Rick.Asit-downdinner.Likewehavewhenyourclientscomeover.”

Hestoppedchewing.“You’reexpectingthemtodressup?”

Momglaredathim.“WhatI’mexpectingisforyoutobehavelikethegentlemanIalwaysthoughtyouwere.”

Dadwentbacktohispotatoes.DefinitelysaferthanarguingwithMom.

Lynettawoundupeatingtheentirewhiteofafriedeggandalmostawholepancakebesides.Plain,ofcourse,butfromthewayshewasgluttingandgigglingassheate,itwasobviousthatatleastshewasinagoodmood.

Granddadateplenty,evenforhim,butIcouldn’ttellwhathewasthinking.Hewasbacktolookingmore granite than human.Me, I’d started tuning in to the fact that this dinner could bemore thanawkward – it could be trouble. Those rotten eggs were back from the grave, looming large andsmellyrightovermyhead.

Sure,Granddadknew,butnooneelse inmyfamilydid.What if itcameupatdinner?I’dbedead,fried,cluck-facedmeat.

Later, as Iwas brushingmy teeth, I considered bribing Juli.Getting her on board so that nobodybroughtupthesubjectofeggs.OrmaybeIcouldsabotagethedinnersomehow.Makeitnothappen.Yeah,Icould–Istoppedmyselfandlookedinthemirror.WhatkindofwimpwasI,anyway?Ispitandheadedbacktofindmymom.

“Whatisit,honey?”sheaskedmeasshewipedoffthegriddle.“Youlookworried.”

Idouble-checkedtomakesuremydadorLynettawasn’tlurkingaroundsomewhere,thenwhispered,“Willyousweartosecrecy?”

Shelaughed.“Idon’tknowaboutthat.”

Ijustwaited.

“Whatcanbe…,”shesaid,thenlookedatmeandstoppedcleaning.“Oh,itisserious.Honey,what’swrong?”

It had been ages since I’d voluntarily fessed up about something to mymom. It just didn’t seemnecessaryanymore;I’dlearnedtodealwiththingsonmyown.Atleast,that’swhatI’dthought.Untilnow.

Shetouchedmyarmandsaid,“Bryce,tellme.Whatisit?”

Ihoppeduptositonthecounter,thentookadeepbreathandsaid,“It’saboutJuli’seggs.”

“Abouther…eggs?”

“Yeah.Rememberthatwholechicken-hen-salmonelladisaster?”

“Thatwasquiteawhileago,butsure….”

“Well,what youdon’t know is that Juli didn’t bring eggs over just that once. She’s been bringingthemovereveryweek…oraboutthat,anyway.”

“Shehas?Whydidn’tIknowaboutthis?”

“Well, Iwas afraidDadwouldgetmad atme for not tellingherwedidn’twant them, so I startedinterceptingthem.I’dseehercoming,gettoherbeforesherangthebell,andthenI’dtosstheminthetrashbeforeanyoneknewshe’dbeenhere.”

“Oh,Bryce!”

“Well,Ikeptthinkingthey’dstop!Howlongcanastupidchickenlayeggs?”

“ButItakeittheyhavestopped?”

“Yeah.Asoflastweek.BecauseJulicaughtmechuckingacartoninthetrashoutside.”

“Oh,dear.”

“Exactly.”

“Sowhatdidyoutellher?”

I lookeddownandmumbled,“I toldher thatwewereafraidofsalmonellapoisoningbecausetheiryardwas such amess. She ran off crying, and the next thing I know, she’s starting to fix up theiryard.”

“Oh,Bryce!”

“Exactly.”

Shewasdeadquiet foraminute; thenverysoftly shesaid,“Thankyou foryourhonesty,Bryce. Itdoeshelptoexplainalot.”Sheshookherheadandsaid,“Whatthatfamilymustthinkofus,”andgotbacktocleaningthegriddle.“Allthemorereasontohavethemoverfordinner,ifyouaskme.”

Iwhispered,“You’resworntosecrecyonthiswholeeggthing,right?Imean,JulitoldGranddad,soheknows,butIdon’twantthistospreadto,youknow,Dad.”

Shestudiedmeaminute,thensaid,“Tellmeyou’velearnedyourlesson,honey.”

“Ihave,Mom.”

“Okay,then.”

Iletoutabigsighofrelief.“Thanks.”

“Oh,andBryce?”

“Yeah?”

“I’mverygladyoutoldmeaboutit.”Shekissedmeonthecheek,thensmiledandsaid,“Now,didn’tIhearyoupromiseyou’dmowthelawntoday?”

“Right,”Isaid,andheadedoutsidetotrimtheturf.

ThateveningmymotherannouncedthattheBakerswouldbeoverFridaynightatsixo’clock;thatthemenuincludedpoachedsalmon,crabrisotto,andfreshsteamedvegetables;andthatnoneofushadbetterweaseloutofbeingthere.Mydadmutteredthatifwewerereallygoingtodothis,itwouldbeawhole lot better to barbecue because at least that way he’d have something to do, but my mompositivelysmokedhimwithhereyesandhedroppedit.

So.Theywerecoming.AnditmadeseeingJuliatschoolevenmoreuncomfortablethanusual.Notbecauseshegushedaboutitorevenwavedandwinkedorsomething.No,shewasbacktoavoidingme. She’d say hi if we happened to run into each other, but instead of being, like, right overmyshoulder anytime I looked, she was nowhere. She must have ducked out back doors and takenroundaboutwaysthroughcampus.Shewas,Idon’tknow,scarce.

I foundmyself looking at her in class.The teacher ’d be talking and all eyeswould be up front…except mine. They kept wandering over to Juli. It was weird. One minute I’d be listening to theteacher,andthenextI’dbecompletelytunedout,lookingatJuli.

It wasn’t untilWednesday in math that I figured it out.With the way her hair fell back over hershouldersandherheadwastilted,shelookedlikethepictureinthepaper.Notjustlikeit–theanglewasdifferent,andthewindwasn’tblowingthroughherhair–butshedidlooklikethepicture.Alotlikethepicture.

Makingthatconnectionsentachilldownmyspine.AndIwondered–whatwasshethinking?Couldshereallybethatinterestedinrootderivations?

DarlaTresslercaughtmewatching,andman,shegavemetheworld’swickedestsmile.IfIdidn’tdosomethingfast,thiswasgoingtospreadlikewildfire,soIsquintedatherandwhispered,“There’sabeeinherhair,stupid,”thenpointedaroundintheairlike,Thereitgoes,see?

Darla’sneckwhippedaroundsearchingforthebee,andIstraightenedoutmyfocusfortherestoftheday.ThelastthingIneededwastobescorchedbythelikesofDarlaTressler.

ThatnightIwasdoingmyhomework,andjusttoprovetomyselfthatI’dbeenwrong,Ipulledthatnewspaperarticleoutofmytrashcan.AndasI’mflippingitover,I’mtellingmyself,It’sadistortionofreality;it’smyimagination;shedoesn’treallylooklikethat….

But there she was. The girl in my math class, two rows over and one seat up, glowing throughnewsprint.

Lynettabargedin.“Ineedyoursharpener,”shesaid.

Islammedmybinderclosedover thepaperandsaid,“You’resupposed toknock!”Andthen,sinceshewaszoominginandthepaperwasstillstickingout,IcrammedthebinderintomybackpackasfastasIcould.

“Whatareyoutryingtohidethere,babybrother?”

“Nothing,andstopcallingmethat!Anddon’tbargeintomyroomanymore!”

“GivemeyoursharpenerandI’mhistory,”shesaidwithherhandout.

Idugitoutofmydrawerandtosseditather,andsureenough,shedisappeared.

Buttwosecondslatermymomwascallingforme,andafterthat,well,Iforgotthatthepaperwasinmybinder.

Untilfirstperiodthenextmorning,thatis.Man!WhatwasIsupposedtodowithit?Icouldn’tgetupandthrowitout;Garrettwasrightthere.Besidesthat,DarlaTressler ’sinthatclass,andIcouldtell–shewaskeepinganeyeoutforwaywardbees.Ifshecaughtwindofthis,I’dbetheonestung.

ThenGarrett reachesover tosnagapieceofpaper likehedoesabout fourteen timesaday,only Ihaveacompletementalspazandslamdownonhishandwithmine.

“Dude!”hesays.“What’syourproblem?”

“Sorry,”Isay,tuningintothefactthathewasonlygoingforlinedpaper,notnewspaper.

“Dude,”hesaysagain.“Youknowyou’vebeenreallyspacedlately?Anyoneelsetellyouthat?”Herips a piece of paper out ofmy binder, then notices the edges of the newspaper.He eyesme, andbeforeIcanstophim,hewhipsitout.

Ipounceonhimandtearitoutofhishands,butit’stoolate.He’sseenherpicture.

Beforehecansayaword,Igetinhisfaceandsay,“Youshutup,youhearme?Thisisnotwhatyouthink.”

“Whoa,kickback,willya? Iwasn’t thinkinganything….”But I could see the littlegearsgoclick-click-clickinhisbrain.Thenhesmirksatmeandsays,“I’msureyou’vegotaperfectlyreasonableexplanationforwhyyou’recarryingapictureofJuliBakeraroundwithyou.”

Thewayhesaiditscaredme.Likehewasplayingwiththeideaofroastingmeinfrontofthewholeclass.Ileanedoverandsaid,“Zipit,wouldyou?”

Theteacherhammeredonustobequiet,butitdidn’tstopGarrettfromsmirkingatmeordoingthedouble-eyebrow wiggle in the direction of my binder. After class Darla tried to act all cool andpreoccupied,butshehadherradarupandpointedourway.Sheshadowedmepracticallyallday,sotherewasnorealwindowofopportunitytoexplainthingstoGarrett.

WhatwasIgoingtotellhim,anyway?ThatthepaperwasinmybinderbecauseIwastryingtohideitfrommysister?Thatwouldhelp.

Besides,Ididn’twanttomakeupsomelamelieaboutit.IactuallywantedtotalktoGarrett.Imean,hewasmy friend, anda lothadhappened in the last coupleofmonths thatwasweighingonme. IthoughtthatifItalkedtohim,maybehe’dhelpgetmebackontrack.Helpmetostopthinkingabouteverything.Garrettwasrealreliableinthatarena.

Luckily,insocialstudiesourclassgotlibrarytimetodoresearchforourfamoushistoricalfigurereport.DarlaandJuliwerebothinthatclass,butImanagedtodragGarrettintoabackcornerofthe

librarywithouteitherofthemnoticing.Andtheminutewewerebyourselves,IfoundmyselflayingintoGarrettaboutchickens.

Heshakeshisheadatmeandsays,“Dude!Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Rememberwhenwewentandlookedoverherfence?”

“Backinthesixthgrade?”

“Yeah.Rememberhowyouweredownonmeforwonderingwhatahenwas?”

Herolledhiseyes.“Notthisagain….”

“Man,youdidn’tknowjack-diddly-squataboutchickens.Iputmylifeinyourhandsandyoudumpedmeinabucketofbull.”

So I told him aboutmy dad and the eggs and salmonella and how I’d been intercepting eggs fornearlytwoyears.

Hejustshruggedandsaid,“Makessensetome.”

“Man,shecaughtme!”

“Who?”

“Juli!”

“Whoa,dude!”

ItoldhimaboutwhatI’dsaid,andhowalmostrightafterthatshewasoutplayingweedwarriorinherfrontyard.

“Well,so?It’snotyourfaultheryard’samess.”

“ButthenIfoundoutthat theydon’tevenownthathouse.They’reallpoorbecauseherdad’sgotaretardedbrotherthatthey’re,youknow,payingfor.”

Garrettgivesmearealchumpygrinandsays,“Aretard?Well,thatexplainsalot,doesn’tit?”

Icouldn’tbelievemyears.“What?”

“Youknow,”hesays,stillgrinning,“aboutJuli.”

Myheartstartedpoundingandmyhandsclenchedup.AndforthefirsttimesinceI’dlearnedtodiveawayfromtrouble,Iwantedtodecksomebody.

Butwewereinthelibrary.Andbesides,itflashedthroughmymindthatifIdeckedhimforwhathe’dsaid,he’dturnaroundandtelleveryonethatIwashotforJuliBaker,andIwasnothotforJuliBaker!

SoImademyselflaughandsay,“Oh,right,”andthencameupwithanexcusetoputsomedistancebetweenhimandme.

AfterschoolGarrettaskedmetocometohishouseandhangforawhile,butIhadzerointerestinthat.Istillwantedtoslughim.

Itriedtotalkmyselfdownfromfeelingthatway,butinmygutIwasflamingmadattheguy.He’dcrossedtheline,man.He’dcrosseditbig-time.

Andwhatmadethewholethingsostinkinghardtoignorewasthefactthatstandingrightnexttohim,ontheothersideoftheline,wasmyfather.

Juli:TheVisitSundaymorningsarepeacefulinourhouse.Myfatherletshimselfsleepin.Mymotherletsherselfnotfixbreakfast.Andifmybrothershavebeenoutlateplayingwiththeirband,youwon’tevenknowthey’rearounduntilnoon.

UsuallyItiptoeouttocollecteggswhileeveryoneelseisasleep,thenspiritabowlofCheeriosbacktomyroomtohavebreakfastinbedandread.

ButthatSunday—afterspendingmostofthenightfeelingupsetoruneasy—Iwokeupwantingtodosomethingphysical.ToshakeofftheconfusedwayIwasstillfeeling.

WhatIreallyneededwasagoodclimbinmysycamoretree,butIsettledforwateringthelawnwhileI tried to thinkof other things. I crankedopen the spigot and admiredhow rich andblack the dirtlookedasIsprinkledbackandforthacrossthesoil.AndIwasbusytalkingtomyburiedseedlings,coaxingthemtospringupandgreettherisingsun,whenmyfathercameoutside.Hishairwasdampfromashower,andhehadagrocerysackrolledclosedinhishand.“Dad!I’msorryifIwokeyou.”

“Youdidn’t,sweetheart.I’vebeenupforawhile.”

“You’renotgoingtowork,areyou?”

“No,I…”Hestudiedmeforamoment,thensaid,“I’mgoingtovisitDavid.”

“UncleDavid?”

Hewalkedtowardhistruck,saying,“That’sright.I…Ishouldbebackaroundnoon.”

“ButDad,whytoday?It’sSunday.”

“Iknow,sweetheart,butit’saspecialSunday.”

Iturnedoffthespigot.“Why’sthat?”

“It’shisfortiethbirthday.Iwanttoseehimanddeliveragift,”hesaidasheheldupthepaperbag.“Don’tworry.I’llrustleusupsomepancakesforlunch,allright?”

“I’mcomingwithyou,”Isaid,andtossedthehoseaside.Iwasn’tevenreallydressed—I’djustpulledonsomesweatsandsneakers,nosocks—butinmymindtherewasnodoubt.Iwasgoing.

“Whydon’tyoustayhomeandenjoythemorningwithyourmother?I’msureshewould—”

I went over to the passenger side of his truck and said, “I’m coming,” then climbed inside andslammedthedoorbackinplace.

“But—”hesaidthroughthedriver ’sdoor.

“I’mcoming,Dad.”

Hestudiedmeamoment,thensaid,“Okay,”andputthebagonthebenchseat.“Letmeleaveanoteforyourmother.”

Whilehewasinside,Istrappedonthelapbeltandtoldmyselfthatthiswasgood.ThiswassomethingIshould’vedoneyearsago.UncleDavidwaspartofthefamily,partofmyfather,partofme.ItwasabouttimeIgottoknowhim.

Istudiedthepapersacksittingnexttome.Whatwasmyfatherbringinghisbrotherforhisfortiethbirthday?

I picked it up. Itwasn’t a painting—itwasmuch too light for that. Plus, itmade a strange,mutedrattlingnoisewhenIshookit.

I was just unrolling the top to peek inside when my father came back through the front door. Idroppedthesackandstraightenedup,andwhenheslidbehindthewheel,Isaid,“It’sokaywithyou,isn’tit?”

Hejustlookedatme,hishandonthekeyintheignition.

“I…I’mnotruiningyourdaywithhimoranything,amI?”

Hecrankedthemotorandsaid,“No,sweetheart.I’mgladyou’recoming.”

Wedidn’tsaymuchtoeachotheronthedriveovertoGreenhaven.HeseemedtowanttolookatthesceneryandI,well,Ihadalotofquestions,butnoneIwantedtoask.Itwasnice,though,ridingwithmyfather.Itwaslikethesilenceconnectedusinawaythatexplanationsnevercould.

WhenwearrivedatGreenhaven,myfatherparkedthetruck,butwedidn’tgetoutrightaway.“Ittakessomegettingusedto,Julianna,butitdoesgrowonyou.Theygrowonyou.They’reallgoodpeople.”

Inodded,butfeltoddlyafraid.

“Comeon,then,”hesaid,takingthesackfromtheseat.“Let’sgoinside.”

Greenhavendidn’tlooklikeanykindofhospitaltome,butitdidn’tlookquitelikeahouse,either.Itwas too longand rectangular for that.Thewalkwayhada fadedgreenawning that covered it, andflowerbedsalongsidewithfreshlyplantedpansiesthatlookedmuddiedandslightlyaskew.Thegrasswaspatchy,withthreedeepholesdugnearthebuilding.

“The residents tend thegrounds,”my father said.“It’spartof theiroccupational trainingprogram,andit’stherapeutic.ThoseholesarethefuturehomesofPeach,Plum,andPear.”

“Fruittrees?”

“Yes.Thevotecausedquiteacommotion.”

“Amongthe…residents?”

“That’sright.”Heswungopenoneoftheglassdoubledoorsandsaid,“Comeonin.”

It was cool inside. And it smelled of pine cleaner and bleach, with something vaguely pungentunderneath.

Therewasn’tareceptiondeskorwaitingarea,justalargeintersectionwithwhitewallsandnarrowwoodenbenches.Totheleftwasabigroomwithatelevisionandseveralrowsofplasticchairs,totherightwereopenofficedoors,andbesideusweretwopinearmoires.Onewasopen,withhalfadozengraysweatershungneatlyinarow.

“Goodmorning,Robert!”awomancalledthroughoneoftheofficedoors.

“Goodmorning,Josie,”myfatherreplied.

Shecameouttomeetus,saying,“David’supandabout.Hasbeensincearoundsix.Mabeltellsmeit’shisbirthdaytoday.”

“Mabelisrightagain.”Heturnedtomeandsmiled.“Josie,it’smypleasuretointroducemydaughter,Julianna.Julianna,meetJosieGruenmakker.”

“Wellnow,isn’tthisnice,”Josiesaid,claspingmyhand.“IrecognizeyoufromDavid’sphotoalbum.You’regettin’readytograduateintohighschool,isn’tthatright?”

Iblinkedather,thenlookedatmydad.I’dneverreallythoughtofitthatway,butIcouldseethathehad.“Yes,I…IsupposeIam.”

“Josie’sthesiteadministrator.”

“And,”Josieaddedwithalaugh,“I’mnotgraduatin’tonowhere!Beenhereseventeenyears,andI’mstayingput.”Thephonerangandshehurriedoff,saying,“Gottagetthat.I’llmeetupwithyouinabit.Checktherecroom,thenhisroom.You’llfindhim.”

Mydadledmearoundacorner,andasweproceededdownahallway,theunderlyingpungentpartofthesmellgotstronger.LiketheplacehadhadyearsofMysteryPissers,withnoonequiteneutralizingwhathadbeentagged.

Downthehallwasasmallpersonhunchedinawheel-chair.AtfirstIthoughtitwasachild,butasweapproached,Icouldseeitwasawoman.Shehadalmostnohair,andasshegavemydadatoothlesssmile,shegrabbedhishandandspoke.

Myheartbottomedout.Thesoundsshemadewerechokedandlostonhertongue.Nothingshesaidwasintelligible,yetshelookedatmyfatherwithsuchintensity—likeofcourseheunderstoodwhatshewassaying.

Tomy complete surprise, he said, “You’re absolutely right,Mabel. It is today.Which iswhy I’mhere.”Heheldupthegrocerysackandwhispered,“I’vebroughthimalittlegift.”

“Gwa-aaal,”shesaid.“How’dyouknow?”

Shegurgledathimuntilhepattedherhandandsaid,“I’mmuchtoopredictable,I’mafraid.Butheenjoysthem,and…”Henoticedhergazeshiftinmydirection.

“Hoohaa,”shesaid.

“Thisismydaughter,Julianna.Julianna,I’dlikeyoutomeettheextraordinaryMissMabel.Shecanremembereveryone’sbirthday,andshehasarealpassionforstrawberrymilkshakes.”

Imanagedasmileandwhispered,“Nicetomeetyou,”butallIgotinreturnwasasuspiciousscowl.

“Well,we’reofftoDavid’s,”myfathersaid,thenshookthebag.“Don’tspillthebeansifhehappensby.”

Ifollowedhimtoabedroomdoorway,wherehestoppedandcalled,“David?David,it’sRobert.”

Amanappearedat thedoor.Aman Iwouldneverhavepickedout asmy father ’sbrother.Hewasstocky,withthickbrownglasses,andhisfacelookedpuffyandpale.Buthethrewhisarmsaroundmyfather ’schestandcried,“Wobbad!Yawheew!”

“Yes,Iam,littlebrother.”

Ifollowedtheminto theroomandsawthat thewallswerecoveredinacollageofpuzzles.They’dbeen glued directly to the walls and even up on the ceiling! It was cozy and comfortable, andinteresting.IfeltasthoughI’denteredaquiltedcave.

Myfatherheldhisbrotheratarm’slengthandsaid,“AndlookwhoI’vebroughtalong!”

For a split second David looked almost frightened, but then my father said, “It’s my daughter,Julianna.”

David’sfacebrokeintoasmile.“Ju-weee-an-na!”hecried,thenpracticallytackledmewithahug.

IthoughtIwasgoingtosuffocate.Myfacewasburiedashesqueezedtheairoutofmeandrockedfromsidetoside.Thenwithagiggleheletgoandfloppedintoachair.“Ismooybwuf-day!”

“Iknow,UncleDavid.Happybirthday!”

Hegiggledagain.“Fwankeoow!”

“Webroughtyouapresent,”mydadsaidasheopenedthepapersack.

Beforehehaditout,beforeIsawtheactualsize,IrememberedthesoundithadmadewhenI’dshakenitinthetruck.Ofcourse!Ithought.Apuzzle.

UncleDavidguessedit,too.“Apuwwwle?”

“Notjustapuzzle,”mydadsaidashepulleditoutofthesack.“Apuzzleandapinwheel.”

Dadhadwrappedthepuzzleboxupinprettybluepaperandhadtapedthered-and-yellowpinwheelonasabow.UncleDavidsnatched thepinwheel rightoffandblew.Firstgently, thenfiercely, ingreatspittybursts.“Ownge!”hecriedbetweenblows.“Ownge!”

VerygentlyDadtookitfromhimandsmiled.“Redandyellowdomakeorange,don’tthey?”Davidtriedtograbitback,butmyfathersaid,“We’lltakeitoutsidelater.Thewindwillblowitforyou,”andpressedthepuzzlebackinhishands.

Asthewrappingpaperfellinshredsonthefloor,Ileanedintoseewhatsortofpuzzlemyfatherhadboughthimandgasped.Threethousandpieces!Andtheimagewassimplywhitecloudsandbluesky.Noshading,notrees—nothingbutthecloudsandthesky.

Myfatherpointedtoaspotinthecenteroftheceiling.“Ithoughtitwouldfitjustrightoverthere.”

UncleDavidlookedupandnodded,thenlungedforhispinwheelandsaid,“Owsiiide?”

“Sure.Let’sgooutforawalk.FeellikegoingdowntoMcElliot’sforabirthdayicecream?”

UncleDavid’sheadbobbedupanddown.“Yaaah!”

Wecheckedout throughJosie, thenheadeddown the street.Davidcan’twalkvery fastbecausehisbodyseemstowanttomoveinwardinsteadofforward.Hisfeetpigeon-toeandhisshouldershunchin,andheseemedtoleanonmyfatherprettyheavilyaswemovedalong.

Buthekeptthatpinwheelinfrontofhim,watchingitspin,cryingeverynowandthen,“Owwwange,owwwange!”

McElliot’sturnedouttobeadrugstorewithanicecreamparlorinside.Therewasared-and-white-stripedawningovertheicecreamcounter,andtherewerelittlewhitetablesandchairssetinanareawith red-and-white-striped wallpaper. It was very festive-looking, especially for being inside adrugstore.

Dadgotusallcones,andonceweweresittingdown,DadandDaviddidtalktoeachothersome,butmostlyDavidwantedtoeathischocolatefudgeswirl.Myfathersmiledatmefromtimetotime,andIsmiledback,butIfeltdisconnected.Howmanytimeshadthetwoofthemcomehereforicecream?Howmanybirthdayshadmy father celebratedwithhis brother like this?How longhadheknownMabelandJosieandtherestofthepeopleatGreenhaven?Howcoulditbethatinalltheseyears,I’dneverspentanytimewithmyuncle?Itwaslikemyfatherhadasecretlifeawayfromme.Acompletefamilyawayfromme.

Ididn’tlikeit.Didn’tunderstandit.AndIwasgettingmyselfprettyworkedupaboutitwhenDavid’sconecrushedinhisgrip,causinghisicecreamtoflopontothetable.

Beforemydadcouldstophim,Davidpickeduptheicecreamandtriedtocramitbackontothecone.Buttheconewasshatteredandtheicecreamfelloveragain,onlythistimeitlandedonthefloor.

Mydadsaid,“Leaveit,David.I’llgetyouanewone,”butDaviddidn’tlisten.Hischairshotbackandhedoveafterit.

“No,David!Letmegetyouanewone.”Mydadpulledhimbythearm,butDavidwouldn’tbudge.Hegrabbedtheicecreamandcrammeditbackontowhatwasleftofhiscone,andwhenthebottompartofhisconecrumbledcompletelyaway,hestartedscreaming.

Itwasawful.Hewaslikeatwo-hundred-poundinfant,throwingatantrumonthefloor.HewasyellingwordsIcouldn’tunderstand,andafteraminuteoftryingtocalmhimdown,myfathersaid,“Julianna,canyougethimanothercone?”

Themanbehindthecounterscoopedasfastashecould,butinthatshorttimeDavidknockedoveratableandtwochairswithhisflailingandmanagedtosmearchocolateeverywhere.Thecheckersandcustomersat the registers seemed frozenwith terror—likeDavidwas somesortofmonsterout todestroytheworld.

Igavethenewconetomyfather,whohandedittoDavid,rightthereonthefloor.AndwhileDavidsatthereeatingit,myfatherandIworkedaroundhim,puttingeverythingbackinorderandwipingupthemess.

OnthewalkbacktoGreenhaven,Davidactedlikenothinghadhappened.Hespurtedintohispinwheelandcried,“Owwwange!”fromtimetotime,butwhenmydadheldopenthefrontdoor,IcouldtellthatDavidwastired.

DowninhisroomDavidplacedthepinwheelonhisbedandpickedupthepuzzlebox.“Whydon’tyoutakearestbeforeyougetstartedonit?”mydadasked.

Davidshookhishead.“Naaow.”

“Okay,then.Letmehelpyousetitup.”

Myfatherpulledacard table frombeneath thebed, thenswung the legsoutandsnapped themintoplace.Afterhehaditshovedupagainstthewallnearthebed,hemovedachairclosetoitandsaid,“Thereyouare.Allsetup.”

Davidhadtheboxopenandwasalreadysiftingthroughthepieces.“Aaaasagouwwwone,Wobbad.”

“I’mgladyoulikeit.YouthinkyoumighthaveitdonebyWednesday?Icancomebackandglueitontheceilingforyouthenifyou’dlike.”

Davidnodded,buthewasalreadyintentonthepuzzle,carefullylayingpiecesonthetable.Myfatherputhishandonhisshoulderandsaid,“I’llseeyouWednesdaythen,okay?”

Henodded.

“Willyousaygood-byetoJulianna?”

“Baaawye,”hesaid,buthedidn’tlookupfromhisboxofpieces.

“Seeyoulater,UncleDavid.”Itriedtosoundcheerful,butIdidn’tfeelthatway.

Whenwegotbackintothetruck,mydadclickedonhisseatbeltandsaid,“So.”

Ijustlookedathimandtriedtosmile.

“AreyouasexhaustedasIam?”hesaid.

Inodded.“Everythingwasfine—exceptfortheicecream.”

Dadchuckled.“Exceptfortheicecream.”Thenheturnedserious.“Thetroubleis,youneverknowwhat‘theicecream’isgoingtobe.Sometimesit’saflyintheroom.Sometimesit’sthefeelofhissocks.It’shardtopredicteverything.Usuallygettingicecreamissafe.”Heshookhisheadandclosedhiseyes,thinkingthingsIcouldn’timagine.Finallyheturnedtheignitionandsaid,“Davidlivedwithyourmotherandmeforawhile.Beforeyoukidswereborn.Wethoughtitwouldbebetterforhimtolivewithusthantobeinahome,butwewerewrong.”

“Butoverall,everythingwentokaytoday….”

He ground the gearshift into reverse. “David has many,many special needs, both emotional andphysical.YourmomandIcouldn’thandlethemall.Fortunatelyhe’shappyhere.Theyhaveprogramstoteachhimhowtocareforhimself–howtodressandbatheandbrushhisteeth,howtoactaroundothers and communicate. They go on outings, and he has a job doing mailings for a doctor ’soffice….”

“Hedoes?”

“He goes there everymorning during theweek to foldmailings and fill envelopes.Greenhaven’sbeensogoodforhim.Hegetsanincredibleamountofindividualizedattention.Hehashisownroom,hisownfriends,hisownlife.”

AfteraminuteIsaid,“Buthe’spartofthefamily,Dad.Anditjustdoesn’tseemrightthathe’sneverbeenoverforavisit.NotevenonChristmasorThanksgiving!”

“Hedoesn’twantto,sweetheart.OneyearyourmotherandIinsistedhespendThanksgivingwithus,anditwasthebiggestdisasteryoucanimagine.Hebrokeawindowoutofthecar,hewasthatupset.”

“But…whyhaven’twebeenvisitinghim?Iknowyouhave,buttherestofus.Whynot?”

“Well,it’sdraining.Yourmotherfindsitincrediblydepressing,andIunderstandthat.Webothagreedthatitwasnoplacetotakesmallchildren.”Heacceleratedontothehighway,silentbehindthewheel.Finallyhesaid,“Theyearsjustseemtoslipaway,Julianna.Onedayyouhaveababyinyourarms,andthenextyourealizeshe’sverynearlyawoman.”Hesmiledatmesadly.“IloveDavid,butheisaburden,andIguessIwantedtoprotectyoufromthat.ButIrealizenowthatallofthishasaffectedyouandthefamily.”

“ButDad,it’snot—”

“Julianna,whatI’mtryingtotellyouisI’msorry.TherewassomuchIwantedtogiveyou.Allofyou.IguessIdidn’tseeuntilrecentlyhowlittleI’veactuallyprovided.”

“That’snottrue!”

“Well,Ithinkyouknowmyheart’sbeenintherightplace,butifyoulineitupobjectively,amanlike,say,Mr.Loski addsup to amuchbetter husband and father than aman likemedoes.He’s aroundmore,heprovidesmore,andhe’sprobablyalotmorefun.”

Mydadwasn’tonetogofishingforcomplimentsorsignsofappreciation,butstill,Icouldn’tquitebelieveheactuallythoughtthat.“Dad,Idon’tcarehowitlooksonpaper,Ithinkyou’rethebestdadever!AndwhenImarrysomebodysomeday,Isuredon’twanthimtobelikeMr.Loski!Iwanthimtobelikeyou.”

He lookedatme likehecouldn’tquitebelievehisears.“Is that so,”hesaidwithagrin.“Well, I’llremindyouofthatasyoursomedayapproaches.”

Thatturnedtherestofthetriparound.Welaughedandjokedandtalkedaboutallkindsofthings,butaswenearedhome,therewasonethingtheconversationkeptturningbackto.

Pancakes.

My mother, though, had other plans. She’d spent the morning scrubbing floors and nixed thepancakes. “Ineed somethingwithmore stayingpower.Likegrilledham-and-cheese.Withonions,”shesaid.“Lotsofonions!”

“Scrubbingfloors?”mydadsaid.“It’sSunday,Trina.Whywereyouscrubbingfloors?”

“Nervousenergy.”Shelookedatme.“How’ditgo?”

“Okay.I’mgladIwent.”

Sheglancedatmydadandthenatme.“Well,good,”shesighed,thensaid,“IalsofeltlikescrubbingbecauseIgotacallfromPatsy.”

“Loski?”mydadasked.“Issomethingwrong?”

Mymotherpushedafewwispsofhairbackandsaid,“No….ShecalledtoinviteusoverfordinneronFriday.”

Weblinkedatheramoment;thenIasked,“Allofus?”

“Yes.”

I could seewhatmy dadwas thinking:Why?All these years of living across the street, andwe’dneverbeeninvitedover.Whynow?

Mymom could see it, too. She sighed and said, “Robert, I don’t exactly know why, but she wasinsistent.Shewaspracticallyintears,sayinghowsorryshewasthatshe’dneverinvitedusbeforeandhowshe’dreallyliketogettoknowusbetter.”

“Whatdidyoutellher?”

“Icouldn’tverywellsayno.Shewasbeingsonice,andChethasreallydonealot….”Sheshruggedandsaid,“Isaidwe’dgo.It’ssetforsixo’clockFridaynight.”

“Really?”Iasked.

Sheshruggedagain.“Ithinkitmightbenice.Alittlestrange,butnice.”

“Well,okaythen,”mydadsaid.“Iwon’tscheduleanyovertimeforFriday.Whatabouttheboys?”

“There’snogigonthecalendar,andthey’renotscheduledtowork,butIhaven’ttalkedtothemaboutityet.”

“Areyousuretheywantusalloverthere?”mydadasked.

Mymomnodded.“Sheinsists.”

IcouldtellthewholeideaofdinnerattheLoskis’wasmakingmydadprettyuncomfortable,butwecouldbothseethatsomethingaboutthisinvitationmeantalottomymother.“Allrightthen,”hesaid,andgottoworkslicingcheeseandonions.

Fortherestoftheafternoon,Isortoflazedaround,readinganddaydreaming.Andatschoolthenextday, I couldn’t seem to concentrate.My thoughts kept turning back toDavid. Iwonderedwhatmygrandparentshadbeenlike,andwhatthey’dgonethrough,havingasonlikehim.

Idaydreameda lotabout thesycamore tree, too,whichat first I thoughtwasbecause Iwas feelingmelancholy. But then I remembered how my mother had called the sycamore a testimony toendurance. It had survived being damaged as a sapling. It had grown.Other people thought itwasugly,butIneverhad.

Maybeitwasallhowyoulookedatit.MaybetherewerethingsIsawasuglythatotherpeoplethoughtwerebeautiful.

LikeShellyStalls.Aperfectexample!Tometherewasabsolutelynothingtorecommendher,buttherestoftheworldseemedtothinkshewasthecat’smeow.

Me-ow.

Anyway,Isortofdriftedthroughtheweeklikethat.UntilThursday.Thursdayoursocialstudiesclasswent to the library to do research for our famous historical figure report. I’d chosen Susan B.Anthonyandher fight for the right tovote, and Iwas in themiddleof trackingdownsomebookswhenDarlaTresslerflaggedmefromtheendofastack.

Darlawasinafewofmyclasses,butweweren’treallyfriends,soIlookedbehindmetoseewhoelseshemightbeflagging.

“Comehere!”shemouthed,franticallywavingmeover.

SoIhurriedover.Shepointedthroughthecolumnofbooksandwhispered,“Listen!”

ItwasGarrett’svoice.AndthenBryce’s.Andtheyweretalkingabout…me.Aboutmychickens.Andsalmonellapoisoning.AndhowBrycehadbeenthrowingawaymyeggs.Andaboutmefixingupouryard.

Brycewassoundinglikehefeltreallybad,butthensuddenlymybloodrancold.HewastalkingaboutDavid!

AndthenGarrettlaughedandsaid,“Aretard?Well,thatexplainsalot,doesn’tit?Youknow…aboutJuli?”

Forasecond, therewassilence.Andat thatmoment Iwassure theymustbeable tohearmyheartpoundinginmychest,butthenBrycelaughedandsaid,“Oh,right.”

Ipositivelycrumbledontothefloor.Andinaflashthevoicesweregone.Darlacheckedaroundthecorner,thensatbesideme,saying,“Oh,Jules,I’mso,sosorry.Ithoughthewasabouttoconfessthathe’sbeencrushingonyou.”

“What?Darla,Brycedoesnothaveacrushonme.”

“Wherehaveyoubeen?Haven’tyounoticed thewayhe’sbeen lookingatyou?Thatboy is lost inLoveland.”

“Oh,obviously!Youjustheardhim,Darla!”

“Yeah,butyesterday,yesterdayIcaughthimstaringatyouandhesaidtherewasabeeinyourhair.Abee,girl.Isthatthelamestcover-upyou’veeverheardorwhat?”

“Darla,thewaythingshavebeengoing,Iwouldn’tbesurprisediftherewasabeeinmyhair.”

“Oh,youthinkyou’rethatsweet,huh?Justattractbeeslikehoney?Well,honey,theonlybeeyou’reattractingaroundhereisB-r-y-c-e.Cute,yeah.ButafterwhatIjustheard,I’dstompandgrind,girl.Stompandgrind.”Shegotuptogobutturnedandsaid,“Don’tworry.Iwon’tjabber.”

IjustshookmyheadandforgotaboutDarla.Howwrongcouldapersonbe.

ItwaswhatBryceandGarretthad said that I couldn’t forget.Howcould theybe socruel?Andsostupid?Isthiswhatmyfatherhadgonethroughgrowingup?

ThemoreIthoughtaboutit,theangrierIgot.WhatrightdidBrycehavetomakefunofmyuncle?Howdarehe!

Ifeltfireburninmycheeksandacold,hardknottighteninmyheart.AndinaflashIknew—IwasthroughwithBryceLoski.Hecouldkeephisbrilliantblueeyes.Hecouldkeephis two-facedsmileand…andmykiss.That’sright!Hecouldkeepthat,too.Iwasnever,evergoingtotalktohimagain!

I stormedback to the sectionofbooksonSusanB.Anthony, found two thatwouldwork,and thenwentbacktomytable.ButasIwascollectingmythingstocheckoutof thelibrary,Iremembered.ThenextdayweweregoingtotheLoskis’housefordinner.

Izippedupmybackpackandthrewitonmyshoulder.Surelyafterwhathadhappened,Ihadtherighttovoteagainstgoing!

Didn’tI?

Bryce:TheSeriousWilliesRealizingthatmyfatherhadthesamesenseofhumorasGarrettgavemetheseriouswillies.Ihadthehardest time just looking at my dad, let alone speaking to him. But at about five o’clock Fridayafternoon I agreedwith him about one thing –we should’ve barbecued.A barbecue ismore, youknow,low-key.Instead,mymomwasflyingaroundthekitchen,slicinganddicingandbarkingordersatDadandmelikethepresidentwascomingtodinner.

Wesweptthefloor,putanextraleafinthetable,broughtinfivemorechairs,andsetthetable.Wesetit allwrong,of course, but allmymotherhad todowas shuffle things around tomake it right. Itlookedthesametome,butwhatdoIknow?

Sheputoutcandlesticksandsaid,“Rick,canyouloadthedishesandrunthem?I’dlikeachancetogetcleanedup.Afterthatyoucanchange.AndBryce?Whatareyouwearing?”

“Mom,it’stheBakers.Areyoutryingtomakethemfeeltotallyworthless?”

“TrinaandIagreedonadress-up,so—”

“Butwhy?”

Mydadputahandonmyshoulderandsaid,“Sowecanallfeelequallyuncomfortable,son.”

Women.Ilookedatherandsaid,“DoesthatmeanIhavetowearatie?”

“No,butsomesortofbutton-downinsteadofaT-shirtwouldbenice.”

Iwentdown tomyroomand ripped throughmycloset looking for somethingwithbuttons.Therewerelotsofbuttons,allright.Lotsofgeekybuttons.Ithoughtaboutboycottingmymother ’sdress-coderequirements,butinsteadIstartedputtingonshirts.

TwentyminuteslaterIstillwasn’tdressed.AndIwasextremelytickedoffaboutitbecausewhatdiditmatter?WhydidIcarewhatIlookedlikeatthisstupiddinner?Iwasactinglikeagirl.

Then through agap inmycurtains I saw themcoming.Out their front door, down theirwalkway,acrossthestreet.Itwaslikeaweirddream.Theyseemedtobefloatingtowardourhouse.Allfiveofthem.

Ipulledashirtoffmybed,punchedmyarmsin,andbuttonedup.

TwosecondslaterthedoorbellrangandMomcalled,“Canyougetthat,Bryce?”

Luckily,Granddadbeatmetoit.Hegreetedthemallliketheywerelong-lostfamilyandevenseemedtoknowwhichonewasMattandwhichonewasMike.Onewaswearingapurpleshirtandtheotherwaswearingagreenone,soitshouldn’thavebeenthathardtorememberwhichwaswhich,buttheycame inandpinchedmycheeksandsaid,“Hey,babybrother!How’s itgoin’?”and Igot somadImixedthemupagain.

Mymotherzoomedinfromthekitchen,saying,“Comein,comein.It’ssoniceyouallcouldmakeit.”Shecalled,“Lyn-et-ta!Rick!We’vegotcom-pa-ny!”butthenstoppedshortwhenshesawJuliandMrs.Baker.“Well,what’sthis?”sheasked.“Homemadepies?”

Mrs.Bakersaid,“Blackberrycheesecakeandpecan.”

“Theylookwonderful!Absolutelywonderful!”MymotherwasactingsohyperIcouldn’tbelieveit.ShetookJuli’spie,thenwhooshedapathtothekitchenwithMrs.Baker.

Lynetta appeared from around the corner, which made Matt and Mike grin and say, “Hey, Lyn.Lookin’good.”

Blackskirt,blacknails,blackeyes–foranocturnalrodent,yeah,Isupposeshewaslookinggood.

TheydisappeareddowntoLynetta’s room,andwhenI turnedaround,mygranddadwas takingMr.Bakerintothefrontroom,whichleftmeintheentryhallwithJuli.Alone.

Shewasn’t lookingatme.Sheseemed tobe lookingateverythingbutme.And I felt likean idiot,standingthere inmygeekybutton-downshirtwithpinchedcheeksandnothingtosay.AndIgotsonervousabouthavingnothingtosaythatmyheartstartedgoingwackoonme,hammeringlikeitdoesrightbeforearaceoragameorsomething.

Ontopofthat,shelookedmorelikethatstupidpictureinthepaperthanthepicturedid,ifthatmakesanysense.Notbecauseshewasalldressedup–shewasn’t.Shewaswearingsomenormal-lookingdress andnormal-looking shoes, andher hairwas theway it always is exceptmaybe a littlemorebrushedout. Itwas thewayshewas lookingateverythingbutme,withhershouldersbackandherchinoutandhereyesflashing.

Weprobablyonlystoodthereforfiveseconds,butitfeltlikeayear.FinallyIsaid,“Hi,Juli.”

Her eyes flashedatme, and that’swhen it sank in– shewasmad.Shewhispered, “IheardyouandGarrettmakingfunofmyuncleinthelibrary,andIdon’twanttospeaktoyou!Youunderstandme?Notnow,notever!”

Mymindwasracing.Wherehadshebeen?Ihadn’tseenheranywherenearmeinthelibrary!Andhadsheheardit?Orhadshehearditfromsomebodyelse.

Itriedtotellheritwasn’tme,thatitwasGarrett,allGarrett.Butsheshutmedownandmadetracksforthefrontroomtobewithherdad.

SoI’mstandingthere,wishingI’dpunchedGarrettoutinthelibrarysoJuliwouldn’tstickmeinthesameclassassomeonewhomakesretardjokes,whenmydadshowsupandclapsmeontheshoulder.“So.How’stheparty,son?”

Speakofthedevil.Iwantedtowhackhishandoffmyshoulder.

Heleansoutsohecanseeintothefrontroomandsays,“Hey,thedadcleansupprettygood,doesn’the?”

Ishrugawayfromhim.“Mr.Baker ’snameisRobert,Dad.”

“Yeah,youknow,Iknewthat.”Herubshishandstogetherandsays,“IguessIoughttogoinandsayhello.Coming?”

“Nah.Momprobablyneedsmyhelp.”

Ididn’trunoff tothekitchen, though.IstoodthereandwatchedMr.Bakershakemyfather ’shand.Andastheystoodtherepumpingandsmiling,thisweirdfeelingstartedcomingovermeagain.Notabout Juli – about my father. Standing next toMr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. AndcomparedtothecutofMr.Baker ’sjaw,mydad’sfacelookedkindofweaselly.

Thisisnotthewayyouwanttofeelaboutyourfather.WhenIwaslittle,I’dalwaysthoughtthatmydadwas right about everythingand that therewasn’t amanonearthhecouldn’t take.But standingtherelookingin,IrealizedthatMr.Bakercouldsquashhimlikeabug.

Worse,though,wasthewayhewasacting.WatchingmydadchumitupwithJuli’sdad—itwaslikeseeinghim lie.ToMr.Baker, to Juli, tomygrandfather—toeverybody.Whywashebeing suchaworm?Whycouldn’thejustactnormal?Youknow,civil?Whydidhehavetoputonsuchaphonyshow?Thiswentwaybeyondkeepingthepeacewithmymother.Thiswasdisgusting.

And people said Iwas the spitting image ofmy father.Howoften had I heard that one? I’d neverthoughtaboutitmuch,butnowitwasturningmystomach.

Momjingledthedinnerbellandcalled,“Horsd’oeuvresareready!”andthensawmestillstandinginthehallway.“Bryce,where’dyoursisterandtheboysgo?”

Ishrugged.“Downtoherroom,Ithink.”

“Gotellthem,wouldyou?Andthencomehavesomehorsd’oeuvres.”

“Sure,”Isaid.Anythingtogetridofthetasteinmymouth.

Lynetta’s door was closed. And normally I would have knocked and called, Mom wants you, or,Dinner! or something, but in that split second before my knuckles hit wood, my hand becamepossessedbyEvilBabyBrother.Iturnedtheknobandwalkedrightin.

DoesLynettafreakoutorthrowstuffatmeandscreamformetogetout?No.Sheignoresme.Matt-and-Mikegivemeanod,andLynettaseesme,butshe’sgotherhandsoversomeheadphonesandherwholebody’sbobbingupanddownasshelistenstoaportableCDplayer.

Matt-or-Mikewhispers,“It’saboutover.We’llberightthere,”likeofcourseIwastheretosayitwastimetoeat.WhatelsewouldIbedoingthere?

Somethingaboutthatmademefeel,Idon’tknow,leftout.Iwasn’tevenapersontothoseguys.Iwasjustbabybrother.

Nothingnewthere,butnowitreallybuggedme.LikeallofasuddenIdidn’tfitinanywhere.Notatschool,notathome…andeverytimeIturnedaround,anotherpersonI’dknownforeverfeltlikea

strangertome.EvenIfeltlikeastrangertome.

Standing around eating little round crackers smearedwithwhipped cheese and fish eggsdidn’t domuch for my mood either. My mother was acting like an entire swarm of busy bees. She waseverywhere. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen.Serving drinks, handingout napkins.Explaining thefood,butnoteatingathing.

Lynetta didn’t buy Mom’s explanation on the hors d’oeuvres – she wound up dissecting hers,categorizingthepartsintogross,disgusting,andrevolting.

Hangingnearherdidn’tstoptheBakerboysfromshovingcrackersinwhole,though.Man,Iwasjustwaitingforthemtowrapthemselvesaroundatablelegandflex.

Juli,herdad,andmygrandfatherwereofftothesidetalkingnonstopaboutsomething,andmydadwasoverwithMrs.BakerlookingaboutasstupidasIfelt,standingbymyselftalkingtonoone.

Mymomfluttersovertomeandsays,“Youdoingokay,honey?”

“Yeah,”Itellher,butsheforcesmeovertowhereGranddadisanyway.“Goon,goon,”shewhispers.“Dinnerwillbereadyinaminute.”

SoIstandthereandthegroupofthemopensup,butit’smorelikeareflexthananything.Noonesaysawordtome.Theyjustkeeprightontalkingaboutperpetualmotion.

Perpetualmotion.

Myfriend, Ididn’tevenknowwhatperpetualmotionwas.Theywere talkingclosedsystems,opensystems, resistance, energy source, magnetism… it was like joining a discussion in a differentlanguage.And Juli, Juli was saying stuff like, “Well, what if you put themagnets back to back –reversed thepolarity?” likeshereallyunderstoodwhat theywere talkingabout.Thenmygranddadandherdadwouldexplainwhyher ideawouldn’twork,butall thatdidwasmakeJuliaskanotherquestion.

Iwascompletelylost.AndeventhoughIwaspretendingtofollowalongwithwhattheyweresaying,whatIwasreallydoingwastryingnottostareatJuli.

Whenmymomcalledusfordinner,IdidmybesttopullJuliasideandapologizetoher,butshegavemethecoldshoulder,andwhocouldblameher,really?

Isatdownacrossfromher,feelingprettylow.Whyhadn’tIsaidsomethingtoGarrettinthelibrary?Ididn’thavetopunchhim.Whyhadn’tIjusttoldhimhewasoutofline?

AfterMomservedeveryonetheirfood,Dadseemedtodecidethatheoughttobetheonedirectingtheconversation.“So,MikeandMatt,”hesays,“you’reseniorsthisyear.”

“Amen!”theysaytogether.

“Amen?Asinyou’regladhighschool’sover?”

“Absolutely.”

Myfatherstartstwirlinghisfork.“Why’sthat?”

MattandMikelookateachother,thenbackatmydad.“Theregurgitationgetstoyouafterawhile.”

“Isn’tthatfunny,”hesays,lookingaroundthetable.“Highschoolwasprobablythebesttimeofmylife.”

Matt-or-Mike says, “Seriously? Dude, it’s totally lame!” Mrs. Baker shoots him a look, but thatdoesn’tstophim.“Well, it is,Mom.It’sthatwholerobotronattitudeofeducation.Confine,confute,conform—I’vehadtotallyenoughofthatscene.”

MydadeyesmymomwithalittleI-told-you-sogrin,thensaystoMattandMike,“SoItakeitcollegeisoutofthequestion?”

God,whatwaswith him? In a flash Iwas clutchingmy fork and knife, ready to duke it out for acoupleofguyswhopinchedmycheeksandcalledmebabybrother.

Itookadeepbreathandtriedtorelax.Triedtodivedowntocalmerwater.Thiswasn’tmyfight.

Besides, Matt andMike seemed cool with it. “Oh, no,” they said. “College is a total possibility.”“Yeah,wegotacceptedacoupleofplaces,butwe’regoingtogivethemusicthingashotfirst.”

“Oh,themusicthing,”myfathersays.

MattandMike lookat eachother, thenshrugandgetback toeating.ButLynettaglaresathimandsays,“Yoursarcasmisnotappreciated,Dad.”

“Lyn,Lyn,”saysMatt-or-Mike.“It’scool.Everyone’slikethataboutit.It’sashow-me-don’t-tell-mething.”

“That’sagreatidea,”Lynettasays,jumpingoutofherseatanddashingdownthehall.

Mom freezes, not sure what to do about Lynetta, but thenMrs. Baker says, “Dinner is absolutelydelicious,Patsy.”

“Thanks,Trina.It’s…it’snicetohaveallofyouover.”

There’saboutthreesecondsofquietandthenLynettacomesinandjabsattheCDplayerbuttonsuntilthedrawerslidesbackin.

“Lyn,no!Notagoodidea,”saysMatt-or-Mike.“Yeah,Lyn.It’snotexactlydinnermusic.”

“Tough,”saysLynetta,andcranksthevolume.

Boom,whack! Boom-boom,whack! The candles practically shake in their holders; then guitars ripthrough the air andaboutblow themout.Matt andMike lookupat the speakers, thengrin at eachotherandcallovertomydad,“Surroundsound–awesomesetup,Mr.Loski!”

All the adults were dying to jump up and turn the thing down, but Lynetta stood guard and justgloweredat them.Andwhen thesong’sover,Lynettapullsout theCD,punchesoff theplayer,andthensmiles–actuallysmiles–atMattandMikeandsays,“Thatistheraddestsong.Iwanttohearitagainandagainandagain.”

Matt-or-Mikesaystomydad,“Youprobablydon’tlikeit,butit’swhatwedo.”

“Youboyswrotethatsong?”

“Uh-huh.”

HemotionsLynettatopasstheCDover,saying,“Justtheonesong?”

Matt-or-Mike laughs and says, “Dude, we’ve got a thousand songs, but there’s only three on thedemo.”

DadholdsuptheCD.“Thisisthedemo?”

“Yeah.”

Helooksatitaminuteandsays,“Soifyou’rePissPoor,howdoyouaffordtopressCDs?”

“Dad!”Lynettasnapsathim.

“It’sokay,Lyn.Justajoke,right,Mr.Loski?”

My dad laughs a little and says, “Right,” but then adds, “Although I am a little curious. This isobviously not a home-done demo, and I happen to know studio time’s cost-prohibitive for mostbands….”

MattandMikeinterrupthimwithaslamminghardhighfive.AndwhileI’mgettinguptightaboutmydadaskingthemquestionsaboutmoney,ofallthings,mymom’sfumblingalloverherself,tryingtosweepawaymydad’sbigpawprints.“WhenRickandImet,hewasplayinginaband….”

Poachedsalmonwassuddenlyswimmingdown thewronghatch.Andwhile I’mchoking,Lynetta’sbuggingoutherraccooneyes,gasping,“You?Playedinaband?Whatdidyouplay,clarinet?”

“No,honey,”mymomsays,tryingtoholditalltogether.“Yourfatherplayedguitar.”

“Guitar?”

“Cool!”Matt-or-Mikesays.“Rock?Country?Jazz?”

“Country,”mydadsays.“Whichisnothingtoscoffat,boys.”

“Dude!Weknow.Totalrespect,man.”

“Andwhenourbandlookedintogettingademomade,itwasastronomicallyexpensive.Thatwasinabigcity,wheretherewasalittlecompetition.Gettingademomadearoundhere?Ididn’tevenknowtherewasafacility.”

MattandMikearestillgrinning.“There’snot.”

“Sowhere’dyougo?Andhow’dyouaffordit?”Mymotherwhackshimunderthetableagain,sohesays,“I’mjustcurious,Patsy!”

MattandMikeleanin.“Wediditourselves.”

“This right here?You did this yourselves? That’s impossible.”He’s looking almostmad about it.“How’dyougetthegear?”

Mymomkickshimagain,butDadturnsonherandsays,“Stopit,wouldyou?I’mjustcurious!”

Matt-or-Mike says, “It’s cool, Mrs. Loski.” He smiles at my dad and says, “We kept cruising theInternetandthe trades lookingforadeal.Everyone’sblowingout theiroldanaloggearfordigitalbecausethat’sthemoveeveryoneelsehasmade.Digital, ifyouwanttoknowouropinion,isweak.Youlosetoomuchofthewaveform.There’snotenoughfattoit,andobviouslywelikeitbeefy.”

Mygranddadputsupafingerandsays,“ButaCD’sdigital,so…”

“Exactly,butthatisthelastandonlystepwe’llcompromiseon.It’sjustanecessityofbeingpartoftheindustry.EveryonewantsCDs.But themultitrack and themixdown to two-track is analog.Andwecouldaffordit,Mr.Loski,becausewegotusedgearandwe’vebeensavingupourpenniessinceweweretwelveyearsold.”Hegrinsandsays,“Youstillplay?Wecould,youknow,laydownsomeofyourtunesifyouwant.”

Mydadlooksdown,andforasecondIcouldn’ttellifhewasgoingtogetmadorcry.Thenhesortofsnortsandsays,“Thanks,butthat’snotmeanymore.”

Whichwasprobablytheonlyhonestthingmydadsaidallnight.Afterthathewasquiet.He’dtrytoplasterupasmilenowandthen,butman,underneathithewasbroody.AndIwasfeelingkindofbadforhim.Washethinkingaboutthegoodolddaysplayinginaband?Itriedpicturinghimincowboybootsandacowboyhat,withaguitarstrappedacrosshisshoulder,playingsomeoldWillieNelsonsong.

Hewasright–itjustwasn’thim.

Butthefactthatiteverhadbeenmademefeelevenmorelikeastrangerinastrangeland.Then,whenthenightwasoverandtheBakerswerepilingoutthefrontdoor,somethingelsestrangehappened.Juli touchedmyarm.Andfor thefirst time thatnightshewas lookingatme. Itwas that look, too,channeled directly and solely at me. She says, “I’m sorry I was so angry when we first came in.Everyonehadagoodtime,andIthinkyourmom’sreallyniceforinvitingus.”

Hervoicewasquiet.Almostawhisper.Ijuststoodtherelikeamoron,staringather.

“Bryce?”shesays,touchingmyarmagain.“Didyouhearme?I’msorry.”

Imanaged a nod, butmy armwas tingling, andmy heartwas pounding, and I feltmyself pullingtowardher.

Thenshewasgone.Outthedoorandintothenight,partofachorusofhappygood-byes.Itriedtocatchmybreath.Whatwasthat?Whatwaswrongwithme?

Mymotherclosedthedoorandsaid,“There.NowwhatdidItellyou?Thatisonedelightfulfamily!ThoseboysarenothinglikeIexpected.Lynetta,whydidn’tyoutellmetheywereso…socharming!”

“They’redrugdealersiswhattheyare.”

Everyoneturnedtomyfatheranddroppedtheirjaws.

“What?”mymothersaid.

“Thereisnootherwaythoseboyscouldaffordtobuyrecordinggearlikethat.”HeglaredatLynetta.“Isn’tthatso?”

Lynetta’seyeslookedliketheyweregoingtopoprightoutofherhead.

“Rick,please!”mymothersaid.“Youcan’tjustmakeaccusationslikethat!”

“It’stheonlythingthatmakessense,Patsy.Believeme,Iknowhowmusiciansare.Thereisnootherexplanationforthis.”

Lynettashouted,“Ihappentoknowforafactthattheydon’tuseordeal.Wheredoyougetoffsayingsomethinglikethat?Youaresuchatwo-faced,condescending,narrow-mindedjackass!”

Therewasasplitsecondofsilence,andthenheslappedher,smack,rightacrossthecheek.

That putmymother in his face like I’d never seen and sentmy sister screaming insults over hershoulderassherandowntoherroom.

Myheartwaspounding.LynettawasrightandIalmost,almostgotinhisface,too,andtoldhimso.Butthenmygranddadpulledmeasideandwebothretreatedtoourownlittlecornersofthehouse.

Pacingaroundmyroom,IhadtheurgetogotalktoLynetta.Totellherthatshewasright,thatDadwaswayoutof line.But I couldhearher through thewalls, cryingandscreamingwhilemymom

triedtocalmherdown.Thenshestormedoutofthehousetowho-knows-where,andmymomtookupwithmydadagain.

SoIstayedput.Andeventhoughtheearthquitquakingaroundeleveno’clock,thereweretremorsoutthere.Icouldfeelthem.

AsIlayinmybedstaringoutthewindowatthesky,IthoughtabouthowmydadhadalwayslookeddownontheBakers.Howhe’dputdowntheirhouseandtheiryardandtheircarsandwhattheydidforaliving.Howhe’dcalledthemtrashandmadefunofMr.Baker ’spaintings.

AndnowIwasseeingthattherewassomethingreallycoolaboutthatfamily.Allofthem.Theywerejust…real.

Andwhowerewe?Therewassomethingspinningwickedlyoutofcontrol insidethishouse.Itwaslikeseeing inside theBakers’worldhadopenedupwindows intoourown,and theviewwasnotaprettyone.

Wherehadallthisstuffcomefrom?

Andwhyhadn’tIeverseenitbefore.

Juli:TheDinnerBy the time I got home, I knew itwould be selfish ofme to boycott theLoskis’ dinner party.Mymotherhadalreadyspentalotof timehummingoverpierecipesandgoingthroughherclosetfor“something suitable towear.”She’d evenbought a new shirt forDad andhad scrutinizedwhat theboysintendedtowear.Obviouslyshewaslookingforwardtothedinner–notthatIreallyunderstoodthat,butIdidn’twanttoruineverythingbytellingheraboutmynewfoundhatredofBryce.

AndDadfeltbadenoughaboutDavidalready.Thelast thingheneededwas tohearaboutcrackpotcommentsmadebyimmatureeighthgraders.

SothatnightIwentthroughthemotionsofbakingpieswithmymotherandconvincedmyselfthatIwasdoingtherightthing.Onedinnercouldn’tchangeanyone’slife.Ijusthadtogetthroughit.

FridayatschoolIavoidedtheblue-eyedbratthebestIcould,butthatnightasIgotdressed,Ifoundmyselfstaringatthepaintingmyfatherhadgivenmeandbecamefuriousalloveragain.Brycehadneverbeenafriendtome,ever!Hehadn’tmadeastandforthetree,he’dthrownawaymyeggs,andhe’dmadefunofmeatmyuncle’sexpense….WhywasIplayingalonglikewewerejollyfriendsandneighbors?

Whenmymothercalledthatitwastimetogo,Iwentoutinthehallwitheveryintentionoftellingherthat Iwouldnot, couldnotgo to theLoskis’ fordinner, but she looked so lovely andhappy that Icouldn’t.Ijustcouldn’t.Itookadeepbreath,wrappedupapie,andshuffledacrossthestreetbehindmybrothersandparents.

Chet answered the door.Maybe I should’vebeenmad at him, too, for telling theLoskis aboutmyuncle,butIwasn’t.Ihadn’taskedhimnottotell,andhecertainlywasn’ttheonemakingfunofDavid.

Mrs.LoskicameupbehindChet,whiskedusin,andflutteredabout.Andeventhoughshehadquiteabitofmakeupon,Iwassurprisedtoseethebluenessofbagsbeneathhereyes.ThenMrs.Loskiandmymotherwentoffwith thepies,mybrothersvanisheddown thehallwithLynetta,andmyfatherfollowedChetintothelivingroom.

Andwasn’tthatjustdandy?ThatleftmealoneinthefoyerwithBryce.

HesaidhitomeandIlostit.Ispunonhim,snapping,“Don’tyouspeaktome!IoverheardyouandGarrettinthelibrary,andIdon’twanttotalktoyounoworever!”

Istartedtowalkintothelivingroom,buthestoppedme.“Juli!Juli,wait!”hewhispered.“I’mnotthebadguyhere!ThatwasGarrett.ThatwasallGarrett!”

Iglaredathim.“IknowwhatIheard.”

“No!Noyoudon’t!I…Iwasfeelingbadabout,youknow,theeggsandwhatI’dsaidaboutyouryard.Ididn’tknowanythingaboutyouruncleorwhatkindofsituationyour familywas in,okay? I justwantedtotalktosomeoneaboutit.”

Oureyeslockedforaminute,andforthefirsttimethebluenessofhisdidn’tfreezeupmybrain.“Iheardyoulaugh.Hemadeajokeaboutmebeingaretard,andyoulaughed.”

“Juli,youdon’tunderstand.Iwantedtopunchhim!Really,Idid!Butwewereinthelibrary….”

“Soinsteadyoulaughed.”

Heshruggedandlookedmiserableandsheepish.“Yeah.”

Ilefthim.Justwalkedintothelivingroomandlefthim.Ifhewasmakingitup,hewasquiteanactor.If hewas telling the truth, thenChetwas right—hewas a coward. Eitherway, I didn’t want to beanywherenearhim.

IstoodbesidemyfatherandtriedtofollowhisdiscussionwithChetaboutsomethingthey’dbothreadin the paper. My father was saying, “But what he’s proposing would require a perpetual-motionmachine,soit’snotpossible.”

Chetreplied,“Maybeinthecontextofwhatscientistsknownow,butdoyouruleitoutcompletely?”

At thatmoment Iwas feeling absolutelyno scientific curiosity.But in adesperate attempt toblockBryceLoskifrommymind,Iasked,“What’saperpetual-motionmachine?”

MyfatherandChetglancedateachother,chuckled, thenshrugged,givingme thesense that they’djust agreed to letme into a secret club.My father explained, “It’s amachine that runswithout anyexternalpowersource.”

“No electricity, no fuel, nowater propulsion, nothing.”Chet glanced overmy shoulder and askedratherabsently,“Youthinkthat’sadoablething?”

Whathaddistractedhim?WasBrycestillinthefoyer?Whydidn’thejustgoaway?

Iforcedmyself tofocuson theconversation.“DoI think that’sadoable thing?Well, Idon’t reallyknow.Allmachinesuseenergy, right?Even realefficientones.And thatenergyhas tocome fromsomewhere….”

“Whatifthemachinegeneratedititself?”Chetasked,butoneeyewasstillonthefoyer.

“Howcoulditdothat?”

Neitherof themansweredme.Instead,myfatherstuckouthishandandsaid,“Goodevening,Rick.Niceofyoutohaveusover.”

Mr.Loskipumpedmydad’shandand joinedourgroup,making littlecommentsabout theweather.Whenthattopicwasalldriedup,hesaid,“Andwow,thatyardofyourshasreallycomealong.ItoldChetherethatweoughttohirehimout.Hereallyknowshispickets,doesn’the?”

Hewasjoking.Ithink.Butmyfatherdidn’ttakeitthatway,andneitherdidChet.Iwasafraidofwhatmight happen next, but then Mrs. Loski tinkled a little dinner bell and called, “Hors d’oeuvres,everybody!”

Thehorsd’oeuvresweredelicious.Butwhenmyfatherwhisperedthattheteeny-tinyblackberriesontopofthecrackersweren’tberriesatall,butcaviar,Istoppedmidbite.Fisheggs?Repulsive!

ThenmyfatherpointedoutthatIatechickeneggsallthetime,sowhygetsqueamishoverfisheggs?Hehadapoint.Ihesitantlyfinishedthecracker,andbeforelongIwashavinganother.

Brycewasstandingallbyhimselfacrosstheroom,andeverytimeIhappenedtolookhisway,hewasstaringatme.

Finally I completely turnedmy back on him and said to my father, “So who’s trying to invent aperpetual-motionmachine,anyway?”

Myfatherlaughed.“Madscientistsallovertheworld.”

“Really?”

“Yes.Forhundredsofyears.”

“Well,whatdotheydo?What’sonelooklike?”

Itwasn’tlongbeforeChetwasinonthediscussion.AndjustasIwasfinallystartingtocatchontomagnetism,gyroscopicparticles,andzero-pointenergy,Ifeltsomeonestandingbehindme.

ItwasBryce.

Icouldfeelmycheeksflushwithanger.Couldn’theseeIwantedtobeleftalone?Itookastepawayfromhim, butwhat that didwas open up the group and allowhim tomove forward.Nowhewasstandinginourcirclelisteningtoourdiscussion!

Well! Surely he was not interested in perpetual motion. I barely was myself! So, I reasoned,continuingourdiscussionwoulddrivehimaway.Idovebackin,andwhentheconversationstartedtopeter out, I cameupwithmyown ideasonperpetual-motionmachines. Iwas like aperpetual-ideamachine,spinningridiculoussuggestionsrightoutoftheair.

And still hewouldn’t leave.Hedidn’t say anything, he just stood there, listening.ThenwhenMrs.Loski announced that dinner was ready, Bryce heldmy arm and whispered, “Juli, I’m sorry. I’veneverbeensosorryaboutanythinginmywholelife.You’reright,Iwasajerk,andI’msorry.”

Iyankedmyarmfreefromhisgraspandsaid,“Itseemstomeyou’vebeensorryaboutawholelotofthingslately!”andlefthimtherewithhisapologyhangingwoundedintheair.

Itdidn’ttakemelongtorealizethatI’dmadeamistake.Ishouldhavelethimsayhewassorryandthen simply continued to ignore him. But I’d snapped at him in themiddle of an apology, whichsomehowmademetherudeone.

Isneakedapeekathimacrossthetable,buthewaswatchinghisdad,whowasaskingmybrothersaboutgraduatingandtheirplansforcollege.

Ihad,ofcourse,seenMr.Loskimanytimes,butusuallyfromadistance.Still,itseemedimpossiblethatI’dnevernoticedhiseyesbefore.Theywereblue.Brilliantblue.AndalthoughMr.Loski’sweresetfartherbackandwerehiddensomewhatbyhiseyebrowsandcheekbones,therewasnomistakingwhereBrycehadgottenhiseyes.Hishairwasblack,too,likeBryce’s,andhisteethwerewhiteandstraight.

EventhoughChethadcalledBrycethespittingimageofhisfather,I’dneverreallythoughtofthemaslookingalike.ButnowI saw that theydid lookalike, thoughwherehisdadseemedkindof smug,Bryceseemed…well,rightnowheseemedangry.

Thenfromtheothersideofthetable,Iheard,“Yoursarcasmisnotappreciated,Dad.”

Mrs.Loskigaveasmallgasp,andeveryonelookedatLynetta.“Well,it’snot,”shesaid.

Inalltheyearswe’velivedacrossthestreetfromtheLoskis,I’vesaidabouttenwordstoLynetta,andshe’ssaidfewerback.Tomeshe’sscary.Soitwasn’tasurprisetoseeherglaringatherfather,butitwasuncomfortable.Mrs.Loskiwaskeepingasmileperchedonherface,butshewasblinkingalot,glancingnervouslyaroundthetable.Ilookedfromonepersontothenext,too,wonderingifdinnerattheLoskis’wasalwaysthistense.

SuddenlyLynettagotupanddasheddownthehall,butshewasbackinaflashwithaCDinherhand.And when she put it in the player, I recognized one of my brothers’ songs blaring through thespeakers.

We’dheardthissong,“CandleIce,”pouringoutofmybrothers’bedroomatleastamilliontimes,sowewere used to it. But I looked over atmymom,worried that shemight be embarrassed by thedistortingguitarsandthegrittylyrics.Thiswasdefinitelynotcaviarmusic.

Sheseemedalittleuncertain,butinahappyway.Shewassharingsecretsmileswithmyfather,andhonestly,Ithinksheevengiggled.Mydadwaslookingamused,althoughhewasveryreservedaboutit,and it tookmeuntil theendof thesong to realize thathewasproud.Proud that thisnoisecamefromhisboys.

Thatsurprisedme.Dadhasneverbeenrealbigonanyrenditionofmybrothers’band,althoughhe’sneverreallycriticized iteither.But thenMr.LoskistartedgrillingMattandMikeabouthowthey’daffordedtorecordtheirownmusic,andtheyexplainedaboutworkingandsavingandshoppingforgooddealsonequipment,andthat’swhenIrealizedwhymyfatherwasproud.

Mybrotherswerefeelingprettygood,too,youcouldtell.Anditwasnowonder,withthewayLynettawascarryingonabouthowgreat“CandleIce”was.Shewaspositivelygushing,whichseemedveryodd,comingfromLynetta.

AsI lookedaround, itstruckmethatwewerehavingdinnerwithagroupofstrangers.We’d livedacrossthestreetforyears,butIdidn’tknowthesepeopleatall.Lynettadidknowhowtosmile.Mr.Loskiwascleanandsmoothontheoutside,buttherewasadistinctwhiffofsomethingrottenburiedjust beneath the surface. And the ever-efficientMrs. Loski seemed flustered, almost hyper.Was ithavingusoverthatwasmakinghernervous?

ThentherewasBryce—themostdisturbingofallbecauseIhadtoadmitthatIdidn’treallyknowhim,either.AndbasedonwhatI’ddiscoveredlately,Ididn’tcaretoknowanymore.Lookingacrossthetable at him, all I gotwas a strange, detached, neutral feeling.No fireworks, no leftover anger orresurgingflutters.

Nothing.

Afterwe’dhaddessertanditwastimetogo,IwentuptoBryceandtoldhimIwassorryforhavingbeensofiercewhenwe’dfirstcomein.“Ishould’veletyouapologize,andreally,itwasveryniceofyourfamilytohaveusover.Iknowitwasalotofworkand,well,Ithinkmymomhadareallygoodtimeandthat’swhatmatterstome.”Wewerelookingrightateachother,butitwasalmostasthoughhedidn’thearme.“Bryce?IsaidI’msorry.”

Henodded,andthenourfamilieswerewavinggood-byeandsayinggoodnight.

Iwalked behindmymother,whowas holding handswithmy father, and besidemybrothers,whowere carrying homewhat was left of our pies.We all wound up in the kitchen, andMatt pouredhimselfaglassofmilkandsaid toMike,“ThatMr.Loskiwassniffingusoutprettygood tonight,wasn’the?”

“Nokidding.Maybehethinkswe’rehotforhisdaughter.”

“Notme,dude!You?”

Mikegothimselfaglassofmilk,too.“That’sSkyler ’sgig.NowayI’dgothere.”Hegrinned.“Butshewasreallycooltonight.Didshecomedownonpapabearorwhat?”

My dad took a paper plate out of the cupboard and cut a slice of pie. “You boys showed a lot ofrestrainttonight.Idon’tknowifIcould’vekeptmycoolthatway.”

“Aw, he’s just, you know…entrenched,”Matt said. “Gotta adjust to the perspective and deal fromthere.”Thenheadded,“NotthatI’dwanthimasmydad….”

Mikepracticallysprayedhismilk.“Dude!Canyouimagine?”ThenMattgavemydadaslapontheback and said, “Noway. I’m stickingwithmymainmanhere.”Mymomgrinned fromacross thekitchenandsaid,“Metoo.”

I’dneverseenmyfathercry.Andhedidn’texactlysit therebawling,butthereweredefinitelytearswellingupinhiseyes.Heblinkedthembackthebesthecouldandsaid,“Don’tyouboyswantsomepietogowiththatmilk?”

“Dude,”saidMattashestraddledachair.“Iwasjustthinkingthat.”

“Yeah,”Mikeadded.“I’mstarved.”

“Getmeaplate,too!”IcalledasMikedugthroughthecupboard.

“Butwejustate,”mymothercried.

“Comeon,Trina,havesomepie.It’sdelicious.”

Iwenttobedthatnightfeelingveryfullandveryhappy.AndasIlaythereinthedark,Iwonderedathowmuchemotioncangointoanygivenday,andthoughthowniceitwastofeelthiswayattheendofit.

AndasInestledinanddriftedofftosleep,myheartfeltwonderfully…free.

ThenextmorningIstillfeltgood.Iwentoutsideandsprinkledtheyard,enjoyingthesplishandpatterof water on soil, wondering when,when, that first little blade of grass would spring up into thesunshine.

ThenIwentoutback,cleanedthecoop,rakedtheyard,anddugupsomeofthebiggerweedsgrowingalongtheedges.

Mrs.StuebyleanedoverthesidefenceasIwasshovelingmyrakingsandweedsintoatrashcanandsaid,“How’sitgoing,Julianna?Makingneatforarooster?”

“Arooster?”

“Why,certainly.Thosehensneedsomemotivationtostartlayingmore!”

Itwastrue.BonnieandClydetteandtheotherswereonlylayingabouthalftheeggsthattheyusedto,buta rooster?“Idon’t think theneighborhoodwouldappreciatemygettinga rooster,Mrs.Stueby.Besides,we’dgetchicksandIdon’tthinkwecanhandleanymorepoultrybackhere.”

“Nonsense.You’vespoiledthesebirds,givingthemthewholeyard.Theycansharethespace.Easily!Howelseareyougoingtomaintainyourbusiness?Soonthosebirdswon’tbelayinganythinga-tall!”

“Theywon’t?”

“Well,verylittle.”

I shookmy head, then said, “Theywere justmy chicks that grew into chickens and started layingeggs.Ineverreallythoughtofitasabusiness.”

“Well,myrunnin’atabhasprobablycontributedtothat,andI’msorry.I’llbesureandgetyouthewholesumthisweek,butconsiderbuyingyourselfaroosterwithsomeofit.I’vegotafrienddownonNewcombStreetwhoispositivelygreenovermydeviledeggs.Igavehermyrecipe,butshesayshersjustdon’ttastethesame.”Shewinkedatme.“I’mcertainshe’dpayhandsomelyforasupplyofmysecret ingredient if it becameavailable.”She turned togo, then said, “By-the-by, Julianna,youhavedoneamightyfinejobonthatfrontyard.Mostimpressive!”

“Thanks,Mrs.Stueby,”Icalledassheslidopenherpatiodoor.“Thanksverymuch.”

IfinishedscoopingupthepilesI’dmadeandthoughtaboutwhatMrs.Stuebyhadsaid.ShouldIreallygetarooster?I’dheardthathavingonearoundmadechickenslaymore,whethertheywereincontactwitheachotherornot.Icouldevenbreedmychickensandgetawholenewsetoflayers.ButdidIreallywanttogothroughallofthatagain?

Notreally.Ididn’twanttobetheneighborhoodrancher.Ifmygirlsquitlayingaltogether,thatwouldbejustfinewithme.

Iputawaytherakeandshovel,cluckedakissoneachofthehens,andwentinside.Itfeltgoodtotakechargeofmyowndestiny!Ifeltstrongandrightandcertain.

LittledidIknowhowafewdaysbackatschoolwouldchangeallofthat.

Bryce:FlippedAfter thedinner Juliwasnice tomeat school.Which Ihated.Madwasbetter thannice.Gagawasbetterthan…nice.ItwaslikeIwasastrangertoher,andman,itbuggedme.Buggedmebig-time.

Thentheauctionhappened,andIfoundmyselfwithevenbiggerproblems.

TheauctionisthisboguswaytheBoosterClubraisesmoneyfortheschool.Theyinsistit’sanhonortobechosen,butbull-stinkin’-loneytothat!Bottomlineis,twentyguysgetshanghaied.Theyhavetocomeupwithfancypicniclunchesandthenbehumiliatedinfrontofthewholeschoolwhilegirlsbidtohavelunchwiththem.

Guesswhomadethisyear ’stoptwenty.

You’dthinkmotherswouldsay,Hey,there’snowayyou’regoingtoauctionmysonofftothehighestbidder,butno.Instead,they’reallflatteredthattheirson’sbeenelectedabasketboy.

Yes, my friend, that’s what they call you. Over the P.A. you hear stuff like, “There will be anorganizationalmeetingofthenewlyelectedbasketboysintheMPRat lunchtoday.Allbasketboysmustattend.”

Pretty soon you’ve completely lost your name.You and nineteen other saps are known simply asBasketBoy.

Mymom,ofcourse,wasintoit,comingupwithallsortsofstufftoputinmybasketsoI’dgetthehighestbid. I tried toexplain that Ididn’twant tobe inMayfieldJuniorHigh’sBasketBoyHallofFame,and that really,whatwas in thebasketdidn’tmatter. Itwasn’t likegirlswerebiddingon thebasket.Whenyougotrightdowntoit,thiswasameatmarket.

“Youeat lunchoncampusand that’s theendof it. It ishardlyameatmarket,Bryce. It’sanhonor!Besides,maybesomeonereallynicewillbidonyouandyou’llmakeanewfriend!”

Motherscanbeinsuchdenial.

AndthenGarrettbendsmyearwiththenewsthatShellyStallsisbreakingupwithMitchMichaelson,andthatshe,MirandaHumes,andJennyAtkinsonarestartingsomebiddingwaroverme.“Dude!”hetellsme.“Thetwohottestchicksoncampus.AndIsweartogod,man,Shelly’sdumpedMitchbecauseofyou. Iheard itdirect fromShagreer, anddude,Shagreer theEarknowsall.”He throwsme thisnastygrin and says, “Me, I’m rooting for Jumbo Jenny. Itwould serveyou right forbeing suchabasketboy.”

Itoldhimtoshutup,buthewasright.Withthewaymyluckwasrunning,I’dprobablygetstuckwithJumboJenny.Icouldjustseeit–sixfeetofbeefybabedowningbothhalvesofmylunchandthencomingafterme.Jenny’stheonlygirlorguyoncampuswhocandunkabasketball.Thewholegymshakeswhenshe lands.Andsinceshe’sgotno,youknow…femaleparabolas, thegirlcouldshaveherheadandmakeitintheNBA.Seriously.Noonewouldeversuspect.

Herparentsgiveheranythingshewants,too.Rumorhasittheyconvertedtheirgarageintoafull-onbasketballcourtjustforher.

Whichmeantthatinthegameofthebasketboys,Iwasasgoodasslam-dunked.

Unless,unless Shelly orMirandawas high bidder. But how could Imake sure that happened?Mybrain went into overdrive, constructing a plan, and in the end I decided that there was only onesensiblecourseofaction.

Kissuptobothofthem.

Halfwaythroughmyfirstdayofdoingthis,Ifeltlikeaskunk.NotthatIwasbeinggrossaboutitoranything.Iwasjust,youknow,friendly.AndeventhoughShellyandMirandadidn’tseemtosmellathing,Garrettdid.

“Dude!”hesaystomeonThursday.“Icanseeyourgame,man.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Don’tdenyit,dude.You’reworkingthemboth.”Hecomesupandwhispersinmyear,“Basketboyornot,I’minawe.”

“Shutup,man.”

“Seriously!TheEarsaystheywere,like,clawingeachotherinP.E.today.”

Ihadtoknow.“Whatabout…JumboJenny?”

Heshrugs.“Haven’theard.Butwe’llfindouttomorrow,won’twe,dude?”

MymotherdroppedmeoffatschoolonFridaywithmystupidoversizedpicnicbasket,andsinceallbasketboyshavetodressup,Iwaschokinginatieandfeelingcompletelydweeblikeinslacksanddressshoes.

Kidswhistledandshouted,“Oooh,baby!”asIheadedupthewalkway,andthenJumboJennypassedme, taking the front steps three at a time. “Wow,Bryce,” she said over her shoulder. “You look…delicious.”

Oh,man!Ipracticallyrantotheclassroomwhereallthebasketboysweresupposedtomeet,andtheminuteIwalkedin,Ifeltbetter.Iwassurroundedbyotherdweebs,whoseemedgenuinelyhappytoseeme.“Hey,Loski”;“Yo,dude”;“Doesn’tthissuckeggs?”;“Whydidn’tyoutakethebus,man?”

Miserylovescompany.

ThenMrs.McClure, thepresidentof theBoosters, theladywholassoedusall,hoofsit throughthedoor.“Oh,my!”shesays.“Youalllooksohandsome!”

Notonewordaboutourbaskets.Notonelittlesneakpeekinside.No,forallshecared,thosepuppieswereempty.

Meatmarket?

Youbetterbelieveit!

“Don’tbesonervous,boys,”Mrs.McClurewassaying.“You’regoingtohaveawonderfulday!”Shepullsoutalistofnamesandstartsorderingusintoline.Wegetnumbers;ourbasketsgetnumbers;wefilloutthree-by-fivecardstoherinsanespecifications;andbythetimeshe’sgotusallorganizedandissureweknowwhattodoandwhatnottodo,we’vemissedalloffirstandmostofsecondperiod.“Okay,gentlemen,” she says. “Leaveyourbasketswhere theyare andgo to…where arewenow?Stillinsecond?”Shelooksattheclock.“Right.Second.”

“Whataboutpasses?”somesensiblebasketboyasked.

“Yourteachershavealist.Butiftheysayanything,tellthemIsayyournecktiesareyourpasses.I’llmeetyoubackherewheneveryone’sdismissedfortheauction.Gotit?Don’tdawdle!”

Wegrumbled,Yeah,yeah, andheaded toclass.And I can tellyou this,notoneof the twentyofuslistened toawordanyofour teachers said thatmorning.Howcanyou listenwithanoosearoundyourneck,pinchedtoes,andaroomfullofidiotsthinkingit’sopenseasononbasketboys?Whoeverstarted this stupid tradition ought to be crammed into a basket and tossed downstream without aservingspoon.

Iwasbasketboynumbernine.WhichmeantIhadtostandthereonthestageinthegymwhilenearlyhalftheguysgotauctionedoff.Minimumbid,tenbucks.Andifnobodybid,thesecretwasateacherwasassignedtobidonyou.

Yes,myfriend,thepossibilitiesformortificationwereinfinite.

Some of themoms showed up and stood off to the side with their camcorders and zoom lenses,fidgetingandwavingandbasicallyactingasdweebyas theirsonslooked.Ishouldknow.Mymomtookanhouroffworktobeoneofthem.

TimPellowasbasketboynumberfive,andhismomactuallybidonhim.Nokidding.Shejumpedupanddown,yelling, “Twenty! I’ll giveyou twenty!”Man, that’ll brandyou for life.Lucky forTim,Kelly Trott came up with twenty-two fifty and saved his sorry self from everlasting torture as amama’sboy–oneofthefewfatesworsethanbasketboy.

CalebHugheswasupnext,andhefetchedtheBoostersallofelevenfifty.ThencameChadOrmonde,whoIswearwasreadytopeehispantswhenMrs.McCluremadehimstepforward.Shereadhiscard,pinchedhischeeks,andrakedinfifteeneven.

At this pointwhat stood betweenme and the auction blockwas JonTrulock.And Iwasn’t exactlyinterestedinwhathehadinhisbasketorwhathishobbiesandfavoritesportswere.IwastoobusyscanningthecrowdforJumboJenny,sweatingmypitsoff.

Mrs.McClurecallsintothemicrophone,“DoIhearten?”andittookmeaminutetotuneintothefactthatnoonesaid“Ten!”Noonesaidanything.“Comeon,outthere!Thelunchisdelicious.Strawberrytarts,um…”AndMrs.McCluregoesbacktoreadingoffthethree-by-fiveaboutJonTrulock’slunch.

Talkaboutembarrassing!Thiswasworse thanbeingamama’sboy.Worse than lunchwith JumboJenny!How’dhegetvotedbasketboyifnobodywantedtohavelunchwithhim?

ThenofftotherightofthecrowdIhear,“Ten!”

“Ten?DidIhearten?”Mrs.McCluresayswithaflutterysmile.

“Twelve!”cameadifferentvoicefromthesamearea.

Thefirstvoicecamebackwith“Fifteen!”andallofasuddenIrecognizedwhosevoiceitwas.

JuliBaker ’s.

Isearchedthroughthecrowdandfoundher,handwavingintheair,thatlookalloverherface.

“Sixteen!”cametheothervoice.

Therewasapause,butthenJulishootsbackwith“Eighteen!”

“Eighteen!”criesMrs.McClure,wholookslikeshe’sabouttocollapsefromrelief.Shepauses,thensays,“Eighteengoingonce…Eighteengoingtwice…Sold!foreighteendollars.”

ToJuli?ShewasthelastpersonIexpectedtobidonalunch.Anybody’slunch.

Jonstaggeredbackintoline.AndIknewIwassupposedtostepforward,butIcouldn’tbudge.IfeltlikeI’dbeensluggedinthestomach.DidJulilikeJon?Isthatwhyshe’dbeenso…so…nicelately?Becauseshedidn’tcareaboutmeanymore?Allmylifeshe’dbeenthere,waitingtobeavoided,andnowitwaslikeIdidn’tevenexist.

“Stepup,Bryce.Comeon,don’tbeshy!”

MikeAbenidoshovedmealittleandsaid,“Yourturnfortorture.Getupthere!”

Itfeltlikewalkingtheplank.IjuststoodupfrontsweatingbulletswhiletheBoosterqueendissectedmylunchandstartedrunningthroughmylistoffavorites.Beforeshe’sevenfinished,though,ShellyStallscallsout,“Ten!”

“What’sthat?”saysMrs.McClure.

“I’llgiveyouten!”

“Oh,”shelaughsassheputsdownhernotes.“Well,IguessIhearten!”

“Twenty!”callsMirandaHumesfromdeadcenter.

“Twenty-five!”It’sShellyagain.

I’mlookingaroundforJumboJenny,prayingshe’sgonehomesickorsomething,whileShellyandMirandagoupbyfives.“Thirty!”

“Thirty-five!”

“Forty!”

ThenIspother.She’sabouttwentyfeetbehindMiranda,cleaningherfingernailswithherteeth.

“Forty-five!”

“Fifty!”

“Fifty-two.”

“Fifty-two?” interrupts the Booster queen. “Well, this has been lively!And from the looks of thisbasket,wellworththe—”

“Sixty!”

“Sixty-two!”callsShelly.

MirandascramblesaroundtryingtobegmoneyoffherfriendsasMrs.McClurecalls,“Goingonce!”ButthenJennystandsupandbellows,“Ahundred!”

Ahundred.There’sacollectivegasp,andthentheentirestudentbodyturnsandstaresatJenny.

“Well!”laughsMrs.McClure.“Wehaveahundred!Thatiscertainlyanall-timerecord.AndsuchagenerousdonationtotheBoosters!”

Iwantedtoboosther,rightoffthestage.Iwasdoomed.ThiswassomethingIwouldneverlivedown.

Thenthere’sthisbigcommotion,andallofasuddenShellyandMirandaarestandingrightnexttoeachothercalling,“One-twenty-two…fifty!We’llgiveyouone-twenty-twofifty!”

“One hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents?” I thought the Booster queen was gonna polka.“You’repoolingyourresourcestohavelunchwiththisfineyoungman?”

“Yeah!”theycall,thenlookoverJenny’sway.EverybodylooksoverJenny’sway.

Jennyjustshrugsandgoesbacktocleaninganail.

“Well, then!Onehundred twenty-twodollarsandfiftycentsgoingonce…Onehundred twenty-twodollarsandfiftycentsgoingtwice…Soldtothosetwobeautifulyoungladiesforanall-timerecordofonehundredtwenty-twodollarsandfiftycents!”

“Dude!”MikewhisperedwhenIgotbackinline.“ShellyandMiranda?HowamIsupposedtofollowthat?”

Hedidn’tevencomeclose.HegotTerryNorrisforsixteenbucks,andthemostanyoneelsegotwasforty.Andwhenitwasover,alltheguystoldme,“Dude!Youare,like,theman….Score!”butIdidn’tfeelliketheman.Ifeltwipedout.

Mymom came up and gave me a hug and a kiss like I’d won a gold medal or something, thenwhispered,“Mylittlebaby,”andclickity-clickedoffinherhighheels,backtowork.

SoIwaswipedout,embarrassed,andthenpracticallydraggedtothemulti-purposeroombyShellyandMiranda.

TheBoostershadoutfittedtheMPRwithlittletablesfortwo,alldecoratedinshadesofpinkandblueandyellow,withballoonsandstreamerseverywhere.IfeltliketheEasterbunnywithmystupidbasketboylunchclutchedinbothhandswhileMirandaheldontoonearmandShellylatchedontotheother.

Theygaveus thebiggest table andwhisked in anextra chair, andwheneveryonewas seated,Mrs.McCluresaid,“Boysandgirls?Idon’tthinkIneedtoremindyouthatyouareexcusedfromclassfortherestoftheday.Enjoyyourlunches,enjoyyourfriendships….Takeyourtime,relax,andthanksagainforsupportingyourBoosters.Wewouldn’tbeuswithoutyou!”

SothereIwas,withthetwohottestgirlsoncampus,havinglunch.Iwas“theman,”theenvyofeveryotherguyinschool.

Buddy,Iwasmiserable.

Imean, these two girlsmay be gorgeous, butwhatwas coming out of theirmouths about JumboJenny was embarrassingly ugly.Miranda works herself up to, “What was she thinking? Like youwouldeverwanttogooutwithher,right,Bryce?”

Well,yeah.Thatwasright.Butitseemedreallywrongtosayso.“Look,canwetalkaboutsomethingelse?”

“Sure.Likewhat?”

“Idon’tcare.Anythingelse.Youguysgoinganywherethissummer?”

Mirandashootsofffirst.“We’retakingacruisetotheMexicanRiviera.We’resupposedtostopinallthese cool ports and shop and stuff.” She flutters her eyelids at me and says, “I could bring yousomethingback….”

Shellyscootsherchairinalittleandsays,“We’regoinguptothelake.Mydadhasacabinthere,andyoucanget themostoutrageous tan.Doyourememberwhat I looked likeat thebeginningof thisyear?Iwas,like,black.I’mgoingtodothatagain,onlythistimeI’vegotascheduleallworkedoutsothatit’seveneverywhere.”Shegigglesandsays,“Don’ttellmymom,okay?Shewouldhaveaka-nip!”

Andthis,myfriend,ishowtheTanWarsbegan.MirandatoldShellythatshedidn’tevennoticehertan at the beginning of the year and that the place to really roast is on a cruise ship. Shelly toldMirandathatanyonewithfrecklescan’treallygettanandsinceMirandahadfreckleseverywhere,thecruisewasaguaranteedwasteofmoney.Ichokeddownmythirdofthelunchandlookedaroundtheroom,tryingtoletitallflowpastme.

ThenIsawJuli.Shewastwotablesawayfromme,facingmydirection.Onlyshewasn’tlookingatme.ShewaslookingatJon,hereyesallsparklyandlaughing.

Myheart lurched.Whatwasshe laughingabout?Whatwere they talkingabout?Howcouldshesitthereandlookso…beautiful?

Ifeltmyselfspinningoutofcontrol.Itwasweird.LikeIcouldn’tevensteermyownbody.I’dalwaysthoughtJonwasprettycool,butrightthenIwantedtogooverandthrowhimacrosstheroom.

Shellygrabbedmyarmandsaid,“Bryce,areyouallright?Youlook…Idon’tknow…possessedorsomething.”

“What?Oh.”Itriedtakingadeepbreath.“Whatareyoustaringat?”Mirandaasked.Theybothlookedovertheirshoulders,thenshruggedandwentbacktopickingattheirfood.

But I couldn’t stop myself from looking again. And in the back of my mind, I could hear mygrandfather ’svoicesaying,“Thechoicesyoumakenowwillaffectyoufortherestofyourlife.Do

therightthing….”

Dotherightthing….

Dotherightthing….

Mirandashookmeoutofit,asking,“Bryce?Areyouinthere?Iasked,whatareyougoingtodothissummer?”

“Idon’tknow,”Isnapped.

“Hey,maybeyoucanspendsometimeupatthelakewithus!”Shellysaid.

Itwastorture.Iwantedtoscream,Shutup!Leavemealone!IwantedtorunoutofthebuildingandkeeponrunninguntilIdidn’tfeellikethisanymore.

“Lunchisreallydelicious,Bryce.”Miranda’svoicewasfloatingaround.“Bryce?Didyouhearme?Thisisreallyaspectacularlunch.”

Asimplelittlethankyouwould’vesufficed.ButcouldIcomeupwithasimplelittlethankyou?No.Iturnedonherandsaid,“Canwenottalkaboutfoodortansorhair?”

Shegavemeanuppitylittlesmile.“Well,whatdoyouwanttotalkabout,then?”

Iblinkedather,thenatShelly.“Howaboutperpetualmotion?Knowanythingaboutthat?”

“Perpetualwhat?”

Mirandastartslaughing.

“What?”Iaskher.“What’ssofunny?”

Shelooksatmeaminute,thensnickers.“Ididn’trealizeI’dbidonanintellectual.”

“Hey…I’mplentysmart!”

“Yeah?”Mirandagiggles.“Canyouspellintellectual?”

“Heistoosmart,Miranda.”

“Oh,stopkissingup,Shelly.You’retryingtotellmeyou’reafterhisbrain?God,it’smakingmesicktowatchyougrovel.”

“Grovel?Excuseme?”

“Youheardme.He’snotgoing to takeyou to thegraddanceanyway,so justgive itup,whydon’tyou?”

Andwiththat,itwasallover.Oneofmymom’sflakyappletartsgotgroundintoMiranda’shair;theextraranchdressinggotsmearedintoShelly’s.AndbeforeMrs.McClurecouldsay,Inthenameof

Boosters!Whatareyoudoing?theywererollingonthefloor,scratchingeachother ’smakeupoff.

ItookthisopportunitytoleavemytableandheadforJuli’s.Igrabbedherbythehandandsaid,“I’vegottotalktoyou.”

Shesortofhalf-standsandsays,“What?What’sgoingon,Bryce?Whyaretheyfighting?”

“Excuseusaminute,wouldyou,Jon?”Ipullherawayfromthetable,butthere’snoplacetogo.AndI’vegotherhandinmine,andIjustcan’tthink.SoIstoprightthereinthemiddleoftheroomandlookather.Atthatface.Iwanttotouchhercheekandseewhatitfeelslike.Iwanttotouchherhair,itlookssoincrediblysoft.

“Bryce,”shewhispers.“What’swrong?”

IcanbarelybreatheasIaskher,“Doyoulikehim?”

“DoI…youmeanJon?”

“Yes!”

“Well,sure.He’sniceand—”

“No,doyoulikehim?”MyheartwaspoundingthroughmychestasItookherotherhandandwaited.

“Well,no.Imean,notlikethat….”

No!She saidno! I didn’t carewhere Iwas, I didn’t carewho saw. Iwanted, justhad to kiss her. Ileanedin,closedmyeyes,andthen…

Shebrokeawayfromme.

Suddenly, the room was dead quiet. Miranda and Shelly stared at me through their slimy hair,everyonewaslookingatmelikeI’dblownmyentirecircuitboard,andIjuststoodthere,tryingtoreelinmylipsandpullmyselfbacktogether.

Mrs.McCluretookmebytheshoulders,guidedmetomychair,andtoldme,“Yousithere,andyoustay here!” Then she hauled Miranda and Shelly outside, scolding them and telling them to findseparatebathroomsandcleanupwhilesherandownthejanitortomopuptheirmess.

Isattherebymyselfanddidn’tevencareaboutcoveringup.Ijustwantedtobewithher.Totalktoher.Toholdherhandagain.

Tokissher.

Beforeschoolwasout,Itriedtotalktoheragain,buteverytimeIgotclose,she’ddodgeme.Andthenwhenthefinalbellrang,shedisappeared.Ilookedeverywhereforher,butshewasjustgone.

Garrett,however,wasn’t.Hetrackedmedownandsaid,“Dude!Tellmeitisn’ttrue!”

Ididn’tsayaword.Ijustheadedforthebikeracks,stillhopingtofindJuli.

“Oh,man…itistrue!”

“Leavemealone,Garrett.”

“Yougethookedupwiththetwofinestchicksoncampus,thenbailonthemforJuli?”

“Youdon’tunderstand.”

“You’re right, dude. I completely don’t understand. Did you seriously try to kiss her? I couldn’tbelievethatpart.We’retalkingJuliannaBaker?Yournightmareneighbor?Theknow-it-allnuisance?Thecooppoopbabe?”

Istoppedcoldandshovedhim.Justlaidintohimwithbothhandsandshoved.“Thatwasalongtimeago,man.Knockitoff!”

Garrettputbothhandsup,butmovedinatme.“Dude,youhaveflipped,youknowthat?”

“Justbackoff,wouldyou?”

Heblockedmypath. “I can’tbelieve this!Twohoursagoyouwere theman.Theman!Thewholeschoolwasontheirkneesbeforeyou!Nowlookatyou.You’re,like,asocialhazard.”Hesnortedandsaid,“And,dude,thetruthis,ifyou’regonnabelikethis,Idon’tneedtheassociation.”

Igotrightinhisfaceandsaid,“Good!’Causeyouknowwhat?NeitherdoI!”

Ishovedhimasideandran.

Iwoundupwalking home. Inmypinchy shoes,with dirty dishes clanking insidemy sticky picnichamper, this basket boyhiked all thewayhome.And therewas a battle raging insideme.TheoldBrycewantedtogobackintime,wantedtohangwithGarrettandshootthebreeze,wantedtohateJuliBakeragain.

Wantedtobetheman.

ButinmyheartIknewtheoldBrycewastoast.Therewasnogoingback.NottoGarrettorShellyorMirandaoranyof theotherpeoplewhowouldn’tunderstand. Juliwas different, but after all theseyearsthatdidn’tbothermeanymore.

Ilikedit.

Ilikedher.

AndeverytimeIsawher,sheseemedmorebeautiful.Shejustseemedtoglow.I’mnottalkinglikeahundred-wattbulb;shejusthadthiswarmthtoher.Maybeitcamefromclimbingthattree.Maybeit

camefromsingingtochickens.Maybeitcamefromwhackingattwo-by-foursanddreamingaboutperpetualmotion.Idon’tknow.AllIknowisthatcomparedtoher,ShellyandMirandaseemedso…ordinary.

I’dneverfeltlikethisbefore.Ever.Andjustadmittingittomyselfinsteadofhidingfromitmademefeelstrong.Happy.Itookoffmyshoesandsocksandstuffedtheminthebasket.Mytiewhippedovermy shoulder as I ran homebarefoot, and I realized thatGarrettwas right about one thing – Ihadflipped.

Completely.

Itruckeddownourstreetandspottedherbikelyingonitssideonthedriveway.Shewashome!

IrangthebelluntilIthoughtitwouldbreak.

Noanswer.

Ipoundedonherdoor.

Noanswer.

Iwenthomeandcalledonthephone,andfinally,finallyhermotheranswers.“Bryce?No,I’msorry.Shedoesn’twanttotalk.”Thenshewhispers,“Giveheralittletime,won’tyou?”

Igaveheranhour.Almost.ThenIwentacrossthestreet.“Please,Mrs.Baker.I’vegottoseeher!”

“She’slockedherselfinherroom,dear.Whydon’tyoutryphoningtomorrow.”

Tomorrow? I couldn’twait until tomorrow!So Iwent around the side of their house, climbed thefence,andknockedonherwindow.“Juli!Juli,please.I’vegottoseeyou.”

Hercurtainsdidn’topen,butthebackdoordid,andoutcameMrs.Bakertoshoomeaway.

WhenIgothome,mygranddadwaswaitingatthefrontdoor.“Bryce,whatisgoingon?You’vebeenrunningbackandforthtotheBakers’,climbingovertheirfence….You’reactingliketheworld’sonfire!”

Iblurted,“Ican’tbelievethis!Ijustcan’tbelievethis!Shewon’ttalktome!”

Heledmeintothefrontroom,saying,“Whowon’ttalktoyou?”

“Juli!”

Hehesitated.“Isshe…madatyou?”

“Idon’tknow!”

“Doesshehavereasontobemadatyou?”

“No!Yes!Imean,Idon’tknow!”

“Well,whathappened?”

“I tried tokissher! In frontof thiswhole roomofpeople,while Iwas supposed tobehaving thatstupidbasketboylunchwithShellyandMiranda,Itriedtokissher!”

Slowlyasmilespreadacrosshisface.“Youdid?”

“Iwas,like,possessed.Icouldn’tstopmyself!Butshepulledawayand…”IlookedoutthewindowattheBakers’house.“Andnowshewon’ttalktome!”

Veryquietlymygrandfathersaid,“Maybeshethinksthisisallalittlesudden?”

“Butit’snot!”

“It’snot?”

“No,Imean…”Iturnedtohim.“Itstartedwiththatstupidnewspaperarticle.AndIdon’tknow…I’vebeenweirdedouteversince.Shedoesn’tlookthesame,shedoesn’tsoundthesame,shedoesn’tevenseem like the same person to me!” I stared out the window at the Bakers’. “She’s… she’s justdifferent.”

Mygrandfatherstoodbesidemeandlookedacrossthestreet,too.“No,Bryce,”hesaidsoftly.“She’sthesameasshe’salwaysbeen;you’retheonewho’schanged.”Heclappedhishandonmyshoulderandwhispered,“And,son,fromhereonout,you’llneverbethesameagain.”

Maybemygrandfather ’shappyaboutallthis,butI’mmiserable.Ican’teat;Ican’twatchTV;Ican’tseemtodoanything.

SoIwenttobedearly,butIcan’tsleep.I’vewatchedherhousefrommywindowforhoursnow.I’vestaredatthesky;I’vecountedsheep.Butman,Ican’tstopkickingmyselfforwhatanidiotI’vebeenalltheseyears.

AndnowhowamIgoingtomakeherlistentome?I’dscalethatmonstersycamoreifIcould.Righttothetop.AndI’dyellhernameacrosstherooftopsforthewholeworldtohear.

Andsinceyouknowwhatatree-climbingweenieIam,Ithinkit’sprettyclearthatI’mwillingtodoanythingtogethertotalktome.Man,I’lldiveafterherintoachickencoopfullofpoopifthat’swhatittakes.I’llridemybikeallthestinkin’waytoschoolfortherestofeternityifitmeansbeingwithher.

Something.I’vegottocomeupwithsomethingtoshowherthatI’vechanged.ToprovetoherthatIunderstand.

Butwhat?HowdoIshowherthatI’mnottheguyshethinksIam?HowdoIeraseeverythingI’vedoneandstartover?

MaybeIcan’t.Maybeit justcannotbedone.ButifI’velearnedonethingfromJuliBaker, it’sthatI’vegottoputmywholeheartandsoulintoitandtry.

Whateverhappens,Iknowthatmygrandfather ’srightaboutonething.

I’llneverbethesameagain.

Juli:TheBasketBoysTheMondayaftertheLoskis’dinnerparty,DarlatrackedmedownatschoolandforcedBryceLoskibackintomybrain.“Jules!Whoa,girl,waitup!Howhaveyoubeen?”

“I’mfine,Darla,howareyou?”

“No, seriously,” shewhispered. “Areyoudoingokay?”She shiftedherbackpack and lookedovereachshoulder.“Igottothinking,youknow,thatwasjustsocoldofBryce.Especiallysinceyou’vegotthatsoftspotforhim.”

“Whotoldyouthat?”

“LikeIhaven’tgoteyes?Comeon,girl.It’sagiven.WhichiswhyIgottoworryin’aboutyou.Areyouseriouslyallright?”

“Yes, I am. But thanks for thinking about me.” I eyed her and said, “And Darla? It’s not a givenanymore.”

Shelaughed.“Howlong’sthisdietgonnalast?”

“It’snotadiet.I’vejust,uh,lostmytasteforhim.”

Shelookedatmeskeptically.“Uh-huh.”

“Well,Ihave.Butthanksfor,youknow,caring.”

AllthroughfirstperiodIwasstillfeelingstrongandrightandcertain,butthenMrs.Simmonsendedthelessonafullfifteenminutesearlyandsaid,“Clearyourdesksofeverythingbutapenorpencil.”

“What?”everyonecried,andbelieveme—Iwasrightalongwiththem.Iwasnotpreparedforaquiz!

“Everything!”shesaid.“Comeon,you’rewastingvaluabletime.”

The roomfilledwithgrumblesand the soundof shufflingbinders,andwhenwe’dallprettymuchcompliedwithherrequest,shepickedastackofbrightyellowpapersoffherdesk,fannedthemwithanevilgrin,andsaid,“It’stimetovoteforbasketboys!”

Awaveofreliefsweptacrosstheroom.“Basketboys?Youmeanit’snotaquiz?”

Shetickedthroughthestack,countingballotsasshespoke.“ItislikeaquizinthatIdon’twantyouconferringwith one another. It’salso like a quiz in that you have a limited amount of time.” Sheslappedasetofballotsdownon the firstdeskof rowone, thenwenton to thesecond row.“Iwillcollect them from you individually when the bell rings, and I will inspect to see that you havecompliedwith the following instructions.” She scooted over to row three. “Choose five, and onlyfive,oftheboysonthelist.Donotputyournameonit,anddonotdiscussyourchoiceswithyourneighbors.” She was on to row four now, talking faster and faster. “When you’ve made your

selections,simplyturnyoursheetover.”Sheslappedtheremainderdownonthelastdesk.“Donot,Irepeat,donotfoldyourballot!”

RobbieCastinonraisedhishandandblurtedout,“Whydoguyshavetovote.It’slametohaveguysvote.”

“Robbie…,”Mrs.Simmonswarned.

“Seriously!Whatarewesupposedtodo?Voteforourfriendsorourenemies?”

A lot of people snickered, andMrs. Simmons scowled, but he had a point.Twenty of the school’seighth-gradeboyswouldbemadetopackapicniclunchfortwoandbeauctionedofftothehighestbidder.

“Beingabasketboyisanhonor—”Mrs.Simmonsbegan,butshewasinterruptedbyRobbie.

“It’sajoke!”hesaid.“It’sembarrassing!Whowantstobeabasketboy?”

All theguys aroundhimmuttered, “Notme,”butMrs.Simmonsclearedher throat and said, “Youshouldwanttobeone!It’satraditionthathashelpedsupporttheschoolsinceitwasfounded.Therehavebeengenerationaftergenerationofbasketboyshelpingmakethiscampuswhatitistoday.It’swhywehaveflowerbeds.It’swhywehaveshadetreesandagroveofappletrees.Visitanotherjuniorhighsometimeandyou’llbegintorealizewhatalittleoasisourcampusreallyis.”

“Allthisfromthesweatandbloodofbasketboys,”Robbiegrumbled.

Mrs.Simmonssighed.“Robbie,somedaywhenyourchildrengo toschoolhere,you’llunderstand.Fornow,pleasejustvoteforwhoeveryouthinkwillearnahighbid.Andclass,”sheadded,“we’redowntonineminutes.”

Theroomfellquiet.AndasIreaddownthelistofoveronehundredandfiftyeighth-gradeboys,Irealizedthattome,therehadonlyeverbeenoneboy.Tome,therehadonlybeenBryce.

Ididn’t letmyselfgetsentimental. Ihadlikedhimforall thewrongreasons,andIcertainlywasn’tgoingtovoteforhimnow.ButIdidn’tknowwhoelsetovotefor.I lookedatMrs.Simmons,whowaseagle-eyeingtheclassbetweenglancesattheclock.WhatifIdidn’tchooseanybody?WhatifIjustturneditinblank?

She’dgivemedetention,that’swhat.Sowithtwominuteslefttogo,IputdotsnexttotheboysIknewwhoweren’tjerksorclowns,butwerejustnice.WhenIwasthrough,therewerealloftennameswithdots,andofthoseIcircledfive:RyanNoll,VinceOlson,AdrianIglesias,IanLai,andJonTrulock.Theywouldn’tmakebasketboy,butthenIwouldn’tbebidding,soitdidn’treallymatter.AtthebellIhandedovermyballotandforgotallabouttheauction.

Untillunchtimethenextday,thatis.Darlacutmeoffonmywaytothelibraryanddraggedmeovertohertableinstead.“Haveyouseenthelist?”sheasked.

“Whatlist?”

“The listofbasketboys!”Sheshovedascrawledcopyof twentynames in frontofmeand lookedaround.“Yourmaindishisonit!”

Fivefromthetop,thereitwas—BryceLoski.

Ishouldhaveexpectedit,butstill,thisawfulsurgeofpossessivenessshotthroughme.Whohadvotedforhim?Outofonehundredfiftynameshemusthavegottenalotofvotes!SuddenlyIwaspicturingaswarmofgirlswavingstacksofcashintheBoosterladies’facesastheybeggedtohavelunchwithhim.

IthrewthelistbackatDarlaandsaid,“He’snotmymaindish!Asamatteroffact,Ididn’tevenvoteforhim.”

“Oooo,girl!Youarestickin’toyourdiet!”

“It’snotadiet,Darla.I’m…I’moverhim,okay?”

“I’mgladtohearit,’causerumoris,thatbimbetteShellyisalreadystakin’herclaimonhim.”

“Shelly?ShellyStalls?”Icouldfeelmycheeksflush.

“That’sright.”Darlawavedherlistintheair,calling,“Liz!Macy!Overhere!I’vegotthelist!”

Darla’sfriendsfellalloverthemselvesgettingtoher,thenporedoverthepaperlikeitwasatreasuremap.Macycried,“ChadOrmonde’sonit!Heissocute.I’dgotenbucksonhim,easy!”

“AndDenny’sonit,too!”Lizsquealed.“Thatboyis”–sheshiveredandgiggled—“fi-yi-yine!”

Macy’stoplipcurledalittleandshesaid,“JonTrulock?JonTrulock?Howdidhegetonthislist?”

ForamomentIcouldn’tbelievemyears.IsnatchedthepaperoutofMacy’shand.“Areyousure?”

“Rightthere,”shesaid,pointingtohisname.“Whodoyousupposevotedforhim?”

“The quiet girls, I guess,”Darla said. “Me, I’mmore interested inMikeAbenido.Have I got anycompetition?”

Macylaughed,“Ifyou’rein,I’mout!”

“Metoo,”saidLiz.

“Howaboutyou,Jules?”Darlaaskedme.“Bringin’sparechangeonFriday?”

“No!”

“Yougettomissthesecondhalfofschool….”

“No!I’mnotbidding.Notonanyone!”

Shelaughed.“Goodforyou.”

ThatafternoonIrodehomefromschoolbroodingaboutBryceandthewholebasketboyauction.Icould feelmyself backsliding aboutBryce.Butwhy should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn’tevenbethinkingabouthim!

WhenIwasn’tthinkingaboutBryce,IwasworryingaboutpoorJonTrulock.Hewasquiet,andIfeltsorryforhim,havingtoclutchabasketandbeauctionedoffinfrontofthewholestudentbody.WhathadIdonetohim?

But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out ofmymind.Was that green I sawpokingoutofthedirt?Yes!Yes,itwas!Idroppedthebikeandgotdownonmyhandsandknees.Theyweresothin,sosmall,sofarapart!Theybarelymadeadifferenceinthevastnessoftheblackdirt,andyettheretheywere.Pushingtheirwaythroughtotheafternoonsun.

Iraninthehouse,calling,“Mom!Mom,there’sgrass!”

“Really?”Sheemergedfromthebathroomwithhercleaningglovesandapail.“Iwaswonderingifitwasevergoingtospringup.”

“Well,ithas!Come!Comeandsee!”

Shewasn’t tooimpressedatfirst.ButafterImadehergetdownonherhandsandkneesandreallylook,shesmiledandsaid,“They’resodelicate….”

“Theylooklikethey’reyawning,don’tthey?”

Shecockedherheadabitandlookedalittlecloser.“Yawning?”

“Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they’re sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their armsstretchedwayhigh,saying,Goodmorning,world!”

Shelaughedandsaid,“Yes,theydo!”

Igotupanduncoiledthehose.“Ithinktheyneedawakeupshower,don’tyou?”

Mymomagreedandleftmetomysingingandsprinkling.AndIwascompletelylostinthejoyofmylittlegreenbladesofnewlifewhenIheardtheschoolbusrumbletoastopuponCollierStreet.

Bryce.Hisnameshotthroughmybrain,andwithitcameapanicIdidn’tseemabletocontrol.BeforeIcouldstopmyself,Idroppedthehoseanddashedinside.

I lockedmyself inmy roomand tried todomyhomework.Wherewasmypeace?Wherewasmyresolve?Wherewasmy sanity?Had they leftme because Shelly Stallswas after him?Was it justsomeoldrivalrymakingmefeel thisway?Ihad togetpastBryceandShelly.Theydeservedeachother—letthemhaveeachother!

ButinmyheartIknewthatjustlikethenewgrass,Iwasn’tstrongenoughyettobewalkedon.AnduntilIwas,therewasonlyonesolution:Ihadtostayawayfromhim.Ineededtoropehimoutofmylife.

SoIclosedmyearstothenewsofbasketboysandsteeredclearofBryceatschool.AndwhenIdidhappentorunintohim,IsimplysaidhellolikehewassomeoneIbarelyevenknew.

Itwasworking,too!Iwasgrowingstrongerbytheday.Whocaredaboutauctionsandbasketboys?Ididn’t!

FridaymorningIgotupearly,collectedwhatfeweggstherewereinthecoop,wateredthefrontyard,whichwasbynowdefinitelygreen,atebreakfast,andgotreadyforschool.

But as Iwas running a brush throughmy hair, I couldn’t help thinking about Shelly Stalls. Itwasauctionday.She’dprobablybeenupsincefive,makingherhairintosomeimpossiblypouffydo.

Sowhat?Itoldmyself.Sowhat?ButasIwasthrowingonmywindbreaker,Ieyedmymoneytinandhesitated.Whatif…

No!No-no-no!

Irantothegarage,gotmybike,andpushedoutofthedriveway.AndIwasinthestreetandonmywaywhenMrs.Stuebyflewrightinmypath.“Julianna,”shecalled,wavingherhandthroughtheair.“Here,dear.Takethis.I’msosorryit’stakenmethislongtogetittoyou.Ikeepmissingyouinthemornings.”

Ididn’tevenknowhowmuchsheowedme.AtthatmomentIdidn’tcare.AllIknewwasthetopbillinherhandwasaten,anditwasstrikingterrorinmyheart.“Mrs.Stueby,please.I…Idon’twantthat.Youdon’thavetopayme.”

“Nonsense,child!OfcourseI’mgoingtopayyou.Here!”shesaid,andwaveditoutformetotake.

“No,really.I…Idon’twantit.”

Shewedgeditinthepocketofmyjeansandsaid,“Whatutternonsense.Nowgo!Gobuyyourselfarooster!”thenhurriedbackupherwalkway.

“Mrs.Stueby…Mrs.Stueby?”Icalledafterher.“Idon’twantarooster…!”butshewasgone.

AllthewaytoschoolMrs.Stueby’smoneywasburningaholeinmypocketandanotherinmybrain.Howmuchwasit?

WhenIgottoschool,Iparkedmybike,thenbrokedownandlooked.Ten,fifteen,sixteen,seventeen,eighteen.Ifoldedthebillstogetherandslidthembackintomypocket.WasitmorethanShellyhad?

AllthroughfirstperiodIwasfuriouswithmyselfforeventhinkingit.AllthroughsecondperiodIkeptmyeyesoffofBryce,butoh!Itwassohard!I’dneverseenhiminatieandcufflinksbefore!

ThenatbreakIwasatmylockerwhenShellyStallsappearedoutofnowhere.Shegotrightnexttomeandsaid,“Ihearyou’replanningtobidonhim.”

“What?”Itookastepback.“Whotoldyouthat?Iamnot!”

“Someonesaidtheysawyouwithawholewadofcashthismorning.Howmuchdoyouhave?”

“It’s…it’snoneofyourbusiness.AndI’mnotbidding,okay?I…Idon’tevenlikehimanymore.”

Shelaughed,“Oh,that’llbetheday!”

“It’strue.”Islammedmylockerclosed.“Goaheadandwasteyourmoneyonhim.Idon’tcare.”

Ilefthertherewithhermouthopen,whichfeltevenbetterthangettingherinaheadlock.

Thatfeelingcarriedmeclearthroughtoeleveno’clock,whentheentirestudentbodyassembledinthegymnasium.IwasnotgoingtobidonBryceLoski.Noway!

Thenthebasketboyscameoutonthestage.Brycelookedsoadorableholdingapicnicbasketwithred-and-white-checkednapkinspeekingoutfromeitherside,andthethoughtofShellyStallsflippingoneofthosenapkinsintoherlapnearlymadethebillsinmypocketburstintoflames.

Darlacameupbehindmeandwhispered,“Rumorisyou’vegotawadofcash.Isthattrue?”

“What?No!Imean,yes,butI…I’mnotbidding.”

“Oooo,girl,lookatyou.Youfeelin’allright?”

Iwasn’t.Ifeltsicktomystomachandshakyintheknees.“I’mfine,”Itoldher.“Fine.”

Shelookedfrommetothestageandbacktome.“Yougotnothin’tolosebutyourself-respect.”

“Stopit!”Iwhisperedatherfiercely.ItfeltlikeIwashavingapanicattack.Icouldn’tbreathe.Ifeltlight-headedandwobbly—likeIwasn’tincontrolofmyownbody.

Darlasaid,“Maybeyoushouldsitdown.”

“I’mfine,Darla,I’mfine.”

Shefrownedatme.“IthinkI’llstickaroundtomakesure.”

TheBoosterClubpresident,Mrs.McClure,hadbeenflutteringaroundthebasketboys,fixingtiesandgivingthemlast-minuteinstructions,butnowsuddenlyshewasslamminghergavelonthepodium,callingintothemicrophone,“Ifyou’llallsettledown,we’rereadytobegin.”

I’dneverseensixhundredkidsquietdownsofast.IguessMrs.McClurehadn’teither,becauseshesmiledandsaid,“Why,thankyou.Thankyouverymuch.”Thenshesaid,“Andwelcometothefifty-secondannualBasketBoyAuction!Iknowthatyourteachershavegoneovertheprocedureswithyouinhomeroom,butI’vebeenaskedtoremindyouofafewthings:Thisisacivilizedproceeding.Nowhistling,catcalls,orotherdegradingbehaviorwillbetolerated.Ifyouwishtoplaceabid,youmustraiseyourhandhigh.Biddingwithoutraisingyourhandisprohibited,andshouldyoudecidetobeafunnyguy,youwillbecaughtanddetainedorsuspended.Areweallclearonthat?Good.”Shelookedfromonesideofthegymtotheother.“Teachers,Iseethatyouareinposition.”

Sixhundredheadsturnedslowlyfromsidetoside,lookingattheblockadeofteachersoneithersideofthegym.

“Man,”Darlawhispered,“they’renotleavingmuchroomforfun,arethey?”

Mrs.McClurecontinued,“Minimumbidistendollars,andofcourse,thesky’sthelimit,butwedon’tacceptIOUs.”Shepointedtoherright.“WinningbiddersshouldgodirectlytothetableatthenorthdoorwhenIdeclarethebaskettobesold.Andasyou’reaware,winnersandtheirbasketboyshavetherestoftheschooldayoffandareexemptfromtonight’shomeworkinallclasses.”Shesmiledoutattheblockade.“Teachers,weappreciateyoursupportonthis.

“Allright,then!”Sheputonherreadingglassesandlookedatathree-by-fivecard.“Ourfirstbaskethas been brought by Jeffrey Bisho.” She looked over her glasses at him and said, “Come on up,Jeffrey.Don’tbeshy!”Heinchedforwardasshecontinued.“Jeffreyhasbroughtascrumptiouslunchconsistingofchickensaladsandwiches,orientalnoodles,babygrapes,icedtea,andfortunecookies.”Shesmiledathimoverherglasses.“Soundsdelicious,andsoundslikefun!Which,”shesaid,lookingbackat the crowd, “Jeffrey is!Heenjoys skateboarding, skiing, and swimming,but ladies,healsoenjoys a day in thepark andwatchingHumphreyBogartmovies.”She turned to himandgrinned.“Theyareakick,aren’tthey?”

PoorJefftriedtosmile,butyoucouldtell—hewantedtodie.

“Allright,then,”saidMrs.McClureasshewhippedoffherglasses.“DoIhearten?”

Notonlydidshehearten,sheheardtwelve,fifteen,twenty,andtwenty-five,too!“Going…going…gone!”criedMrs.McClure.“Totheyoungladyinthepurpletunic!”

“Whoisthat?”IaskedDarla.

“Ithinkhername’sTiffany,”shesaid.“She’saseventhgrader.”

“Really?Wow.Iwouldneverhavebidlastyear!AndI…Idon’trememberbidsgoingupthathigh,either.”

Darlaeyedme.“Whichtellsmethatmaybeyouwouldbidthisyear?Howmuchyougot?”

Ilookedatherandalmostdissolvedrightonthespot.“Darla,Ididn’tbringmoneyonpurpose!Myneighbormademetakeitonthewaytoschoolbecausesheowedittomeforeggsand—”

“Foreggs?Oh,likeBrycewastalkingaboutinthelibrary?”

“Exactly,and—”Ilookedatherlookingatmeandstoppedcold.

“Howcanyoueventhinkaboutbiddingonthatboy?”

“Idon’twant to!But I’ve likedhimforso long.Darla, I’ve likedhimsince Iwasseven.And eventhoughIknowhe’sacowardandasneakandIshouldneverspeaktohimagain,I’mhavingtroublefocusingonthat.EspeciallysinceShellyStallsisafterhim.AndnowI’vegotthismoneyburningaholeinmypocket!”

“Well,IcanunderstandthebitaboutShellyStalls,butifyouknowthatboy’sjustabigpieceoffluffycheesecake that you’re gonna regret eating, I can help youwith your diet.” She put out her hand.“Givemethemoney.I’llholditforyou.”

“No!”

“No?”

“Imean…Icanhandlethis.I’vegottohandleit.”

Sheshookherhead.“Oh,girl.I’mhurtingforyouhere.”

Ilookedbackatthestage.Theauctionwashappeningsofast!They’dbeatBryceinnotime.Asthebiddingcontinued,thebattleinmyheadgotlouderandfiercer.WhatwasIgoingtodo?

Then suddenly the gym fell quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. And standing next to Mrs.McClurelookingcompletelymortifiedwasJonTrulock.Mrs.McClurewasscouringthecrowdwithhereyes,lookingveryuncomfortable,too.

“Whathappened?”IwhisperedtoDarla.

“Noone’sbidding,”shewhisperedback.

“DoIhearten?”calledMrs.McClure.“Comeon,outthere!Thislunchisdelicious.Strawberrytarts,roastbeefandMuenstercheesesandwiches…”

“Oh,no!”IwhisperedtoDarla.“Ican’tbelieveIdidthistohim!”

“You?Whatdidyoudo?”

“Ivotedforhim!”

“Well,youcouldn’thavebeentheonlyone….”

“Butwhyisn’tanyonebiddingonhim?He’s…he’ssonice.”

Darlanodded.“Exactly.”

That’swhenIrealizedwhatIhadtodo.MyhandshotintotheairandIcalled,“Ten!”

“Ten?”warbledMrs.McClure.“DidIhearten?”

IputmyhanduphigherandsaidtoDarla,“Saytwelve.”

“What?”

“Saytwelve,I’lloutbidyou.”

“Noway!”

“Darla!Hecan’tgoforten,c’mon!”

“Twelve!”Darlacalled,butherhanddidn’tgoupveryhigh.

“Fifteen!”Icried.

“Sixteen!”calledDarla,andeyedmewithalaugh.

Iwhispered,“Darla!I’veonlygotfifteen.”

Hereyesgotenormous.

Ilaughedandcalled,“Eighteen!”thenheldherarmdownandsaid,“ButthatreallyisallI’vegot.”

Therewasamomentof silenceand then,“Eighteengoingonce!Eighteengoing twice…Sold! foreighteendollars.”

Darlalaughedandsaid,“Whoa,girl!Whatarush!”

Inodded.“Yes,itwas!”

“Well, no dessert for you. Looks like you got cleaned out by something a little more… uh…nutritious.”Shenoddedtowardthestage.“Yougonnagouptothetablelikeyou’resupposedto?Oryougonnastickaroundandseethecarnage?”

Ialmostdidn’thaveachoice.BeforeMrs.McClurecouldsaytwowordsaboutBryceorhisbasket,Shellycalled,“Ten!”Thenfromthemiddleofthegymcame“Twenty!”ItwasMirandaHumes,withher handway in the air.Theywent back and forth, back and forth, higher andhigher, until Shellycalled,“Sixty-two!”

“Ican’tbelieveit,”IwhisperedtoDarla.“Sixty-twodollars!C’mon,Miranda,comeon.”

“Ithinkshe’sout.Shelly’sgotit.”

“Sixty-twodollarsgoingonce!”criedMrs.McClure,butbeforeshecouldsay,Goingtwice!avoicefromthebackofthegymcalled,“Ahundred!”

Everyonegaspedandturnedaroundtoseewhohadcalledthebid.Darlawhispered,“It’sJenny.”

“Atkinson?”Iasked.

Darlapointed.“Rightoverthere.”

Shewaseasytospot,standingtallabovetheothersinthenumber-sevenbasketballjerseyshealmostalwayswore.“Wow,”Iwhispered,“Ihadnoidea.”

“Maybeshe’llslam-dunkhimforyou,”Darlasaidwithagrin.

“Whocares?”Igiggled.“Sheslam-dunkedShelly!”

Mrs.McClurewasgushingintothemicrophoneabouttherecord-breakingbidwhenabigcommotionbrokeoutoverbyMiranda.IspottedShelly’shair,andmyfirstthoughtwasthattherewasgoingtobea fight. But instead, Shelly andMiranda turned to faceMrs.McClure and called, “One-twenty-twofifty!”

Ichokeddownacry.“What?”

“They’reteamin’up,”Darlawhispered.

“Oh,no-no-no!”IlookedoverJenny’sway.“Comeon,Jenny!”

Darlashookherheadandsaid,“She’sthrough,”andshewas.BrycewenttoShellyandMirandaforonehundredtwenty-twodollarsandfiftycents.

Itwasalittlestrange,meetingupwithJonandwalkingovertothemulti-purposeroomforlunch.Buthewas just sonice, and I thinkgrateful that I’dbid, thatby the timewegot situatedatour table, Iwasn’tfeelingsoawkwardorsilly.Itwasjustlunch.

Thingswouldhavebeeneasieriftheyhadn’tseatedmeindirectviewofBryceandhislittleharem,butIdidmybesttoignorethem.Jontoldmeallaboutthisradio-controlledairplanethatheandhisdadwerebuildingfromscratch,andhowhe’dbeenworkingonitfornearlythreemonths,andthatovertheweekendtheywerefinallygoingtogettotryitout.Hetoldmeafunnystoryaboutsolderingthewireswrongandpracticallystartingafireintheirbasement,andIaskedhimabouthowaradio-controlledairplaneworksbecauseIdidn’treallyunderstandit.

SoI’drelaxedalotandwasactuallyhavingagoodtimeeatinglunchwithJon.AndIwassorelievedthatIhadn’tbidonBryce.WhatafoolIwouldhavemadeofmyself!WatchingShellyandMirandafawning all over him didn’t botherme nearly asmuch as I thought it would. Really, they lookedridiculous.

Jon asked about my family, so I was telling him about my brothers and their band when a hugecommotionbrokeoutoveratBryce’stable.SuddenlyShellyandMirandawererollingonthefloorlikeanenormousfurball,smearingeachotherwithfood.

OutofnowhereBryceappearedatour table.Hegrabbedmyhand,pulledmea fewfeetaway,andwhispered,“Doyoulikehim?”

Iwasstunned.

Heheldmyotherhandandaskedagain,“Doyoulikehim?”

“YoumeanJon?”

“Yes!”

Ican’trememberwhatIsaid.Hewaslookingintomyeyes,holdingmyhandstight,andthenhebeganpullingme toward him.My heartwas racing and his eyeswere closing and his facewas comingtowardmine….Rightthere,infrontofalltheotherbasketboysandtheirdatesandtheadults,hewasgoingtokissme.

Tokissme.

Ipanicked.I’dbeenwaitingallmylifeforthatkiss,andnow?

Iyankedfreeandranbacktomytable,andwhenIsatdownJonwhispered,“Didhejusttrytokissyou?”

I turned my chair away from Bryce and whispered, “Can we please talk about something else?Anythingelse?”

Peoplewerewhisperingandlookingmyway,andwhenShellyStallscamebackfromcleaningupinthewashroom,everyonefellquiet.Herhair lookedawful.Itwassortofoiledtoherscalpandstillhad little chunks of food in it. She glared atme so hard it looked like shewas trying to get laserbeamstoshootfromhereyes.

Acoupleofadultssteeredherbacktoherseat,andtheneveryonestartedwhisperingdouble-speed.AndBrycedidn’tevenseemtocare!Hekepttryingtocomeoverandtalktome,buteitherhe’dgetinterceptedbyateacherorI’ddashawayfromhimbeforehehadachancetosayanything.

Whenthedismissalbellfinallyrang,IsaidaquickgoodbyetoJonandboltedoutthedoor.Icouldn’treachmybikefastenough!Iwasthefirstoneoffcampus,andIpedaledhomesoharditfeltasthoughmylungswouldburst.

Mrs.Stuebywasout frontwateringher flowerbedandshe tried tosaysomething tome,but I justdroppedmy bike in the driveway and escaped into the house. I certainly didn’twant to talk aboutroosters!

Mymother heard me slamming doors and came to check on me in my room. “Julianna!What’swrong?”

Iflippedoveronmybedtofaceherandwailed,“Iamsoconfused!Idon’tknowwhattothinkorfeelordo…!”

Shesatdownbesidemeonthebedandstrokedmyhair.“Tellmewhathappened,sweetheart.”

Ihesitated,thenthrewmyhandsupintheair.“Hetriedtokissme!”

Mymother struggled not to let it show, but underneath her composed expression was a growingsmile.Sheleanedinalittleandasked,“Whodid?”

“Bryce!”

Shehesitated.“Butyou’vealwayslikedhim….”

Thedoorbellrang.Andrangagain.Mymomstartedtogetup,butIgrabbedherarmandsaid,“Don’tget that!” The bell rang again, and almost right after that there was a loud knocking at the door.“Mom,please!Don’tgetit.That’sprobablyhim!”

“Butsweetheart…”

“Iwasoverhim!Completelyoverhim!”

“Sincewhen?”

“SincelastFriday.Afterthedinner.IfhehadvanishedfromthefaceoftheearthafterourdinnerattheLoskis’,Iwouldn’thavecared!”

“Why?DidsomethinghappenatthedinnerthatIdon’tknowabout?”

Ithrewmyselfbackontomypillowandsaid,“It’stoocomplicated,Mom!I…Ijustcan’ttalkaboutit.”

“My,”shesaidafteramoment.“Don’tyousoundlikeateenager.”

“I’m sorry,” Iwhimpered, because I knew Iwas hurting her feelings. I sat up and said, “Mom, allthoseyearsIlikedhim?Ineverreallyknewhim.AllIknewwasthathehadthemostbeautifuleyesI’deverseenandthathissmilemeltedmyheartlikethesunmeltsbutter.ButnowIknowthatinsidehe’sacowardandasneak,soI’vegottogetoverwhathe’slikeontheoutside!”

Mymotherleanedbackandcrossedherarms.“Well,”shesaid.“Isn’tthissomething.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

Shechewedthesideofonecheek,thenmovedovertochewtheother.Atlastshesaid,“Ishouldn’treallydiscussit.”

“Whynot?”

“Because…Ijustshouldn’t.Besides,Icantelltherearethingsyoudon’tfeelcomfortablediscussingwithme….”

Westaredateachotheramoment,neitherofussayingaword.FinallyIlookeddownandwhispered,“WhenChetandIwerefixinguptheyard,Itoldhimhowwedidn’townthehouseandaboutUncleDavid.Hemust have told the rest of the family, because the day before theLoskis’ dinner party IoverheardBryceandhisfriendmakingcracksaboutUncleDavidatschool.Iwasfurious,butIdidn’twantyoutoknowbecauseyou’dthinktheywereonlyinvitingusoverbecausetheyfeltsorryforus.”Ilookedatherandsaid,“Youjustseemedsohappyaboutbeinginvitedfordinner.”ThenIrealizedsomething.“Andyouknow,you’veseemedhappiereversince.”

She heldmyhand and smiled. “I have a lot to be happy about.”Then she sighed and said, “And IalreadyknewtheyknewaboutUncleDavid.Itwasfinethatyoutalkedabouthim.He’snotasecretoranything.”

Isatupalittle.“Wait…howdidyouknow?”

“Patsytoldme.”

Iblinkedather.“Shedid?Beforethedinner?”

“No, no.After.” She hesitated, then said, “Patsy’s been over several times thisweek. She’s… she’sgoingthroughaveryroughtime.”

“Howcome?”

Momletoutadeepbreathandsaid,“Ithinkyou’rematureenoughtokeepthisinsidethesefourwalls,andI’monlytellingyoubecause…becauseIthinkit’srelevant.”

Iheldmybreathandwaited.

“PatsyandRickhavebeenhavingferociousfightslately.”

“Mr.andMrs.Loski?Whatabout?”

Momsighed.“Abouteverything,itseems.”

“Idon’tunderstand.”

Veryquietlymymothersaid,“Forthefirsttimeinherlife,Patsyisseeingherhusbandforwhatheis.It’stwentyyearsandtwochildrenlate,butthat’swhatshe’sdoing.”Shegavemeasadsmile.“Patsyseemstobegoingthroughthesamethingyouare.”

Thephone rangandMomsaid,“Letmeget that,okay?Yourdadsaidhe’dcall ifhewasworkingovertime,andthat’sprobablyhim.”

While she was gone, I remembered what Chet had said about someone he knew who had neverlearnedtolookbeneaththesurface.Hadhebeentalkingabouthisowndaughter?Andhowcouldthishappentoheraftertwentyyearsofmarriage?

Whenmymothercameback,Iabsentlyasked,“IsDadworkinglate?”

“Thatwasn’tDad,sweetheart.ItwasBryce.”

I sat straightup.“Nowhe’scalling? I have livedacross the street fromhim for sixyears andhe’sneveroncecalledme!Ishedoingthisbecausehe’sjealous?”

“Jealous?Ofwhom?”

SoIgavehertheblow-by-blow,beginningwithMrs.Stueby,goingclearthroughDarla,theauction,thefurballfight,andendingwithBrycetryingtokissmeinfrontofeverybody.

Sheclappedherhandsandpositivelygiggled.

“Mom,it’snotfunny!”

Shetriedtostraightenup.“Iknow,sweetheart,Iknow.”

“Idon’twanttowinduplikeMrs.Loski!”

“You don’t have tomarry the boy, Julianna.Why don’t you just listen towhat he has to say?Hesoundeddesperatetotalktoyou.”

“Whatcouldhepossiblyhavetosay?He’salreadytriedtoblameGarrettforwhathesaidaboutUncleDavid, and I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it.He’s lied tome, he hasn’t stood up forme…he’s…he’snobodythatIwanttolike.Ijustneedsometimetogetoverallthoseyearsofhavinglikedhim.”

Momsat therefor the longest time,bitinghercheek.Thenshesaid,“Peopledochange,youknow.Maybehe’shadsomerevelationslately,too.Andfrankly,anyboywhotriestokissagirlinfrontofaroomfullofotherkidsdoesnot sound likeacoward tome.”She strokedmyhairandwhispered,“Maybethere’smoretoBryceLoskithanyouknow.”

Thensheleftmealonewithmythoughts.

MymotherknewIneededtimeto think,butBrycewouldn’t leavemealone.Hekeptcallingonthephoneandknockingonthedoor.Heevensnuckaroundthehouseandtappedonmywindow!EverytimeIturnedaround,therehewas,pesteringme.

Iwanted tobeable towater theyard inpeace. Iwantednot tohave toavoidhimatschoolorhaveDarlarunblockforme.Whydidn’theunderstandthatIwasn’tinterestedinwhathehadtosay?Whatcouldhepossiblyhavetosay?

Wasitsomuchtoaskjusttobeleftalone?

ThenthisafternoonIwasreadingabookinthefrontroomwiththecurtainsdrawn,hidingfromhimas Ihadallweek,when Iheardanoise in theyard. Ipeekedoutsideand therewasBryce,walking

acrossmygrass.Stompingallovermygrass!Andhewascarryingaspade!Whatwasheplanningtodowiththat?

Iflewoffthecouchandyankedopenthedoorandranrightintomyfather.“Stophim!”Icried.

“Calmdown,Julianna,”hesaid,andeasedmebackinside.“Igavehimpermission.”

“Permission!Permissiontodowhat?”Iflewbacktothewindow.“He’sdiggingahole.”

“That’sright.Itoldhimhecould.”

“Butwhy?”

“Ithinktheboyhasaverygoodidea,that’swhy.”

“But—”

“It’snotgoingtokillyourgrass,Julianna.Justlethimdowhathe’scometodo.”

“Butwhatisit?What’shedoing?”

“Watch.You’llfigureitout.”

Itwastortureseeinghimdigupmygrass.Theholehewasmakingwasenormous!Howcouldmyfatherlethimdothistomyyard?

BryceknewIwasthere,too,becausehelookedatmeonceandnodded.Nosmile,nowave,justanod.

Hedraggedoversomepottingsoil,piercedthebagwith thespade,andshoveleddirt into thehole.Thenhedisappeared.Andwhenhecameback,hewrestledabigburlappedrootballacrossthelawn,thebranchesofaplantrustlingbackandforthashemoved.

Mydadjoinedmeonthecouchandpeekedoutthewindow,too.

“Atree?”Iwhispered.“He’splantingatree?”

“I’dhelphim,buthesayshehastodothishimself.”

“Isita…”Thewordsstuckinmythroat.

Ididn’treallyneedtoask,though,andheknewhedidn’tneedtoanswer.Icouldtellfromtheshapeoftheleaves,fromthetextureofthetrunk.Thiswasasycamoretree.

Iflippedaroundonthecouchandjustsat.

Asycamoretree.

Brycefinishedplantingthetree,wateredit,cleanedeverythingup,andthenwenthome.AndIjustsatthere,notknowingwhattodo.

I’vebeensittinghereforhoursnow,juststaringoutthewindowatthetree.Itmaybelittlenow,butit’llgrow,daybyday.Andahundredyearsfromnowit’llreachclearovertherooftops.It’llbemilesintheair!AlreadyIcantell—it’sgoingtobeanamazing,magnificenttree.

AndIcan’thelpwondering,ahundredyearsfromnowwillakidclimbitthewayIclimbedtheoneuponCollierStreet?WillsheseethethingsIdid?WillshefeelthewayIdid?

Willitchangeherlifethewayitchangedmine?

I also can’t stopwondering about Bryce.Whathas he been trying to tellme?What’she thinkingabout?

Iknowhe’shomebecausehelooksouthiswindowfromtimetotime.Alittlewhileagoheputhishandupandwaved.AndIcouldn’thelpit—Igavealittlewaveback.

SomaybeIshouldgooverthereandthankhimforthetree.Maybewecouldsitontheporchandtalk.It just occurred tome that in all the yearswe’ve known each other,we’ve never done that.Neverreallytalked.

Maybemymother ’sright.MaybethereismoretoBryceLoskithanIknow.

Maybeit’stimetomeethimintheproperlight.

ACONVERSATIONWITHWENDELINVANDRAANENABOUTFLIPPED

Q:CanyoutalkaboutyourinspirationsforwritingFlipped?Didyouhavesomeunrequitedcrushesofyourown?Orhaveannoyingpeoplecrushingonyou?

A:IwaslikeyoungJuli,withamassivecrushontheneighborboy,andlikeyoungJuli,I’msureIwasincrediblyannoying.ButbeingahighschoolteacherwastherealinspirationforwritingFlipped.I’dseestudentswithmondocrushesandwanttosaytothegirls,“Oh,honey,heissonotworthit,”ortotheguys,“Shemaybehot,butthat’sallshe’sgot,”butofcourseI’mtheirteacherandthere’snowaytheycanimaginethatIknowhowtheyfeel.SoIwroteFlippedasawayoftalkingtoteensaboutseeingothersforwhotheyareinsteadofwhattheylooklike.IwishI’dfoundabooklikeitwhenIwasgrowingup.Itwouldhavehelpedmealot.

Q:It’sgreattohearthestoryfrombothBryce’sandJuli’spointofview—wasityourplanfromthebeginningtotellthisinalternatingchapters?

A:Myplanwastwoviewpoints,butoriginallyIenvisionedthebooktobeonethathadtwosides—Bryce’ssideandJuli’sside—whereyouwouldhavetoflipthebookovertoreadtheotherpointofviewandthesectionswouldmeetinthemiddle.Ilovethesymbolismofthis,butwhenitcamedowntoit,thestorytellingwasbetterservedbyhavingalternatingchapters.

Q:Haveyoueverraisedchicks?Areyouaclimberoftrees?Doyouplayinabandwithacontinuallychangingname?!Allthedetailsinthebookaresovivid—aretheydrawnfromyourownlife?

A:No,yes,and,uh…yeah.Althoughthebandhasneverhadanamethathadanythingtodowithleglifting.Writingisacombinationofexperiencesandresearch,andthewholechickthingtookalotofresearch.Climbingthetree?Thatwasverynaturaltowriteabout.Skyler ’sgarage?Pieceofcake.

Q:DoyouhaveanyplanstowriteasequeltoFlipped?

A:I’vehadalotofrequestsforasequel,butIthinkit’sthewrongthingtodo.Mypurposeforthisbook is toget the reader to thinkaboutwhat theywouldwant for themselves ina relationship. If IwriteasequelandshowwhathappenstoBryceandJuli,thenthat’sansweringthequestionforthem.WhatItellfansistoputthemselvesintoBryce’sorJuli’sshoesandlivetheirlifeinawaythatwouldmakeforthefuturetheywouldwant.

Q:IknowfanshavewrittentoyoucomplainingthatJuliandBrycedon’tkissattheendofthebook.Whydidyoumakethatchoice?

A:Becausethewholepointofthebookisthattrueloveisanchoredinknowingandrespectingtheperson. And although Juli and Bryce are finally starting to see each other for who they are, thisprocesstakestime.I lovetheopen-endedoptimismofFlipped,but Idounderstand thatmyreaderswantedtoseekissing,soIdedicatedmynextromanticcomedy—ConfessionsofaSerialKisser—tofansofFlipped.Youwantedkissing?Yougotkissing!Andalthough,asinFlipped,thepremiseseems

simple,Confessions has a lot going on “beneath the surface.” It may be wrapped in humor andkissing,butit’sreallyastoryaboutfindingyourselfandthehealingpowerofforgiveness.

HERE’SASNEAKPEEKATANOTHERGREATROMANCEFROMWENDELINVANDRAANEN

ExcerptfromConfessionsofaSerialKissercopyright©2008

byWendelinVanDraanenParsons.

Allrightsreserved.

1DirtyLaundry

MYNAMEISEVANGELINEBIANCALOGAN,andIamaserialkisser.

Ihaven’talwaysbeenaserialkisser.TherewasatimenotthatlongagowhenIhadnexttonokissingexperience.It’sinterestinghowthingscanchangesofast—howyoucangofrombeingsixteenwithveryfewlip-lockingcredentialstobeingbarelyseventeenandacertifiedserialkisser.

Itallstartedonedaywithdirtylaundry.

Atleastthat’swhatItraceitbackto.

Mymother had said, “Evangeline, please. I could really use some help around the house.” She’dlookedsotired,andwhatwithhomeworkandtheamountoftimeI’dbeenwastingatGrooveRecordslookingthrougholdLPsandCDs,Ihadbeenslacking.Especiallycomparedtothehoursshe’dbeenworking.

SoafterschoolthenextdayIkickedintogear.IhadthecondotomyselfbecauseMomwasworkingherusual elevenA.M. toeightP.M. shift, and sincemy taste inmusic isoldbluesandclassic rock(probably thanks to being bombarded with it since my early days in the womb), I selected anAerosmithgreatesthitsCDandcrankeditup.

I made the kitchen spotless during “MamaKin,” “DreamOn,” “SameOld Song and Dance,” and“Seasons ofWither,” sang alongwith “WalkThisWay” and “Sweet Emotion”while I cleaned thebathroom,thentidiedthebedroomsthrough“LastChild”and“BackintheSaddle.”

It was during the pulsing beat of “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)” that I beganmy fateful search forwaywardlaundry.

Laundry at theLogangirls’ residence isn’t found in hampers. It’s foundon the floor, drapedoverchairs,putrefyinginboxesandbaskets…it’sanywheremymomandIwant todumpit.Andinmyrocked-out state Iwas checking for laundry in places I’d never looked before. Like on her closetfloor, behind and between the big packing boxes that still serve asmymother ’s dresser, and thenundermymother ’sbed.ItwastherethatIdiscoveredonedustysockandawholelibraryofbooks.

Notjustrandombooks,either.

Romancebooks.

AtfirstallIcoulddowasgawkatthecovers.I’dseenthesekindsofbooksatthegrocerystore,buttheyweresoobviouslystupidandtrashythatIwouldn’tbecaughtdeadactuallylookingatone.

ButnowhereIwaswithawholelibraryoftrashinfrontofmeandnoworriesthatsomeonemightspotme.

Soasstrainsof“Angel”beganplaying,Ilooked!

Icheckedoutall thecovers, thenstartedreadingtheblurbsonthebacks.Aerosmitheventuallyquitplaying,butIdidn’tevennotice.Iwasskimmingpages,laughingattheridiculous,floweryprose,myjawliterallydroppingasIread(ingreatdetail)howonebook’schisel-chestedmanandhislusciouslady“joinedsoulsinsublimeadoration.”

I couldn’t believewhat I’d found.Couldn’t believemymother!While Iwas slogging throughTheLastoftheMohicansandTheRedBadgeofCourageformyinsaneliteratureteacher,MissRyder,mymotherwasreadingbookswithbare-chestedmenandswooningwomen?MissRyderwouldhaveanEnglish-litfitoverthesebooks,andforonceI’dagreewithher!

ButforeachbookIputdown,Ipickedupanother.Andanother.Andanother.Why,Idon’tknow.WasI looking formoresoul joining? Idon’t thinkso.Something toholdovermymother ’shead?Shedidn’tneedanymore ravaging. I think itwasmore that Iwasstill in shockovermymombeingaclosetromancefreak.

ButaftertenpagesoutofthemiddleofabookcalledACrimsonKiss,somethingweirdhappened:IactuallykindofcaredaboutDelilah,thewomanthatthestorywasabout.

Ireadsomemoreoutofthemiddle,butsinceIdidn’tgetwhyDelilahwasinherpredicament,Iwentbacktothebeginningtofigureitout.

Ihavenoideawherethetimewent.Iwascarriedawaybythestory,sweptintotheswirlofromance,racinghearts, anticipation, and love.Theywere things thatweremissing inmy real life.After sixmonthsofwatchingmyparents’marriageimplode,Ifoundithardtobelieveintruelove.

But inside thepagesof thisbookmyparents’problemsvanished. Itwas justDelilahandherhero,Grayson—amanwhosekisswouldsaveherfromherheartacheandmakeherfeelalive.

Lovefeltpossible.

Onekiss—therightkiss—couldconquerall!

SoIreadon,devouringthebookuntilIwasjoltedbacktorealitybymymotherjanglingthroughthefrontdoor.

Busted!

Inmypanic,itdidn’tevenoccurtomethatshewasreallytheonebusted.IjustshovedherbooksbackunderherbedandescapedtomyroomwithACrimsonKiss.

2ShiftingParadigms

OVERTHENEXTFEWMONTHSIreadeverybookinmymother ’ssub-mattresslibraryincludingaself-helpbookonfindingyourinnerpowerandanotheronetitledACalltoActiononhowtotakechargeofyourlife.(Booksshe’dgotten,nodoubt,tohelphergetovermytwo-timingdad.)

ButitwasACrimsonKissthatIkeptgoingbackto.ItwasACrimsonKissthatIreadandreread.Theotherromancenovelsdidn’thaveanylayerstothem;norealguts.Itwaslikepopversusrock.Somepeople like thepure tonesofpop,but tome it’s justgloss.There’snothingbehind it.Giveme theheart-wrenchinggrittygutsofbluesorrockanyday.

NotthatACrimsonKisswaswritteninagrittyway,butitsurewasheart-wrenching.Andthekissingwasincrediblypassionate!Idreamedscenesfromitatnight,wakingsomemorningsstillfeelingthebreathlesstranscendenceofaperfectlydeliveredkiss.

OnceIwasfullyawake,though,realitywouldstrike.

Itwasjustadream.

Justaromanticfantasy.

Thenonemorning,Ifoundabookonthekitchentablebesideanemptybowl.(Abowlwithtelltalesignsofmidnightbingeingonchocolate icecream.)Thebookwassplayedopen,spineup,andthetitlewasWelcometoaBetterLife.

IlookeditoverasIatemyusualbefore-schoolbowlofcereal(inthiscase,Cheerios).Thesectiontitleswere things like: “Re-envisionYour Life!”; “TheTime IsNOW!”; “TheChange IsYours toMake!”; “Living Your Best Life!”; “See It, Be It!”; “What Are You Waiting For?”; “Shift YourParadigm!”;and“FourStepstoLivingYourFantasy!”

Fourstepstolivingmyfantasy?

ThisIhadtosee.

Toomanyanecdotesandtestimonialslater,theauthorfinallyputforthstepnumberone:

DefineYourFantasy.

Okaaaaay.

IpouredmyselfasecondbowlofCheeriosanddefinedmyfantasy:

Iwantedlove.AlovelikeGraysonandDelilah’s.

Butsomethingaboutthatfeltwrong.Itwastooheavy.Tooserious.

ItookabiteofCheerios,andasImunched,theimageofGraysonkissingDelilahdriftedthroughmymind.

Thatwasit.

Thekiss.

Iwantedmyown“crimsonkiss.”

Iwentbacktothebookanddiscoveredthatstepnumbertwowaseasy:

SpeakYourFantasy.

“Iwantacrimsonkiss,”Iwhisperedintothequietofthekitchen,feelingmorethanalittlesilly.

Stepthree:SeeYourFantasy.

I closed my eyes and pictured myself as Delilah, pictured Grayson sweeping me into his arms,looking lovingly intomyeyes,hismouthdescending towardmine,his lipsbrushingagainstmine,warmandtender,fullofsmolderingpassion….

Oh,yeah.Icoulddefinitelyseeit.

I shookoff the shivers, then turned thepageanddiscovered that stepnumber fourwas:LiveYourFantasy.

Livemyfantasy?

HowwasIsupposedtodothat?

Allthebookreallyofferedbywayofexplanationwas,“Seeit,believeit,liveit.”

Isnortedandslappedthebookshut.Whatarip-off!

ThenInoticedthekitchenclock.

7:30?

Already?

I flew around the condo getting ready for school, and despite some unintentional banging andclanging,Imanagedtoslipoutthedoorwithoutwakingmymother.

I hurried toward school, and as Iwalked,my flip-flops seemed to slap to the rhythm of the stepsoutlinedinWelcometoaBetterLife.

SpeakYourFantasy.

SeeYourFantasy.

LiveYourFantasy.

Thecadenceofitwascatchy.Likethechorusofasong.

SpeakYourFantasy.

SeeYourFantasy.

LiveYourFantasy.

And as it repeated inmy head, I suddenly realized howmuchmy life had been dominated bymyparents’breakup.WhenwasthelasttimeI’deventhoughtaboutmyownlovelife?

SpeakYourFantasy.

SeeYourFantasy.

LiveYourFantasy.

Maybeitcouldbethateasy.Icouldjustlivemyownlife!Getoutfromundertheirdarkcloud!Havesomefun.

SpeakYourFantasy.

“Iwantacrimsonkiss!”Ishoutedintothesky.

SeeYourFantasy.

I spun in a fantasy dance across an intersection, adored in my mind’s eye by my own dashingGrayson.

LiveYourFantasy.

IhurriedontotheLarkmontHighSchoolcampus.Mylifewasgoingtochange!

3AdrienneWillow

IMADEABEELINEACROSSTHEQUAD—hurryingpast theoutdoorstage,zigzaggingbetweencement lunch tables and across patchygrass—to reachmybest friend,AdrienneWillow,whowasperchedon“our”brickplanter,organizingherbinder.

Ihoppedupbesideher.“Ihadanepiphanythismorning.”

“Really?”sheasked,snappingtheringsofherbinderclosed.“What’sthat?”

“I’mdonebeingdraggedthroughtheknotholeofmyparents’life.I’mgoingtostartlivingmyown.”

Shelookedup,blinked,thenwhoopedandjumpedofftheplanter.“It’sabouttime!”

“DoyouknowhowmuchI’vemissedthisyear?Ididn’tgooutforvolleyball,Ididn’tjoinlinkcreworhelpwiththewarmthdrive…allI’vedoneisliveundertheirdarkcloudandstudy.”

Adriennehadbeenbouncingwithexcitement,butshesuddenlystopped,soIfollowedherlineofsightacrossthequad.

ItwasTatianaPhillips.

“Itwasn’therfault,”Isaidquietly.“Itwashermom’s.Andmydad’s.Ishouldn’thaveletitstopme.”

“Fromplaying volleyball?”Adrienne asked, givingme her trademark squint. “No one could haveplayedunderthosecircumstances!”Shesnorted.“Hermotherandyourdadsittingtogetheratgames?Please.”

Ilookeddown.Adriennehasanuncannywayofputtingherfingerontheheartofthehurt.

Thewarningbellclanged.“Thepointis,”Isaidfirmly,“I’mthroughlettingitruinmylife.Ineedtohavesomefun.Ineedtoshiftparadigms.”

“Youneedtowhat?”

Ilaughed,thenspreadoutmyarmsandlookeddownatmybaggyJohnLennon“Imagine”T-shirtandfrayedjeans.“Ineedamakeover!”Icaughthereye.“AndIneedyoutohelpme.”

Shecollectedherthings.“Anything,”shesaid.“Youknowthat.Anything.”

Thenshegavemeatighthug,andwehurriedofftoourfirst-periodclasses.

4RobbieMarshall

FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF YEARS I’ve made a habit of ignoring Robbie Marshall. He’sgorgeous,butthat’sexactlywhyIignorehim.

Likeheneedsonemoregirlfawningoverhim?

Weusedtobefriendlybutthatwasbackinmiddleschool.Backwhenhewasn’tafraidtobesmart.BackbeforehegrewintoRobbieMarshall,gorgeousjock.

So in first periodall theothergirls in classpaid attention toRobbieMarshall’sbiceps, and Ipaidattention toMrs.Fieldman’smath lesson.Mrs.Fieldman isa realpro.She’sclearandconcise,andthere’snofallingasleepinherclass—shecoversmorematerialinadaythansometeachersdoinaweek,andifyoudon’tpayattention,youcankissagoodgradegoodbye.

AftermathIcontinuedthroughmymorningclasses,slippingintothetypicalrhythmofaschoolday.ButsomewhereinthemiddleofthirdperiodIrealizedthatIwasdoingwhatI’dbeendoingallyear:focusing, taking notes, getting a jump on the homework. Fun was no part of the equation. I wascertainlynotlivingmyfantasy!

Soas thirdperiodwounddown, Idid something Ineverdo—Ipackedupearly, andwhen thebellrang,Iboltedoutoftheclassroom.

ApparentlyI’macompleteklutzatboltingfromclassrooms,becausenotonlydidIhurtmywrist,Imanagedtoslamthedoorintosomeonewalkingby.

Someonewhoturnedouttobe…RobbieMarshall.

“Sorry!”Isaid,turningbeetred.

“Noproblem,”hereplied.

Andthenhesmiledatme.

Diamondsseemedtodancebetweenhislipsashegazedatme.Hiseyestwinkledsmokygray.Hishairlookedlikeithadbeencombedthroughwithsunshine.

Thenhewasgone.

Butjustlikethat,myfantasyfoundadirection.

Adestination.

I staggered tomy fourth-period class, out of breath and (granted) out ofmymind. Suddenly all IcouldseewasRobbieMarshall’sface.

AllthroughMissRyder ’sAmerican-litlectureIfantasizedaboutRobbieMarshall.

Hiseyes.

Hissmile.

Hislips.

I didn’t concentrate onmy classwork, didn’t scrutinize the red comments on the essayMissRyderpassed back. By the end of class my chance collision with the school’s most gorgeous jock wascompletelyentwinedwithmynewfounddesiretolivemyfantasy

Ithadallbecomeperfectlyclear.

IneededtokissRobbieMarshall.

AbouttheAuthorWENDELINVANDRAANENspentmanyyearsasaclassroomteacherandisnowafull-timewriter.She is the author ofmany award-winning books, including the SammyKeyesmysteries,Swear toHowdy,Runaway,andConfessionsofaSerialKisser.

Ms.VanDraanenliveswithherhusband,twosons,andtwodogsinCalifornia.Herhobbiesincludethe“threeR’s”:reading,running,androck’n’roll.

PraiseforFLIPPEDWinneroftheCaliforniaYoungReaderMedal

WinneroftheSouthCarolinaChildren’sBookAward

WinneroftheNevadaYoungReaders’Award

WinneroftheVirginiaYoungReadersProgramAward

ASchoolLibraryJournalBestBook

AnIRA-CBCChildren’sChoice

AnIRA-CBCTeachers’Choice

ANewYorkPublicLibraryBookfortheTeenAge

AJudyLopezMemorialAwardHonorWinner

“VanDraanenhasanotherwinnerinthiseighth-grade‘hesaid,she-said’romance.”

—SchoolLibraryJournal,Starred

“Weflippedoverthisfantasticbook,itsgutsygirlJulianditswise,wonderfulending.”

—ChicagoTribune

“Delightful!Delicious!Andtotallyteen.”

—BookPage

“With a charismatic leading lady kidswill flip over, a compelling dynamic between the twonarratorsandaresonantending,thisnovelisagreatdeallargerthanthesumofitsparts.”

—PublishersWeekly,Starred

“Awonderful,light-heartednovel.”

—LibraryTalk

“Thisisawrycharacterstudy,aromancewithsubstanceandsubtlety.”

—Booklist

“Ahighlyagreeableromanticcomedy.”

—KirkusReviews

CopyrightTHISISABORZOIBOOKPUBLISHEDBYALFREDA.KNOPF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of theauthor ’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Textcopyright©2001byWendelinVanDraanenParsons

MotionPictureArtworkcopyright©2010byWarnerBros.EntertainmentInc.

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyAlfredA.Knopf,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork.OriginallypublishedinhardcoverintheUnitedStatesbyAlfredA.Knopfin2001.

Knopf,BorzoiBooks,andthecolophonareregisteredtrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

“MyGirl”

WordsandMusicbyWilliam“Smokey”RobinsonandRonaldWhite©1964,1972(renewed1992,2000),1973,1977JOBETEMUSICCO.,INC.AllRightsControlledandAdministeredbyEMIAPRILMUSICINC.AllRightsReserved.InternationalCopyrightSecured.Usedbypermission.

VisitusontheWeb!www.randomhouse.com/teens

Educatorsandlibrarians,foravarietyofteachingtools,visitusatwww.randomhouse.com/teachers

Formoreinformationabout“Flipped”themovie,gotoWarnerBrothers’officialmovesite.

TheLibraryofCongresshascatalogedthehardcovereditionofthisworkasfollows:

VanDraanen,Wendelin.

Flipped/byWendelinVanDraanen.

p.cm.

Summary:Inalternatingchapters, twoteenagersdescribehowtheirfeelingsaboutthemselves,eachother,andtheirfamilieshavechangedovertheyears.

[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Conduct of life—Fiction. 3. Family life—Fiction. 4. Self-perception—Fiction.]I.Title.

Z7.V2857Fl2001

[Fic]—dc212001029238

eISBN:978-0-375-98267-5

RandomHouseChildren’sBookssupportstheFirstAmendmentandcelebratestherighttoread.

v3.0