Over the next three days I slipped into the rhythm of life with this family. I let Ben teach me about baseball, and I taught him to bring in the newspaper in the mornings. I learned which book Janie had to hear right before she fell asleep, and she taught me to leave a cup of water on her nightstand in case she had a dream that made her thirsty. I learned what Sam liked to eat for dinner and when Rachel needed the children to be quiet so she could concentrate on her work. And I figured out how to work the television so I could watch the morning news when I was the only one awake.

And every afternoon when I was alone in the house, I listened to music. I marveled at how each CD produced a different sound, and how the two minutes a song lasted could tell a whole story. I loved the satiny bursts of noise that took charge of my limbs, so doing my chores was what I’d imagined dancing to be. I found myself singing along to songs about love and sadness and hope until my voice mixed with the musicians and I was a part of the music.

On Thursday of that first week, the doorbell rang after the children left for camp. On the front stoop was Josh, his grin inching up his face. My heart knocked against my rib cage at the sight of him. “I’ve got some more music for us to listen to,” he said. “Can I come in?”

I nodded and stepped aside. He was striding toward the living room the moment I opened the front door, his black backpack slung over one shoulder. By the time I caught up to him, he was bent over his open sack. I liked the idea that he had gathered these CDs for me. So maybe he had been thinking about me over these last three days. I knew that I was thinking about him.

I sat down on the floor, the backpack between us. He pulled out a CD and showed it to me before opening the case and putting the disc in the player. “Aerosmith,” he said as music pulsed into the room.

I smiled, remembering another CD that Rachel had played for me. “I like the song ‘Dream On.’”

Josh dropped the case with a tiny clattering sound. When he picked it up he smiled at me, looking both surprised and impressed. “You’ve been doing your homework.” I nodded, a quivering feeling in my chest. “What else have you been listening to?”

“I really liked the Beatles.” I watched Josh’s grin widen.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I knew you’d like them. Go on.”

Pleased at Josh’s response, I tried to remember names. “The Doors, The Clash, The Velvet Underground, Madonna, Stevie Wonder.” Josh was still nodding, so I kept going, “Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, some kids called the Jacksons. There were five of them.”

“All right.” Josh’s voice was filled with approval, like my teacher when I advanced a round in the spelling bee. With each correct word, the teacher smiled and nodded, and my throat and cheeks warmed, just as they did now.

“I think my favorite was Mr. Armstrong,” I said.

Josh’s brows rose for a second before he smiled with recognition. “Louis Armstrong?”

“Yes,” I said. “His voice is like sandpaper. But it’s smooth at the same time.”

Now Josh drew out his “Yeah” so that it sounded like a very long word. “That’s jazz, Eliza.” I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but Josh’s smile took up his whole face. I swallowed back an unfamiliar sensation. It felt like pride.

I wanted this glowing feeling to last forever. “Rachel showed me her favorite CD, and I liked that one, too. Have you ever heard of Billy Joel?”

The smile slipped from Josh’s face. “Oh, no.” His voice was a groan. “Not Billy Joel.”

Incorrect, the teacher had said when I forgot a letter. Return to your seat.

My heart pumped heat to my face. “What’s wrong with Billy Joel?” I asked, trying to sound as though it didn’t matter what he thought.

Josh’s face had a sour look, like there wasn’t enough sugar in his lemonade. “Let’s just say nobody our age listens to him.”

“Well, I’m sorry I had an original thought.” The anger in my voice surprised me.

Josh flinched a bit, his eyes scanning me. “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you the people who have to dress alike?”

It was that age-old question about the Amish that my mother had answered a dozen times over apple pie on Stranger Night. I didn’t want to talk about how dressing alike keeps us humble and prevents feelings of vanity and pride. So I just said, “Sure, we dress alike, but we’re all different.”

Josh nodded slowly, as though trying out this new idea. He said one word in response: “Cool.” Then he picked up the backpack and continued rummaging through the discs.

“Cool?” I had expected an argument.

Josh set the pack aside. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s cool to be your own person without having to prove it with your clothes.” He paused, seeming to mull over what he’d just said. “And, I guess if you want to listen to Billy Joel, that’s okay.” He turned to the CD player and inserted a disc. “Let me know what you think of this.”

Josh replaced the Aerosmith CD with a new one and pressed the button, sending angry sounds pulsing into the room, sounds that were more like shouting than singing.

He looked at me. “What do you think of rap?”

“Not much.”

“I get that. It’s not for everyone,” he said, turning it off. “And I shouldn’t have said that about you guys dressing alike.” He paused before adding, “I guess we’ve had our first fight.” I didn’t like the sound of that. He seemed so certain that there would be more.

“Wait a minute,” he said, reaching into his backpack. “I have a song on my iPod that I think you’ll like.” He pulled out a black rectangle smaller than a deck of cards.

“What’s that?”

“My entire music collection,” he said. “There are thousands of songs in here.”

I stared at the tiny device cupped in the palm of Josh’s hand. It didn’t seem possible that it held such riches. His thumb moved around a small circle, and I watched as words flowed down a tiny screen. Then he reached into the pack and pulled out what looked like a thin white wire with two white buttons dangling from the end. Josh fitted the end of the wire into the iPod and handed me one of the small buttons. I took it in my fingers, not knowing what to do with it. It felt hard and spongy at the same time. “We can listen together,” said Josh. “We’ll each take an earbud.” Once again, something new had a name, and it pleased me. I watched as Josh put one of the earbuds into his ear.

As I reached to do the same, the thin wire went taut between us, and Josh scooted closer to me. The bud was in my ear now, and I realized that if we were both going to listen, we would have to be inches apart. I felt the warmth of Josh beside me, and a shiver coursed through me. His nearness was awkward and exciting and just a little bit indecent. But I didn’t have too long to think about it because suddenly music was pouring directly into my ear. Words flowed through, sweet and smooth, about a blackbird with broken wings learning how to fly. It was poetry and music together. It made me think of Daniel’s gift, and of my dreams to feel free in another place. I listened to the music and the words, and I felt the farness of home and the nearness of Josh. I couldn’t move because then the music would stop. And I couldn’t stay because I was too close to this boy who I didn’t really know. But then I realized that I wanted to know him, so I chose to stay.

The song ended, and Josh took the bud out of his ear, and I took mine out too. We were still sitting in that same way, and with the song over, we didn’t need to be this close to each other. I shifted a bit and faced him. “Did you like it?” Josh asked.

“I loved it. I feel like it’s still playing inside my head.”

Josh smiled. “Hey,” he said. “Do they ever let you out of here? Maybe we can go to a movie together.”

It was an effort for me to keep my voice calm. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” said Josh. “How about Saturday night? I can get my dad’s car.”

“I’ll have to check with Mrs. Aster. But I think it should be all right.”

“Is there anything special you want to see?” Josh asked.

A small laugh flew out of my lips. “Any movie would be special for me. I’ve never seen one.”

“Shut up!” said Josh, but it didn’t sound like he wanted me to be quiet. “So you’ve never seen The Wizard of Oz or Star Wars or ET?”

I shook my head. Then I remembered something about my mother’s rumspringa. “I’d love to see The Sound of Music.”

“Yeah, if we get into a time machine and go back like fifty years,” said Josh, laughter shaking his words.

I looked down, embarrassed without knowing why.

“I’m sorry,” said Josh. “The Sound of Music was from a long time ago. But we can rent it and watch it on TV if you want.”

“Why don’t you pick the movie and surprise me.”

“Deal,” said Josh. “Listen, I’ve got to go back to work. Call me after you talk to Rachel. She has my number.” He said that in such an ordinary way. I hesitated for a minute. “What?” he said.

“I’ve never used a telephone before.”

Josh shook his head back and forth in an exaggerated way. “Really? Are you for real?”

I had to admit that it was fun watching him wonder about me. “Yes, I’m real. And my family doesn’t have a telephone.”

Joshua laughed as he got to his feet and walked over to the table, picking up the phone from its base.

I paid careful attention as he cradled the phone in his hand, holding it out so I could see the lighted numbers arranged in a rectangle. “Now, everyone has a phone number,” he explained. I watched him press a series of buttons, each creating a different beeping tone. When he was done, he reached out his hand and pressed the end of the phone lightly against my ear. I heard ringing sounds, more like a faint buzz than a bell. After three such sounds, I heard Josh’s voice, not in the room, where he sat beside me, but from inside the phone itself. “Hi, you’ve reached the Nathans,” he was saying. “We’re not home right now. But leave a message after the beep, and we’ll return your call.” With that, his voice was replaced with a loud beep, and I pulled the phone away from my ear.

“You’re supposed to leave me a message,” Josh said. “That was voice mail. If the person you’re calling isn’t there, you leave a message and they call you back. Do you want to try it again?” I nodded, and this time Josh handed me the phone and told me which numbers to press. As I pressed the buttons, he took his cell phone out of his pocket. A moment after I pressed the last number, a musical sound came from the phone in Josh’s hand. He signaled me to put the phone to my ear, and he flipped his phone open, silencing the music. “Hello?” he said, his phone pressed against his ear.

Now I heard his voice twice at the same time—in the room, next to me, and through the phone at my ear. I wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Just say hello,” Josh whispered.

I smiled. “Hello, Josh,” I said slowly. Then I realized he was waiting for me to say more. “I’m glad you came over.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice a little too loud. “I’m going to work now, so call me later.” He shut his phone with a snap and reached for the phone I was holding, showing me how to turn it off and put it back in the stand.

“I’ve gotta fly,” he said. “But I’ll write down my cell phone number for you, and you can call me whenever you want to talk.”

He reached for the pen and paper that Rachel kept by the phone and jotted down a string of numbers. Then he looked at me in a thoughtful way. “I want to see it one day.”

“See what?”

“The place where you live. I bet it’s real peaceful.”

I nodded. “It’s definitely peaceful.”

After Josh left, I thought that if the pressing of a sequence of numbers could bring the voice of Kate or Annie to my ear, I would be able to tell them my stories instead of writing them out in letters.

Staring down at the numbers that would connect me to Josh, I felt a twinge. Now that I was beginning to understand how to create the magic of this place, I wondered if I’d ever be able to get along without it.