Josh was right. It wasn’t fair of me to keep our relationship a secret from Daniel.

I had sent Daniel a few short letters since his visit, but I’d never told him anything about being with another boy. That night I forced myself to do it.

Dear Daniel,

You have always been honest with me, and I want to give you the same respect. I want you to know that I have been in a relationship with a boy here. I don’t know where this courtship will lead, but I feel it is only fair that you know about it. I think of you often, and I appreciate our friendship. I hope you are well and that you are enjoying this time of freedom.

With warm thoughts,

Eliza

A few days later I received a letter from Daniel.

Dear Eliza,

Thank you for your honesty.

Daniel

On Friday night, I didn’t have to babysit, and we went to the school football game. The evenings were getting chilly, and I realized that I hadn’t brought any warm clothing with me when I left home. Josh gave me one of his sweatshirts with the word “Giants,” the name of the school team, across the chest.

Sitting on the metal bleachers, I felt the camaraderie that had surged around me at the Cubs game. But this was closer to home. Everyone here knew players on the field and cheerleaders in their short skirts and members of the marching band with their rousing spirit.

I didn’t understand the game at all. It looked like groups of well-padded boys huddling together before ramming their bodies into well-padded boys in different-colored uniforms. But I loved the cheers and the fight songs and the sense of being in a community. And sitting in the stands, dressed in school colors, I was like everyone else. Just one of the crowd.

After the game, we went out with Greg and Valerie to celebrate the victory. At the table, Josh fiddled with his phone. He had been taking pictures with it during the game, and he was looking through them to see if he could use any in his newspaper story.

“Can I see?” I asked. He leaned over and showed me the small flat surface of his cell phone. Etched under the glass was a miniature frozen scene from the football game, a player running with the ball cradled in his curved arm, while a player from the other team chased him. Josh pressed a button and the picture changed, showing the players together in the close circle they call a huddle.

“So phones are also cameras,” I said.

“Oh, yeah,” said Greg, pulling his phone out. “My whole life is in here. I’ve got my photos, playlists, e-mails.” He held his phone in front of him. “Smile, Eliza,” he said. Instinctively, I put a hand in front of my face. For all that I had experienced in this fancy world, I had never had my picture taken. My soul had yet to be stolen.

“Typical girl,” said Greg, with a laugh. “They never want their pictures taken.”

“Wait till next weekend,” Valerie said, playfully elbowing me. “There’ll be so many cameras on you, you won’t know where to look.”

I caught my breath. We had talked about getting our pictures taken before the dance, but I hadn’t considered what it meant for me. Now I thought about the impending stealing of my soul. Smiling, I realized that I’d have something new to add to the list in my journal.

That Sunday, Josh and I sat at the dinner table with Beth and John. Josh was in an animated discussion with John about Northwestern.

“So, do you have any connections with the admissions office?” Josh asked. “I think I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

John shook his head. “Sorry, Josh. I’m afraid you’re on your own. But when the time comes, I’ll be happy to look over your entrance essay and give you some pointers.”

“Thanks. It’s still a year before I’ll be applying, but everyone talks about it like our whole future hinges on where we go.” He shook his head. “I try not to think of it that way. I just want to be in a good journalism program.”

“You’re pretty young to know what you want to major in,” said John.

Josh leaned forward, and I readied myself for stories of his love for journalism. I enjoyed hearing how, as a little boy, he wrote sports headlines and drew pictures to go along with them, and how he’d turn the sound down on the television to give the commentary on the baseball games, talking into an imaginary microphone. “I don’t know exactly where I’ll end up,” he continued, “but I know I want to work in an area I’m passionate about. I’m not going to spend my life chasing the dollar.”

John nodded, and I could see he was pleased. I got up to help Aunt Beth clear the table. I always felt uncomfortable when Josh talked about the future. The only thing I knew about mine was that I’d be here through November. After that, things got murky.

“What are you thinking?” asked Aunt Beth, filling the teapot. I set the plates down in the sink and turned to her.

“I wish I could talk about my future.”

“Do you think about it?”

I laughed. “Only all the time.”

Beth’s voice was cautious. “Sixteen is young to know what you want to do.”

“I know, but I’ve been thinking since my mother’s visit that from now on this will be my decision. I needed my parents’ permission to come here, and then to stay past the summer. But I know now that if I decide to stay, they’ll respect my wishes. It’ll be hard for them, but I think they’re ready to take that step.”

Beth looked hopeful. “Do you think you will? Decide to stay?”

I thought for a minute before I met Beth’s gaze. “I imagine it.”

She smiled. “And what’s it like in your imagination?”

“Well, I have a cell phone and playlists and my own computer. I drive a car.” I paused. “I guess I imagine living like you. And like Rachel.”

“And what do you imagine when you think about going home?”

I was quiet. I realized that I’d never thought about that possibility. My imagination never took me home.