The nights were dark earlier now. I had to wear two sweatshirts. But I was still mostly running at night. Pretty much every night now. And when I got out there, when I started going and ran and ran, I finally reached the place where my breath got clear again and the pain in my chest and my knees ran into the ground. At that point I thought I could pretty much run forever.

It cleared me. It was literally like removing a weight.

We were doing our homework in the kitchen after school when Keeley asked if she could run with me. I told her no. Her face right then seemed to freeze and shatter.

I’m sorry, I said. It’s just my thing. It’s my time, you know.

She nodded, her head moving in a curtain of hair, but she wouldn’t look up at me.

I mean, maybe every once in a while we can. But at night I just need—

Nadio, I get it.

She lifted her head. There were tears on her frozen, shattered face.

I feel kinda lonely, that’s all, she said. I feel like an idiot and I feel lonely.

Why? Even though I knew the answer, I asked.

Nadio. Kids don’t really notice this stuff, do they? Whose family has more money? I just never got it. And then when I came home, you were sitting there in the dark and you were so safe. You were so home. I wanted to just be as close to you as possible. But now it’s like everything I’ve done has been to push Noelle away. But I don’t mean to—I never meant to.

I know, I said.

I watched her. She took deep breaths.

So what do I do? This is making me crazy. I’ve never doubted myself this way. I feel like she’s making me this pathetic person, crying all the time. What do I do?

That I didn’t know. I didn’t want any of this at the expense of my sister. But it wasn’t about Noelle and me. I thought that, then. I thought it was about Noelle and Keeley.

You get some ice cream, I said.

She giggled. She brushed the tears off her face with her long sleeves.

Ice cream?

Uh-huh.

We walked into town. I bought her a cone of cherry chocolate chip and she licked it slowly, leaning against the wall of the post office while the sun went down behind us. She smiled at me, licking her ice cream cone, offering me a taste, twisting her sleeve in her free hand.

Jesus, I’m glad I’m not in England anymore, she said.

Isn’t there ice cream in England? I asked. But she just stared behind me.

When she was done, I left her at the Coyote Café to do homework and I came back up to the house to go for a run.

But I knew there was something she still wasn’t saying. When I would fool around with Molly, she was like a maniac. Her hands moved so fast and her breath was so hot and it was like nothing could happen fast enough. Keeley was so different. She was slow and deliberate and she paused and took deep breaths.

Do you want me to stop? I’d still ask, every time she took that breath.

Sometimes she said no. Keep going.

Sometimes she said yes. Sometimes she said yeah, let’s talk about something. She wanted to talk about when we were kids, she wanted me to remind her of stories that made her laugh. Before it all got grown-up and sex-complicated, she said.

But the thing is, we never had sex. She always said not now, not yet, when we got to that point.

* * *

I was near the end of my run, passing along the far ridge of the orchard. You could see the tiny square lights of our house and then, up the hill, the wide white lights of Keeley’s house tossing out across the lawn. My breaths were even now and my head felt light. I loved this feeling near the end, like I was floating. Needles ran up and down my legs and I stamped them out with each stride.

Dear Dario,

Here’s a question from son to father. How long am I supposed to be okay with “not now”? I’m not sex-crazed or anything. Before Molly, even after Molly and before Keeley, I was fine without a girl. I’m not saying I can’t live if I don’t have sex with her. It’s just, Keeley stands in this place where she’s trying to swallow me up, and I want to let her, and then she stops and says never mind and breathes me back out and you know what? Sometimes I say it’s okay, Keeley. Don’t worry. But I feel seriously angry. Did I get that from you? That temper that flares inside me when I don’t get it how I want it. I think it might be from you and so I do everything I can to push it down. What I want to know is how do I know if I love someone or if I’m just lusting after her? What I want to know is, what do I do if that person is my sister’s best friend and I think my sister might be losing it even before she finds out about this. If I had a dad, this is what I’d ask him.

I end the letter in my head as I pull open the screen door. I mentally fold it in thirds and stuff it inside an envelope in the back of my brain, unmailed and undocumented. The light is on in the kitchen but the house is quiet. I kick my sneakers off and pour a glass of water. As I walk up the stairs, I switch off the kitchen light. It’s almost completely black but I could walk this house blind.

There’s no light coming from Noelle’s room, but as I climb the last stair, I hear a sound. I stop. I hold still, the water in my glass sloshes onto my wrist. I know the sound. She’s crying. I know the sound anywhere; it’s almost like I can feel it behind my eyes. Deep sobs, gasps for breath, tears soaking. I freeze, while her breaths slow to deep gasps for air and the tears dry on her cheeks. I freeze while she cries and slows and stops, and then I walk into my room and shut the door so she never hears me.

After the night I left his house and ran into Keeley, Parker and I didn’t speak for almost two weeks. I wanted to call him. And for part of every single minute I wanted him to call.

But I knew I had to see if he would call me.

And my sixteenth birthday was coming up.

Nadio and I had always been the youngest in our class. Lace started us early because she had to work, because our birthdays fell on the cusp, because we could already read. But being younger than everyone else meant that sometimes big birthdays seemed to come and go and by the time we reached them, the excitement had faded. This year felt even more strange. The truth was, I didn’t care about my birthday at all. Keeley and I had always talked about throwing a big party—even though her birthday was in May—we always said we’d have a party for the three of us and we’d all take turns driving somewhere, anywhere. But I hadn’t practiced driving in months and I didn’t much feel like taking the test, and Jessica said listen, I know this bar in the city and the bartender is friends with my brother—let’s go there and have drinks for your birthday.

I knew she was trying to make me feel better that I hadn’t heard from Parker.

I knew at a bar in the city, I might run into him, like we all just happened to be there.

When Lace asked us at dinner what we wanted to do for our birthdays, Nadio was quiet.

I don’t feel like making a big deal, I said. I actually think I’m just going to sleep over at Jessica’s.

Lace looked back and forth between us. My brother and I didn’t look at each other. I know neither of us really wanted to have a family plan. But I also know how strange it felt not to want that. What would he do?

Yeah, Nadio said. I’ve never been much of a birthday person.

That part was true.

Lace shrugged.

Okay, she said. Okay.

But on the morning of our birthday she made us pancakes piled high with raspberries and butter and she gave each of us an iPod she couldn’t afford and she drove us to school, which we almost never let her do anymore, and she watched us walk into the building. We could feel her watching our backs and so, without talking, we walked close together until we pushed through the front doors of the school, and then we turned in opposite directions.

Jessica and I got dressed at her house. I borrowed a black skirt and ankle boots that felt too high to walk in but made my legs look especially long. Jessica piled my hair on top of my head and told me to leave my gray T-shirt on.

So you don’t look like you’re trying too hard, you know, she said.

Jessica managed to never look like she was trying too hard, but in secret, I always felt like I looked all wrong when she dressed me.

Her brother drove us to the bar downtown and introduced us to his friend, Graham, behind the bar. They shook hands and whispered to each other, then Jessica’s brother told us he’d pick us up at 12:30 and don’t be stupid.

Everything about the bar was dim and sort of slimy and we sat on round stools and a few middle-aged guys in flannel shirts played darts behind us.

It’s her birthday, Jessica announced to Graham, leaning forward over the bar.

Well happy birthday, said Graham. Just don’t tell me which birthday it is.

He put two beers in front of us and winked at Jessica as he walked down the bar to another customer. I looked around me. More middle-aged guys, some blonde girls and a few boys in pressed blue shirts.

Nobody looked like Parker.

Don’t worry, Jessica said into my neck. My brother said he hangs out here a lot.

What! I turned to her. I felt sick.

And I got his number from your phone. I sent him a text and told him it was your birthday.

Jessica …

I could feel a round ball swelling inside my stomach, a sickness in my throat. She didn’t understand. It was a secret. It was unspoken. Nobody could talk about me and Parker. It would ruin everything.

Oh cheer up, it’s your birthday. Jessica knocked her plastic cup against mine. Let’s play pool, she said.

Jessica was good at pool. I wasn’t too bad. She had a table in her basement and sometimes we’d play there. I just wanted to be good enough so that none of the sweaty guys with heavy bellies wanted to lean over me and “help” my shot. I didn’t need to worry, really; they were all leaning over Jessica, buying her beers and watching her bend slowly over the table. I hovered near the chalkboard at the wall, sipping my beer, holding my phone against my hip in my pocket. I wanted to be able to have fun without him. I wanted to have so much fun I’d forget about him altogether.

Jessica seemed to have forgotten I was there. She giggled from inside a circle of flannel-shirt guys. She held her pool cue absently and accepted cold beers before her cup was empty. My beer was warm. It made my head hurt and my eyes feel heavy. I felt invisible. I pretended I was watching a game of darts. I pretended I was watching the hockey game on the TV. Graham refilled my beer.

On the house, birthday girl. He smiled. I knew he felt bad for me.

By the time Jessica’s brother came, she was clinging to Graham behind the bar, giggling loudly and her shirt had lost two buttons. Her brother looked embarrassed as he peeled her off Graham.

I told you guys not to be stupid, he said to me.

I felt dizzy. I followed him out of the bar.

At her house, Jessica’s brother carried her to her room and laid her down on the twin bed. I pulled her shoes and jeans off and folded her comforter over her.

It was over.

That was my birthday.

Jessica started to snore as I brushed my teeth and changed. I set up my bed on the floor and pushed her lightly. Her breath caught and then she was quiet. I closed my eyes. I willed myself not to cry. He was busy. He was working. My head spinning, I started to count myself to sleep.

Hey, Jessica mumbled.

What? I lifted my head from the floor.

Your phone, she said, somewhere between sleep and awake.

It was there on the nightstand. Buzzing. Blinking. I reached for it and clicked it open. The little envelope danced under his name.

Read. I pressed enter.

happy birthday, beautiful girl

I clicked it shut. I held the phone in my fist, tucking my head back onto the pillow. My stomach danced.

Sixteen.

It was like that. It could be better than anything else.

Birthdays were always bigger for my sister than they were for me. The celebrations we had were because of her. In the months before we turned sixteen, I think I knew that this would be the first birthday we didn’t have together. I wasn’t surprised when she said she’d go to Jessica’s. And I was even relieved, because it meant I could spend my birthday with Keeley.

But part of it didn’t feel right.

After school, Keeley pulled up alongside the bike rack where I was unlocking my bike.

Why don’t you leave that thing there, she said, leaning out the window.

I looked up. She was smiling, her bare arm hanging over the car door, a green scarf wrapped around her neck.

How will I get home?

She laughed, and hit the car door with the palm of her hand.

Get in. I’ll bring you home, birthday boy.

I slid into the passenger’s seat and leaned in to kiss her. She put her hand up.

Not here, she said.

I leaned back, closed my eyes.

Listen, she said.

I could feel Keeley turning out of the school parking lot. I kept my eyes closed.

My parents are out, she went on. There is some big lecture tonight and then a dinner. So I have an idea.

An idea? I said, raising my eyebrows without opening my eyes.

Yea. Come over.

That’s your idea?

Come over and we can order a pizza and watch a movie.

Hmm. I opened my eyes and watched her drive. The lowering sun caught on her hair.

Well? She glanced at me, smiled, then back to the road.

Not a bad idea, I said. Keeley slowed to a stop at a red light. I leaned over.

What about here? I asked.

What?

Can I kiss you here?

Keeley smiled, her eyes still on the red light. Then she turned and pressed her lips against mine. A car honked. Keeley pulled back.

No, she said. You gotta wait.

Keeley’s house was dark and cool and smelled musty and like old leather. It was piled with carpets and books and the leather furniture was cracked. It always reminded me of someplace old.

In here, Keeley said.

I followed her into the kitchen, bordered in blue tiles, the countertops and cabinets spilling magazines and yellowed newspapers. Keeley opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of cheese cut into fat leaning triangles. She emptied a package of crackers into the center of the plate and set it down on the kitchen table, a massive structure that looked like it had once belonged in a medieval hall and instead of chairs, there was a long bench on either side.

Have some, she said.

I put my bag down and sat on the bench, slicing a soft marbled cheese with the edge of a cracker. Keeley left the room. I heard her shuffling, then ordering a pizza, paper crumpling, then she came back. The cheese tasted creamy and moldy. I ate another cracker.

Keeley kneeled on the bench across from me. She leaned over the table and cut a piece of hard yellowish cheese. She ate it without a cracker.

Mmm, she said. I have a present for you.

She’d taken off her sweater and her arms were bare. I felt myself wanting to touch her skin. She seemed different in this house—more confident and in charge, somehow.

Okay. What is it?

She reached under the table and produced a square package wrapped in newspaper. She must have brought it with her from the other room. She handed it over the table to me.

Should I open it now? I balanced the package in one hand. I could feel it was a book, heavy and hardcover but square.

Of course.

I pulled the paper back. The cover was dark brown, rough and faded leather. The binding was looped together with thin leather string and I could see the rough yellowed edges of paper peeking jagged from the edges of the book. Painted in black script, it read On the occasion of his 16th birthday. I touched the letters, they felt almost sticky. The paint was thick.

You made this? I looked up. Keeley was watching me. She smiled.

Well, she said, open it. I did more than stitch the cover. She was grinning. I could feel the heat in my cheeks.

I folded the cover open. On the first page, in the same heavy black handwriting, she wrote it started here. The paper was rough and textured. The writing went along the top of the page in Keeley’s looping, tilted script, here in thinner black paint. Below the writing, a photograph—the gatehouse, my house. It was sometime early in the fall; brown-red leaves dusted the steps and the yard.

Where did you get this? I still held the book in my hands but I was watching her. Her smile seemed different tonight. Like it was just there, not hiding anything.

I took it, silly. Just keep going.

I flipped the page. I realized why the delicate handmade paper felt so thick. On the back of each page was taped a section of map, cut to fit exactly. I looked closer at the map.

Remember, Keeley said, when you were little you were obsessed with Mt. Everest. You said when we climbed Snake Mountain, it was like you were training.

I looked up at her. The truth was, I hadn’t remembered that. Not until just then.

Keep going, she whispered. Her cheeks were red. She leaned in closer, her body folded over the table.

The facing page was the entrance to the Snake Mountain trail, the crooked sign—it was late fall now, the trees bare of leaves. I flipped. The track at school, the outside of the soup kitchen, an M.U.N sign—she giggled when I stopped on that page.

I had to, she said.

On the backs of each page, a map. Some maps were of places I’d thought about, some of places Keeley imagined I’d love. Finally, the orchard, the crumbling stone wall, the map on the back of Concord, Massachusetts and as I peeked closer, a tiny blue circle. Walden Pond.

When did you—? Each page held a million moments I’d walked through and imagined. Keeley had documented a whole life in still pictures and carved up maps. The pages narrated a life I’d both remembered and forgotten, gave truth to places that had been blurry and uncertain.

Shhh, she said. Just keep going. There’s a little more.

I turned another page. This map spread across two pages, this time drawn in Keeley’s hand in red and orange, her tiny round script choosing the names of cities, drawings of a mask, boats, mountains, steaming coffee cups, all within the jagged-edged boot of Italy, and blue paint rose up from the page in points, surrounding the peninsula.

One day, Keeley said, we can go. When you’re ready.

Her voice seemed far away. I could feel a photograph on the last page—the back cover—and I absently flipped to it. A blurred black-and-white photograph of Keeley standing in her kitchen, her hair tucked behind her ears, her hands holding forth a frosted cupcake.

I looked up as I closed the book, holding my hands on either side of the cover. Keeley was standing now, her back to the fridge, holding a frosted cupcake in the palm of her hand.

Happy Birthday, she said.

You made this, I said. She nodded.

The cupcake and the book, she said.

I’ve never gotten a present anything like this.

I wanted to make you something that was, you know, a testament. Sixteen is a big deal. I mean … Her voice trailed off.

Keeley, I said. Thank you. This is incredible.

She shifted, holding the cupcake.

Can I have it? I asked.

She came over to the table, holding the cupcake out to me. I took it and put it down. I leaned over the cheese plate and kissed her. She pushed the plate aside and climbed over the table. She sat on the table in front of me, her feet on either side of me. Leaning down she kissed my forehead and my ear. I put the book down on the bench next to me, still seeing its pages even as I put my hands on Keeley’s ankles.

I just wanted to make sure you remembered everything, she whispered.

I do, I said. I pulled her off the table onto my lap. I would have told her I remembered just about anything but the truth was, I did see so much more suddenly. I did see us, not just in these familiar places but on the winding roads in the maps. The truth was I could picture it.

When the pizza arrived, Keeley sent me into the living room. When she came out with the pizza, she’d torn the top off the box and lit a candle stuck in the center of the melted cheese. We ate the pizza cross-legged on the floor and then we moved to the couch and put in a movie, but with Keeley lying on her side, between the couch and me, her bare arms over my stomach. I have no idea what the movie was.

It wasn’t until I got home that I wondered how my sisters’ birthday had been, that it occurred to me I hadn’t just turned sixteen alone.

Part of every minute felt like a dream. It was like I was walking around half awake with my head swimming in still water. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t want one bite of any meal or to sit in front of five minutes of TV or more than three sentences with my mom or Nadio or Keeley or Jessica. Everything I started to do felt too heavy to finish. He was all I could think about.

When I was around him he made me feel like he needed something about me. He made my skin stand up and everything inside me race.

When I wasn’t around him, when he wasn’t calling, everything stopped moving.

He did call, finally. I was standing near the front gates of school, waiting for Jessica to pick me up. I held my breath as I looked down at my phone.

Parker, the phone blinked up at me. The ringer was on silent. His name blinked in green block letters.

I clicked the phone open.

What’s up, he said. Like we’d just spoken.

Nothing.

So, are you gonna come over sometime?

Do you want me to? I asked him.

Yeah, he said. It sounded like he was yawning. Yeah, come over tonight. Come to this party with me.

When I hung up I could feel my heart in my throat. I went home and took a shower. I put on jeans and black boots and a tank top I usually slept in. It was trimmed in lace. The skin of my chest glared white through the trim. I pulled my hair up into a bun and drew black eyeliner around the rims of my eyes. Look at you all Cleopatra, he had said to me once. That was all I needed. I made sure everything I wore drew out the black in my hair and my eyes, drew out anything that made him compare me to a queen. I just wanted him to say it again.

He was in the shower when I got there. I sat down at the kitchen table and my hands and breaths were shaking. I tapped my feet to do something on purpose. I stared at the joint he’d left in the ashtray. I didn’t feel bold enough to smoke it. I took deep breaths. Finally I leaned toward the table, listening closely to the rushing sound of water, the hissing of pipes from the bathroom. I snuck two quick hits. I placed the joint carefully at just the angle he’d left it, fanning at the smoke that sat in the air. I breathed in and out. By the time he came out, his jeans hanging just below his hipbones, pulling a T-shirt over his head, I felt high and sleepy.

I shivered at the sight of him.

Hey, you, he said.

He leaned over to kiss me, slipping his hand inside my shirt.

I like this shirt, he said.

I missed you, I whispered. I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Yeah? He pulled me out of the chair.

Let’s go, he said.

Really?

You wanna go places. Let’s go to this party.

He held my hand as we walked down the stairs and the whole way to the party, but it was still like I wasn’t even there. His hand felt cold and he barely talked the whole way. The party was at the same house where he first kissed me, only there were way less people there. Right away when we walked in he looked around, nervous. He kissed the top of my head.

I’ll be around, okay? I’ll find you.

I felt paralyzed. I stood alone in the hallway for a minute. I didn’t belong here. Should I leave? Why did he even bring me? My mouth felt dry and I wanted to sit down. I walked down the hallway, past a couple whispering in a doorway. They didn’t even look at me. See, I thought. They don’t care. No one even notices I’m here.

I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

I was standing in the kitchen.

The skeleton girl with red boots was standing at the sink. She was holding an empty glass and smoking a cigarette. She was still wearing the red boots, and some kind of short black dress with a thick belt cinched around her waist. In the kitchen light she looked less like a skeleton and more like a tired model with delicate narrow wrists and puffy eyes and bright red lips. Her nails were painted dark purple—like perfect moons. I thought her nail polish would be chipped. It wasn’t. It was flawless.

Hi, I said.

She looked up at me. She looked down at her glass.

Do you want some whiskey?

Okay.

She turned around and pulled another glass down from the cabinet. She poured whiskey into both glasses and handed me one. The glass had a film of dust around it. I took a sip and my throat stung. I took another sip.

Do you live here? I asked the girl.

Sometimes.

I’m Noelle. I held out my hand. She held it limply.

Dana.

We stood there for a while. She smoked. I looked at my glass.

You’re with Parker? she finally said.

I didn’t know what to say. It occurred to me that he might not say yes if someone asked him if he were with me. In fact, he probably wouldn’t say anything.

Sort of.

Dana looked down at her glass. She smiled. I was kind of surprised to see her smile. It made her seem more something. More human.

One can only ever sort of be with Parker.

I remembered her staring at me the first night. Suddenly my skin felt cold.

What do you mean?

She looked up. Her face had softened suddenly. I wanted her to tell me things. I wanted to tell her things. I felt, right then, like Dana was going to tell me something very true and important and maybe even become my friend.

Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mean I’m sleeping with him or anything. Not anymore, she said.

My throat closed.

Parker has been my friend for a long time. I love Parker. But I’m not his girlfriend.

Oh.

Parker’s just complicated. You’re never going to get a whole lot of him.

I took another sip of my whiskey. My hand was shaking.

I mean, physically he’ll act like he wants to give you anything you want, but emotionally he won’t give you an inch. You know?

Dana laughed. It occurred to me that I should feel threatened by her, but I felt thankful.

Yeah, I know, I said. I thought it was me.

Dana held out her pack of cigarettes. I took one.

It’s not you. It seems like he likes you.

How can you tell?

She lit my cigarette.

The way he looks at you.

Yeah?

Here’s the thing about Parker, Dana said. He’ll make you feel really beautiful one second …

And like you’re not even there the next?

She smiled again.

Yeah. But listen, Noelle, I’m just telling you the truth. He’s my friend. There’s something about him. It’s like, he just has this something about him.

I know, I said. I held out my glass. Can I have some more whiskey?

Dana emptied the bottle into both of our glasses. Then she held hers up.

To Parker, she said.

Cheers.

Come with me to the soup kitchen, I said at breakfast.

Noelle looked up from her coffee mug. She pushed her hair back and stared at me.

Keeley, who’d just come in the side door, turned from the tea kettle she was watching on the stove.

Okay, they both said at the same time.

I don’t know why I was surprised. I was the one who asked. But I wasn’t sure where it had come from. I hadn’t been there since Molly left, since before the summer. I’d definitely never brought anyone with me. But that Saturday morning it felt like what I wanted to do. I wanted to remember all of the things I’d spent my time on before.

Cool, I said. We leave in twenty minutes.

In less than an hour we were climbing the stairs at the St. Francis Community Center. It was still early and folding tables lined the back wall. A few volunteers were placing chairs at round tables around the room and Ben, who was the pastor who ran the soup kitchen, was lifting a steaming dish onto the back table. His gray beard swam behind the steam coming up from the dish. Keeley and Noelle stood next to me, hands pulled up inside their sleeves. I’d never noticed they both stood that way, kneading their fingers into the ends of their sleeves.

Hey, I said. Carol.

Carol looked up from the back of the room. Her glasses slid low on her nose. Carol was in her sixties and she and Ben had helped start the soup kitchen after the Vietnam war about a hundred years ago when, she’d told me once, there seemed to be a flood of men who couldn’t keep a home and needed a hot meal. She waved to me and walked slowly over.

We’ve missed you, young man, she said.

I’m sorry. This year has been …

But we’re glad you’re here now.

Carol was never one for excuses. She wanted volunteers however she could get them.

You must be the twin sister. She held her hand out and Noelle took it.

And the best friend, Carol said, each of her hands holding one of theirs. Come this way and we’ll get you two started on the biggest vat of fruit salad you’ve ever seen.

As the three of them walked away I could see them laughing. I hadn’t seen that in such a long time—Noelle laughing and Keeley laughing and all of us in one place doing something that felt like normal and wasn’t about all of these things we were trying to keep from each other.

Well, he’s back. Ben handed me an oversized dish of lettuce and pale tomatoes and pointed to the end of the table.

I’m sorry I haven’t been around this year, I said. I hadn’t anticipated all the guilt I was suddenly feeling. We had never attended church once in our lives and Lace had raised us without a suggestion of religious faith, but two years ago I’d answered a call for volunteers on a sign posted outside the church and Ben had become my unofficial mentor, teacher, maybe even father figure (I’m sure he knew about Molly). But that last part I might be imagining.

Just glad to see you now, he said.

Your sister? He nodded his head toward Carol, handing me a paper bag of bread.

Yeah, I said. And her—my—

Ben raised his eyebrow.

My girlfriend. Keeley.

Ben nodded.

Let’s get this sliced, he said. He handed me a serrated knife and we stood side by side, hacking at the mostly stale loaves.

Actually, I said, she’s my sister’s best friend too.

Ben sliced.

But my sister doesn’t really know about us—it’s like, it happened sort of unexpectedly, me and Keeley. I guess when you know someone for a long time, it’s kind of shocking when you start to see her in a totally different light. You know?

Ben smiled.

This is an important time in your life, he said.

You mean—?

I simply mean it’s an important time.

Yeah, I said. I hoped he wasn’t talking about sex. I had the feeling he wasn’t but I couldn’t be sure.

Anyway. My sister doesn’t know.

I imagine that feels very difficult for both of you.

Well, yeah. We’re—I think we’re figuring out how to tell her.

Even though Ben didn’t say anything, even though he just nodded and raised one eyebrow at a time, I felt somehow better.

Carol lined me and Noelle and Keeley up behind the service table. Lasagna, salad, bread. Noelle, Keeley, me. We didn’t say much, but Noelle and Keeley giggled into each others shoulders as the old men flirted with them and it was kind of nice to watch.

Hey, how about I cook for you? he asked.

We were tangled together on the couch, his face against my neck. I was as usual struggling to decide how far I could let this go. Wanted to let this go.

Really? All the muscles in my stomach, chest, arms, every muscle seemed to flood slowly out into the couch. Relaxed.

Yeah, he said. He sat up.

Yeah, I snagged some stuff from the restaurant. I wanna try something.

Okay, I said. I’d love that.

He stood up, pressing down on my leg as he did. Then he stopped, looking down at me.

One catch, he said.

What?

You gotta stay like that. No putting your shirt back on.

I looked down. My stretched-out black bra, dotted with tiny gray lint pills. My skin was white-blue already against the cool air of the room.

It’s cold, I said. Not to mention I felt ridiculous. Which I didn’t say out loud.

Too bad, he grinned, walking away. You look hot, he said and walked into the kitchen.

I sat up. The white skin of my stomach rolled just slightly over the waist of my jeans. I knew I wasn’t fat, but the waist of my jeans cut just exactly wrong into the skin of my stomach. I decided I wouldn’t sit down. In my socks and jeans and old bra, I padded into the kitchen.

Parker had his head inside the fridge. He pulled out a few plastic bags filled with leaves and turned around.

Okay, he said. He was smiling. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile that way. He opened the cabinet and pulled a giant book down.

What are all of these plants? I asked, pointing at the tiny pile of plastic bags as he flipped through the pages.

Herbs, he said, not looking up.

And that? I touched the top of the book.

My bible, he said. Suddenly he snapped the book shut, tucked it back in the cabinet and turned to fill a pot with water.

You don’t need the recipe?

Nah, I never use recipes. I was just checking something.

I opened the cabinet door and looked at the spine of the book. Larousse Gastronomique was etched into the spine.

I watched Parker pouring from a bag into the pot of water.

What does that mean? I pointed at the spine of the book. I felt like a four-year-old.

He looked up, like he was surprised someone else was in the room with him.

Oh, it’s like a dictionary for cooks. It’s like—you can look up ingredients and stuff. It’s like this old French thing.

As he reached for a knife, the inked band around his arm waved slightly, the serpent danced against his skin. I thought right then that I might be in love with him. I had no idea what that felt like. But right then I decided I could move into this gasoline apartment and do my homework while he read French cookbooks and I wouldn’t be missing anything in my life. At all.

Hey, he said. Come stir this for me.

We were mostly quiet while Parker cooked. There was the jump of his knife against the cutting board and the hiss of boiling water and the snap of the containers he opened. I started to forget that I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I was stirring risotto, which is little oval-shaped Italian rice that takes forever to cook and needs to be carefully stirred, constantly. The steam from the pot warmed my chest and I didn’t care when my arm started to ache. Every once in a while Parker would reach over me to drop a handful of herbs or powder into the pot and each time he did, I felt my skin stand up. It was like he just, instinctually, knew things—the perfect pinch of ingredients or turn of the flame. Watching him cook I could feel he just knew.

On the burner next to me, he poured cream into a pot, a pat of butter, red flakes of something, onions, and handfuls of soft, white meat tinged in red.

What is it? I asked.

Lobster.

People didn’t eat lobster on any normal day. This I knew. It was the most expensive thing on a menu. It was special-occasion food.

When Parker proclaimed the risotto done, it was almost too tired to stir, white and gloppy and flecked with dark green and pepper. He heated butter in a pan and formed the risotto into full-moon patties and cooked them until they were gold on each side.

He smiled while he stirred and flipped and sliced and his eyes, all at once, seemed to be watching every pot and dish he had with this quiet, still intensity.

He pulled out two chipped china plates. I thought it was funny, just then. Parker had dishes. Where did he get them? I watched his hands move quickly—stirring, flipping. He put two of the gold-brown risotto patties on each plate, carefully side by side and then, slowly and gently, poured the red cream over the top, so gently that tiny heaps of lobster meat formed a near-perfect pyramid between the two cakes.

He put the plates on the table and stared at them.

Oh, he said. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two forks. Handing one to me, he sat down.

Okay, he said.

I sat down across from him. This is what we would do if we lived together. We would eat dinner like this.

Except I’d probably be fully dressed.

Or maybe not.

I took a bite. Parker watched me.

Wow, I said. I had no idea what to say. It tasted amazing. It tasted warm and creamy and rich and peppered and just a little bit crispy all at once.

It’s so good, I said. It’s really rich.

Parker stared at me.

Huh, he said.

He took a bite.

Yeah, it’s pretty good, he said. I overdid it on the heavy cream.

No, no you didn’t.

I had no idea what it would taste like if he underdid it on the heavy cream, but I had the distinct impression I couldn’t say anything right. I liked food. But I didn’t know food. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to stun him by tasting exactly the spices and the measurement of heavy cream.

I wanted to know what gastronomique meant.

There was this scholarship. It was for a summer-long Model U.N. program in New Haven, Connecticut. You had to submit your best resolution, and then a committee reviewed millions of them and chose a couple of students to send to New Haven and paid for everything and gave you money for college. It was the kind of thing I should want to do. It was the kind of thing I would have been all over last year. Mr. Taylor, my guidance counselor, pulled me aside right around Thanksgiving and told me I had to get it done.

Just do it, Nadio, he said. It’s a waste not to do it. Just get it done.

He was right. It was a Friday, but after school I went straight to the library. I sat down at a computer near the back windows and I just went to it. I knew I was supposed to write about the development of programs to recognize kids orphaned by AIDS. I surfed around and did a little bit of research. It was pretty easy once I got started. I had the format down. It was all about phrasing.

Noting: that children on the continent of Africa have been ravaged by the plague of AIDS, left homeless and orphaned and have resorted to crime and addiction.

Deeply concerned: that the international community has done little to remedy this plight.

Taking into account: that children and countries will be best served by programs that can allow these orphans to grow up with safe, healthy environments on their home soil.

Requests: that delegates develop U.N.-sponsored homes and programs for said orphans.

I stopped. Deeply concerned. Taking into account. It was everything we were thinking about my sister. It was all of my energy and all of my distraction.

Noting: that Noelle is in a weird place. She seems angry and messed up and is keeping her distance from her brother and her best friend.

Deeply concerned: that Noelle could be really hurt if she finds out her brother and her best friend are dating. Kind of dating.

Taking into account: that her brother and best friend really like spending time together and are tired of keeping secrets.

Requests: that all three have a conversation so all of this can stop driving everyone slightly crazy.

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called Keeley.

Hello?

I wanna take you out to dinner, I said.

She was quiet.

Really?

Yeah.

Nadio. That would be—okay. That’s awesome.

If we’re gonna go into the city we have to take the bus. You know Lace hasn’t taken me for my road test yet.

She laughed.

I have a license, remember?

This is humiliating, I said. But can you pick me up at the library?

Which part? That you’re at the library or that I have to drive you around?

Ha ha, I said.

Keeley and I drove to Mirabel’s. It’s just a little restaurant in the city that looks kind of fancy from the outside with dark purple tablecloths and wine glasses, but it’s not that expensive. I know because once Lace took us there for her birthday.

Anyway, Keeley and I went to Mirabel’s and they gave us a table in the back corner which was actually near the fireplace. We both ordered steak and ice water and Keeley made me promise we would split the check. I didn’t argue. To be honest, I couldn’t argue. I just wanted to be somewhere brand new with her.

She held my hand over the table.

You want to talk about something, don’t you? she said.

In fact, I said.

Do you want to break up with me?

No, I said. Even though I think she knew that wasn’t what I wanted.

This is weird, I said. I moved my hand so it was over hers.

It’s just … okay. First, I think keeping this from Noelle is ridiculous. I mean, she is my sister and she’s your best friend and this is just the truth. She needs to know.

What’s the truth?

What do you mean?

Well, you said “this” is the truth. What’s “this”?

You and me, Keeley. You’re my girlfriend. That’s the truth.

She smiled, but there was something off about her smile.

I like to hear you say that, she whispered.

What’s wrong?

She lowered her eyes. She wriggled her fingers and then laced them through mine.

I’m not sure when I’m gonna be ready to have sex with you.

My stomach jumped. For some reason it felt weird to hear her say this out loud. It’s like we weren’t supposed to talk about this out loud.

Okay, I said. But—

Why? she asked.

Yes, I wanted to say. Why? Why not? What are we waiting for? What am I supposed to do here? But I didn’t say anything.

There’s just all this stuff. And Nadio, I just can’t tell you about it all yet but I want to. And sometimes it’s like I want to so bad. Do it. Tell you. Everything. But then I don’t. But then being with you is like the best thing. I just have to ask you to be patient with me. But I understand if you can’t.

Of course I can, I said.

Because I could. Even if I didn’t always feel like it. I had no idea what she was talking about. And I couldn’t tell if it was serious or just a girl thing—just a girl not being ready. Being ready, I know, is just different for a girl. I knew I could wait. At least right now I felt like I could.

Anyway, she said.

Just then the waiter hovered over us. He grinned as we pulled our hands apart. He put the plates down in front of us—two giant brown steaks, piles of mashed potatoes, hills of green spinach.

Keeley picked up her knife and fork.

Anyway, I love you, she said, slicing into her steak. And you don’t have to say anything. In fact, don’t say anything. Even if you mean it. Say it a different time when it doesn’t feel like you’re being forced to say it.

And she shoved her fork in her mouth. She smiled and chewed at the same time, looking kind of beautiful and crazy all at once and I thought, even if I couldn’t say it, I might mean it.

We never got back to talking about Noelle.

After he cooked, Parker seemed distracted. He piled the dishes in the sink and didn’t seem to notice when I put my T-shirt back on.

Thanks, he said when I started to do the dishes. Seriously.

He lit a cigarette, offering his pack to me. I shook my head. He sat down and smoked quietly. I washed and piled the dishes and he was quiet. I felt this strange mix of content and anxiety. Like he’d just showed me this deep and true part of him and we were closer. And like I’d reacted all wrong and he didn’t want me around.

I finished the dishes. Even though it was Friday, it was kind of late and I didn’t have a cover plan and I had to go home. I got my stuff from the couch. He had his big French cooking bible out and was flipping through it.

I have to go, I said.

Yeah. Parker looked up. He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. He watched me pull on my shoes and zip my coat. Then he reached his arm out and pulled me to him and tilted my face up and kissed me.

I felt like I could fly.

You’re good to cook for, he said.

You’re a good cook.

He smiled.

I’ll see you, he said.

It was cold outside, the just-before-the-snow kind of cold. The air felt sharp and fresh on my face as I started toward the bus stop. I felt like I’d cracked open and had a brand new skin and something completely new was going to happen in my life. I felt possible.

That’s when I saw them.

Just across from the bus stop there’s a restaurant that Lace took us to once for her birthday. An old-fashioned lamp hooks yellow light over the doorway. As I came up the street a couple was standing under the light. They were wrapped around each other, kissing, wound up so it was hard to tell where one body stopped and the other one started. The woman pulled her head back. She was laughing. Her hair fell down her back under a white hat. Her hair was long and caught the light—gold.

Keeley.

As she tipped her head back and the two bodies separated, I saw both of their faces.

Keeley. Nadio. Keeley and my brother.

I think I stopped breathing for just a second. Or maybe I was numb. Or maybe there was not a single thought in my head.

And then all at once I thought I wanted to throw up.

And then my eyes were filled with tears.

And then I raged with anger.

And then I ducked into the closest alley.

I leaned back against the cold wall. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was like I’d been running.

What did I just see?

I wiped at my cheeks. The tears felt cold and stung and I was furious at them.

What was happening? I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare look back into the street.

I dug in my bag for my cell phone.

Hello? Jessica yelled. There was music in the background.

I need you to pick me up downtown, I said.

Noelle?

Yeah. I need you to pick me up downtown. I need to sleep over.

Is everything okay?

Yeah, I said. Please.

There were muffled voices.

Okay, Jessica said. Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.

I hung up and called Lace. I told her I was spending the weekend at Jessica’s.

I leaned back against the wall. I closed my eyes. I tried to slow my breath.

I felt like I’d cracked open all over again and now I was spilling everywhere.

Dear Dario,

I was ready to tell my sister that Keeley and I were, whatever we were. I was ready to just tell her and get on with our lives, somehow the way they’d been. But after that dinner, after that moment when Keeley said something to me I never thought about hearing, I didn’t want to tell anybody about it. It’s hard to explain. All the other stuff just became less important. I just wanted to be with Keeley. I just wanted to figure it out with her. Maybe that’s what you felt like. Maybe you felt like this so much, you couldn’t think about sharing Lace with anyone. Not even us. I think I got a glimpse of that. It scares the hell out of me.

It’s funny. You’d think that if your girlfriend tells you she has no idea when she’ll be ready to have sex with you, it wouldn’t really do wonders for your relationship. But somehow, it made everything sort of solid between us. It was like from the moment Keeley cut into her steak at Mirabel’s, we became something different. I knew she was beautiful, anyone who walked by her on the street knew that. I knew that sometimes I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she breathed under my ear before she kissed my neck or pulled my belt loops into her. But then I started to think about her chewing her steak and laughing at the same time and telling me she loved me without letting me say a word. There weren’t a lot of girls I knew who would be brave like that and then just let you watch them chew a giant mouthful of food.

Keeley wanted us to just be open about everything. She was waiting for me outside the soup kitchen on Sunday.

Do you want a ride home? she asked.

Do you think we should? I don’t want Nole to see us. She hasn’t been home all weekend and it might be weird if—

Keeley hadn’t been over to our house since the soup kitchen day.

Jesus, Nadio. She was leaning against the side of her car, her arms folded. How long are we going to do this? she asked.

What do you mean?

THIS. Pretend like we’re not together. Walk on eggshells around Noelle. Let her be in charge of everyone’s lives ’cause we’re all scared of her.

I’m not scared of her, Keeley. I just feel like she’s going through enough right now.

Enough of what? Enough of being a selfish brat. Enough of skipping school for some boyfriend no one’s ever seen? Enough of denying happiness to the people she cares about because she doesn’t have any?

Whoa.

Well. Keeley uncrossed her arms and rubbed her hands together. I’m sorry, Nadio, but it’s true. I just feel like Noelle is dominating our whole relationship and she’s not even in it.

I think there is a lot of other stuff that dominates our relationship too, I said. I couldn’t help it.

Keeley’s eyes got wide. She took a deep breath.

Okay, she said. That’s fair.

I’m just saying—

You’re saying it’s not all about Noelle.

It’s not, I said. She’s my twin sister and my instinct is to protect her. But this is weird. For the first time I have an instinct to protect someone else too.

I hope you’re talking about me, Keeley said. She smiled.

So how’re we gonna do this? I asked.

We have to talk to her, Keeley said.

But when we got home, she was asleep. Lace said she had a fever.

I spent the weekend at Jessica’s in a state of near-living. That’s all I can say. I was walking around but it wasn’t like it was my body or even my head. I couldn’t believe things. I felt like something had happened that changed the way I saw everything. I couldn’t stop thinking, can I really be this alone? I felt like there was nothing but cold air around me. Like if I opened my mouth nothing would come out, nothing anyone could hear. Even though I was at Jessica’s, it was like complete solitude. I just lay on her bed and stared at the television. I held my phone in my hand. Call me, call me, I whispered in my head, till it became a rhythm.

Who was I talking to? Parker, my brother, Keeley. I didn’t even know.

What did I see? What happened? Were they really a couple? For how long? They were kissing like it was something they did all the time. The way she laughed up at him was a way I’d never seen her. And Nadio. I’d never seen that much affection from him, the way he held on to her. I’d never seen that ever.

I thought, I thought, I thought. I thought Parker was my secret. I thought I would have this secret relationship, I’d get something no one else felt yet, no one else knew, and it would be all mine and I would get to have this other life too. I would get something.

Now I couldn’t even call him. I couldn’t.

So what? he’d say about my brother and Keeley. All of us are free to decide, he’d say. The two of them together aren’t about you. So what?

But it was about me. It was. All I wanted was for him to see that. And fill in that space.

Jessica thought Parker and I had had a fight. She rubbed my back and brought me cups of tea. It’s all right, she said. You guys’ll work it out. I let her think so. I couldn’t explain anything else to her. I felt paralyzed and broken at once. The only way Jessica could explain that was through Parker.

Why don’t people ever see the way other kinds of love can wreck you? What about the way being left out of love can wreck you?

Everything always happened for Nadio. For Keeley. Being beautiful, seeing places. Winning awards. It just happened. Now there was no room.

* * *

It came to me on Sunday. I told Lace I was sick and faked a fever. I went straight to my room and didn’t see my brother. On Monday morning she called me in sick without even an argument. I slept through the morning after she went to work. I took a shower and shaved my legs and tried to find nice underwear but it was all cotton and sort of faded. So I picked a red-pink pair and the lacy tank top and I got dressed and took the bus to his house.

I knew he was working but the door was never locked, not through Sammy’s. The clean dishes I’d piled in the sink were still there. There was an ashtray overflowing on the kitchen table and a T-shirt tossed over the back of a chair, but otherwise Parker’s apartment looked like a set—barren and unlived in and waiting.

I could live here. I could live here.

I imagined my sweaters piled on the empty shelf in his closet. I touched the sleeves hanging there. I imagined my textbooks next to his cookbooks on the bookshelf. Lace had been seventeen, a year older than me, and living alone in another country, living and eating and sleeping with the person she loved. I could do it.

I lay down on his bed, on top of the sheet and a tangled blanket and I pulled his T-shirt against my neck. I pulled my knees up to my chest.

I wanted to be just here.

When he woke me up it was dark outside. He was sitting on the couch and put his hand on my arm.

Hey.

I opened my eyes.

What are you doing here?

I wanted to see you, I said, barely awake, groggy enough to admit this out loud.

Okay, he said. His eyes were narrow, puzzled, but soft. It’s a school night, he said. And it’s late.

I don’t care, I said.

I could see behind him. The night was black outside. I reached up and pulled the collar of his jacket down to me. I kissed him. I tried to swallow him. I dug my fingers into the back of his neck. I could feel him pushing back into me, all of him. I moved my hands down under his T-shirt. His skin felt strange and familiar at once. He stretched and bent until all of him was on top of me like a blanket. I knew what his body was going to do. That was suddenly familiar. Everything was reaching and immediate. I moved my hands to his belt, digging into my hip. I fumbled at it. I could feel the wires and muscles in all of his limbs tense and strong at once. My hand stumbled, his belt pressed into my hip. He pushed my hand away and undid his belt in a moment, a second—he pushed my hand back toward the waist of his jeans then as his fingers flipped back to my stomach, my zipper. My skin jumped. His mouth fought against mine. Our jeans peeled down almost at once. The skin of my legs against his skin. His hands kneaded at me. He lifted his head.

You okay?

I nodded. I had nothing left to say out loud.

As I nodded everything happened like a waterfall—fierce, rushing, crashing. Our clothes gone, it was just skin and the strength of his arms and hands against me and the heat from his skin. We ripped and pulled at each other and pushed against each other. He held my head back and kissed my neck and my fingers pushed his back and we breathed. I stopped thinking at all. I stopped everything that wasn’t right there.

And it was over.

It didn’t hurt especially. It just was.

He fell asleep. It was almost immediate. Stretched out snake-like, still on top of the twisted sheets, his breaths even and deep. He was sleeping. I sat up. I traced my hands along the designs across his back, and down the length of his spine:

what

does not

destroy me

makes me

stronger

I traced my fingers lightly up and down the letters. Wake up, my head whispered. Wake up.

He did finally. I heard his breathing catch as he came out of sleep and twisted to look at me.

What’re you doing, he said. There was nothing in the way he said it. It wasn’t sharp or angry or tender or sweet. He was only asking.

What’s this one? I asked, my finger against the base of his spine.

He looked at me. He blinked.

It’s, uh. It’s a reminder.

Of?

It was something I needed to remember at the time. You know? That my family bullshit wasn’t going to be … it’s my journal entry or whatever. It was that time. It’s a reminder. He reached out and squeezed my knee.

You okay? I’m beat. I gotta sleep.

As I began to nod, he turned back onto his side. In seconds his breathing was even, in, out, the perfectly unconscious pattern of sleep.

Last night Keeley told me the truth about what happened in Oxford. We went up to her house to study for a Chem exam. Sitting on her couch facing each other, our legs stretched out side by side, she told me the truth about this person who makes her throat close and the muscles in her stomach clench and her skin turn cold even when it’s me who is touching her.

The part that I never wanted to say out loud is this: when Keeley was telling it, I could feel what he was feeling. Just for one second, I knew what he felt like.

That’s the part I can’t get rid of.

I have to tell you something, she said.

About Nole?

No. About me.

Okay.

You’re not gonna like it.

Somehow, I knew that before she even said any more.

Okay, I said out loud.

His name was J, she said. But that wasn’t his real name. His real name was Jameson something something but he always just went by the first letter.

Jameson what? I pushed. I wanted the details that didn’t mean anything. I wanted all of the things she didn’t know.

She didn’t answer me. I wanted to string her story along. I don’t think I really wanted to know how it ended.

She didn’t even know his last name. She knew he went by J and she said sometimes she thought he was made out of wax. She said his skin and his joints were like rounded, constantly moving waves and almost seemed carved to perfection.

I couldn’t believe she told me that.

Why are you telling me this?

I need you to know it all, she said.

Now?

Yes, now. I’m tired of keeping stuff.

I need all these details?

Please, Nadio. Just listen to me.

She said she met him in a place called Georgina’s where she used to sit and read. Georgina’s is upstairs in the covered market, with heavy tables and weird thin bagels—it’s like a secret hideaway and a hip Oxford student place all at once. And Keeley would sit there and read. On purpose, she said, she read things like US Weekly and Angels and Demons—things her parents would scoff at and no Oxford student would be caught dead carrying.

She said J found her there. He asked if he could sit with her. This was okay because Georgina’s is so small that sharing tables is just part of sitting there. But right away he started talking to her. And he didn’t say a word about the magazine she was reading. He nodded at her bagel.

Are you American? he asked her.

Yes, she said.

Only you Americans eat those things.

But he didn’t say this with any kind of disdain. She said his accent was slow-moving and sharp all at once—like a carved-out, deep, booming movie accent. And every time he said anything, he said it with this slow smile that wrapped all the way around her and reached deep inside her like there was suddenly no one else at Georgina’s. And Keeley wanted to reach across the table and open her mouth against his and—

She stopped there. She said, You know what I mean, Nadio.

I knew what she meant. I started to feel sick.

Keeley and J were basically never apart after that. For exactly three and a half weeks. The end of it all was what she was leading up to, when she started talking in the living room after everything around us was asleep. It was so deep between night and morning I didn’t even know what to call it. I put my hand down over her legs, but she pushed me away, she drew her knees to her chest so we weren’t touching at all.

Don’t, she said. Don’t touch me while I’m telling you this.

I can only remember it in her voice. It’s like her voice plays in my head when I think about it.

All along I told him I didn’t want to have sex with him, because I don’t know, I just didn’t think I was ready for it, but sometimes, well, it was like my whole body went against everything I was saying. Anyway. We broke up. He said he couldn’t wait around for me to make up my mind, to stop being a child. I was devastated. I thought it was the end, that I’d never actually feel anything ever again. I was so lonely and I didn’t have anyone to talk to and I missed him like crazy.

Finally I went to his room. He lived in this small round room in a tower, it was this dark tower with a real twisting stone staircase. I went there and when he opened the door he didn’t seem right. Nothing seemed right. He said what? Like he was so mad, like he was spitting almost. I didn’t have anything to say. I’d gone there to say I was sorry and I wanted to try to work things out but when I saw him, I couldn’t say it. It was like he’d turned into someone else completely. He was like all rage. We stood there staring at each other and then he kinda laughed. You want this? he said. And he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside the room. It was like he was possessed. I could still feel the burning on my arm where his fingers dug in but then he just threw me down and he was on top of me.

You know, I can’t remember if I made a sound. I remember pushing at him. I remember trying to get him off of me but I don’t think I could make a sound. It was like I was fighting him on mute. I swear to god. It was like of all the noise in the room there was no sound. That’s what I have now, it’s like this soundless memory. And everything he did was like straight from his rage. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Like this. It was so fast. My clothes were even all on after it was over. And J. He wouldn’t even look at me. He was just lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. My whole body felt, just like cracked, like stiff, like—somehow, I don’t even know, I got up and I straightened everything out on me and walked out and once I hit the street, it’s like all the sound came back.

She stopped. She wasn’t breathing in or out. She stared at her knees. Then she took a deep shaky breath. She just looked up and into my eyes. She was folded up around herself and her hands were shaking.

Can I come over there now? I said. My chest was going to explode.

She nodded. I moved down the couch and I put my arms around her and she felt still and small and tense, everything about her knotted except her shaking hands. I’d never felt anything like the pounding in my chest and the rushing heat in my throat and my ears. I pulled Keeley onto my lap.

I don’t cry about it, she said into my neck, her voice barely audible.

I knew I had to say something. She wanted me to say something.

It’s okay, I said.

I haven’t even talked about it.

Okay. I held her head under my chin. I knew there must be something beyond the top of her head but I couldn’t see.

I can’t cry about it. I just, I don’t want to think about it anymore.

Okay.

I kept saying okay. But I knew I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I thought, this is what people mean when they say “animal instinct” because I knew that rage would be stronger than my mind if anyone tried to hurt her, and nothing in the world could make me let go of her.

By the time I got back from Parker’s it was after dinner and Lace had realized I wasn’t sick, not even close. Only I didn’t care. She sat me down at the table and started yelling. It was like she suddenly out of nowhere became some other kind of mother, like the ones on television shows who wore pressed skirts and soft sweaters. Out of nowhere Lace started to talk about rules and the way things would be now.

One, no more going out, she said.

Like grounded? I asked.

Not grounding. Just no going out.

That doesn’t even make sense.

Lace took a deep breath. Her hands were knotted together on the table. She stared at me.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense right now is your behavior. I give you all the freedom a kid could ask for, Noelle. And it’s not working. Now I’m going to have to make sure I know where you are and what the hell you’re doing.

So now you don’t trust me? I pushed.

I think you’ve made that impossible. She stared. And school, she said. You go, that’s it.

You think I’m not going to school?

Apparently not. And, Noelle, school is not optional. It’s not something you get to decide whether or not you’ll do. You go to school.

I stared back. I didn’t say a word. She went on. She said we needed to make the time to sit down as a family. I stopped listening.

Okay okay okay, I told her. I didn’t know how long she’d been talking.

Okay. I didn’t feel like fighting. I was so goddamn tired. I hadn’t seen my brother but I knew now I could pretend like he didn’t exist.

Was my body supposed to feel different? Was my life supposed to feel different? Wasn’t it all supposed to begin from here? Was our relationship supposed to be different? Wasn’t everything?

What was definitely different was my brother and Keeley. Or not. What was different was that I knew the truth now. I didn’t want to think about how long they’d been making everything a lie. I just wouldn’t talk to them. It was that simple. I pretended they weren’t even there.

* * *

When you’re a little kid, you don’t second-guess what your future is going to look like. There are no questions. Doubts. Not about any of it. Keeley was never not going to be my best friend. She was never not going to be my future. The day before we started high school, we decided to camp out. Nadio wanted to sleep out with us but we wouldn’t let him. We pitched a tent on the rise between both of our houses—you could see the living room lights from each house from the door of our tent. We stocked it with quilts and pillows and chocolate chip cookies and magazines and pens and mini iPod speakers and we lay side by side with our flashlights trained on each other.

Everything happens in high school, Keeley said.

You think?

It has to. It’s a whole other world.

Like what?

Like people start to treat us like adults. Like we find out where we fit. Like we get to start dating.

Dating, I said. Who?

You know. The high school is bigger. More people from more towns.

Yeah, I said. It was hard to believe.

We were quiet. We were both afraid of the same thing.

Nole?

Yeah.

The first one to get a boyfriend, we have to tell the other one everything. I mean everything.

We don’t have to worry, I said.

Why?

It’ll happen at the same time. Everything happens to us at the same time. It’s like we’re blessed that way.

Dear Dario,

I actually didn’t think much about my sister never coming home. I wished she didn’t spend so much time with Jessica Marino, and I knew there was something about her that made me feel worried, but it wasn’t until I heard Lace yelling at her that I realized this was all bigger. Lace doesn’t yell. We don’t push her. It’s just this quiet agreement we’ve always had.

Would you notice if your daughter was losing it? Would you care if she called Friday night and said she wasn’t coming home? I know Lace was worried about her. I know she told her no more late-night change of plans. What would be different if she had a dad? You know, I keep thinking that maybe if I’d had someone to talk to about all of this, then it would have all come out of my head and I’d have had the space to notice my sister. Half of all of this is your fault. It has to be.

The other part of this is Keeley. Because how do I know how to be with her now? How do I know how to take care of her and not be him and let us go forward so she can forget about what he did to her? And what about this part of me who understands how he felt. What about that part? I know that comes from you.

I look at both of them, Keeley and my sister, and I think of the kind of people who can ruin them and it scares me.

I wasn’t sure how to be with Keeley when she picked me up for school. I felt like part of me had become another person—filled with all this anger and concern. She leaned over to kiss me when I got in the car. I know I turned stiff. I didn’t mean to, but everything about her suddenly felt fragile.

I’m the same person I was yesterday, she said.

I know. But I’m not.

Yeah, but you’re the person I feel safe with.

I wanted to ask her what made her kiss me that first night but I didn’t. She drove and I watched her.

I don’t want you to be weird around me, she said.

Well.

Nadio, I’m not made of glass. I want to get past this.

She pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car.

Have you talked to anyone?

You.

You know what I mean.

Keeley sighed. She reached out and held my hand.

I’m okay, she said. If I feel like I’m not, then I’ll talk to someone. It happened. Something bad happened to me. And I wish the first time I had sex was different. But I can’t let that be who I am.

You sound pretty certain, I said. I couldn’t stop thinking that she was trying to pretend this was smaller than it was. I imagined her nightmares, the ones she wouldn’t talk about. Keeley pulled her hand away. It was like she knew what I was thinking.

Look, I said. I’m just saying that you sound like you have it all figured out. But it’s okay to let this mess you up.

She looked back at me.

I know, she whispered. But I really feel okay right now.

I pulled Keeley’s head against my chest. I held her and she leaned into my neck. Her hair smelled like a woodstove and raspberry. I could feel her heart beating against my arm. I knew that I couldn’t save anybody—that my sister, Keeley, even my mom, only they knew what they needed to be okay, to forget or remember, but right then I felt like I wanted to save Keeley from all of it.

And I felt like I could.

The weird thing was, I didn’t really want to do it again. I sort of thought having sex once would make me know everything about it. But I was still scared to do it again.

But I wanted him to want to do it again.

With me.

Only he didn’t call.

I waited until the weekend and then I called him. He didn’t answer. It was two days before he sent me a text that said:

Hey.

Having people over tonight.

Been thinking of you.

Come.

The first two lines made my stomach hurt.

But the second two lines were all I needed.

He knew it was a school night. But I had to go. I had to. At the same time, I sort of felt like I shouldn’t go alone. I’d been going to Parker’s house for three months. It was mine more than anything else. But tonight I didn’t want to go alone. Even though Jessica was working, she said I could stay at her house. I begged and pleaded and faked a Government project that needed work and Lace finally let me go.

So I took the bus. I went alone.

Sammy’s was closed. Dim lights dripped out from Parker’s second floor apartment. The music was low, bumping. I climbed the metal staircase and let myself in.

A few people were sitting around the kitchen table playing cards. A low ceiling of smoke hung just over their heads. Some of them nodded, mumbled, looked back to their cards and drinks. I crept down the hallway. Parker was in the living room. Jessica’s brother was there, two other guys I didn’t know. Dana.

Hey, Dana said.

Hi.

Nodding. Mumbling.

Parker stood up. He kissed me quickly. It was one-sixteenth of the kiss I wanted.

I sat down on the floor at his feet. There was nowhere else. He put his hand on the back of my neck. I breathed a sigh of relief. In a second it was gone.

The two guys must have worked with Parker. One of them was leaning in, breathless.

… and she was like, these are NOT sweet potatoes. You dyed these with food coloring. You think I’d be fooled? I’m like, LADY. Nobody in our kitchen is gonna go through the trouble of dying real potatoes. Unbelievable. Meanwhile, the woman sent her steak back THREE times. Lady, you can get beef jerky at the gas station …

It’s all about back of the house, I’m telling you, Parker said.

Dana was watching me. When I caught her eye she looked away.

Hey, man, are you thinking about Santo’s offer in Boston?

He was looking at Parker. Parker was behind me. I turned around.

Boston?

It’s nothing. Parker looked at me. He looked at Dana. He looked at the guy.

Never mind, the guy said.

Silence.

Our chef is moving to this place in Boston. He asked—whatever, it’s nothing, Parker said.

I’d turned back around so I was facing the room. His voice sat over my head.

Hey, said Dana, I’m gonna open this bottle of wine. Who wants some?

It was like being at his house for the first time, like I was a stranger.

Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I felt it in my gut all night. I tried to breathe it away.

I tried not to need him. I tried to talk to all the people I didn’t know. I tried to talk to Dana but she kept finding excuses—to answer her phone, go to the bathroom, get another drink. She darted her eyes and stretched strange smiles.

I got too high.

I fell asleep on the couch.

I sat up slowly. Looking around.

The room was filmy and dim. Restaurant guy was asleep on the recliner. Bottles scattered across the floor. Parker was nowhere. I started to feel sick. I put my feet on the floor, leaning forward. The coffee table was littered with ashtrays, empty cigarette packs, DVDs, a pile of change and three white pills.

I don’t know what made me grab the white pills. I shoved them in my pocket.

Slowly I tiptoed to Parker’s room.

He was there. Asleep in his clothes across the sheets. Alone.

I stared at him. My sadness was desperate.

I lay down. I curled myself against his back.

Parker? I whispered.

Silence.

Parker?

Stillness.

Hey.

He shifted.

Hmm, he said.

I have to go.

Mm-hmm.

Parker? I rubbed my fingers down the back of his neck. I could come with you to Boston.

Silent, still. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

He rolled over and looked at me, his eyes wet with sleep.

Huh?

I mean it. I put my hand on his stomach. I have winter break coming up and then I could—I could go to school there. We could get an apartment …

Parker blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He pulled away from my hand and sat up slowly and looked down at me.

Hey, he said.

My heart raced. I felt the heat filling my head. I sat up, stumbling off the bed.

Noelle, come on. I mean—

No, I said. No, I get it.

I was walking carefully, then suddenly I was half running down the hall. My bag was on the counter. I picked it up. I shoved my feet inside my shoes.

I knew I was going to be sick.

Parker came into the kitchen. He was barefoot. He rubbed his eyes.

I gotta go, I said. The bus just started running. I can get to Jessica’s before her parents wake up and it’ll look like I slept over—just forget whatever I said, okay?

Noelle. Parker rubbed his hand across his stomach. The toe of the black cat inked above his hip bone peaked above his jeans.

Listen. He took a step forward. The table was between us. I think you’re really great, I do—

The room tilted and slid.

I just don’t think this is what you want it to be—

I gripped the edge of the counter.

I totally want us to be friends. I just don’t think this is working like this—

I took the deepest breath I could.

I just don’t want you to—

There was no air in the room. He started to move around the table.

I have to go. I backed up. My arm knocked a bottle. It rolled to the floor. Echoed.

Noelle—

It’s okay. It’s fine. I have to go—I grabbed at the door. It was locked. I turned, clicked, grabbed. It opened. Parker moved closer to the door.

Hey, he said.

No, it’s okay. I gotta go.

I floated. I fell. I ran. I stumbled down the stairs.

This was it. That was it.

Here’s what I know.

I threw up right outside his door. Then I felt lighter and almost okay. I caught the bus. I went straight to school and got a piece of gum from someone in the first floor bathroom. I washed my face and swallowed the three pills I’d taken from Parker’s coffee table and I pulled my hair back and I went to first period.

I felt distracted through double-period Chem. I could barely focus. I couldn’t stop feeling Keeley’s head against my neck. But it wasn’t just that. It was like I knew something was wrong. When Mr. Taylor came to the door of the classroom, I knew he was there for me. Only I thought it was about the half-assed job I’d done on my M.U.N. application. I was halfway out the door before he even finished talking to Mr. Donohoe.

Listen, I know it wasn’t my best work, I said.

Mr. Taylor looked at me funny.

Nadio, I’m here about your sister.

She’s not applying, I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Noelle is in my office. Ms. Hayes called me and asked me to remove her from Government class.

What? I was starting to realize this had nothing to do with M.U.N.

She was hysterical. Apparently she disrespected Ms. Hayes and this escalated. Your sister does not seem like herself.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, I said. He couldn’t be talking about my sister.

I’ve called your mother at work but we’re having trouble reaching her. I was hoping you could just sit with your sister and calm her down. I’ll give you two my office.

As we went into the guidance offices, Keeley was coming out. She looked at us, her eyes wide.

Hi, I said.

Hi. Wha—

What are you doing here? I asked.

I was meeting with my college counselor, she said, looking at Mr. Taylor.

Mr. Taylor, I said. Let me bring Keeley with me. She’s Noelle’s best friend. We can help.

Mr. Taylor’s eyes darted between us.

Okay, he said. He waved toward his door. She’s in there. I’ll give you all some space.

Mr. Taylor walked into the college counselor’s office. I turned to Keeley.

Apparently she freaked in Government, I said. Hayes kicked her out.

That’s not like her, Keeley said. Something’s up.

I don’t know why I felt so nervous as we pushed into Mr. Taylor’s office.

Noelle was slumped down in a chair, her legs splayed out, loose and exhausted looking. She had a hood pulled low over her head, which was resting in her hands. She looked up when she heard the door. Her face was wrecked. There is no other way to say it. I’d never seen her like that. It was red and swollen and tear-streaked and her eyes were framed in heavy shadows. Her hair hung tangled out of the sides of the hood.

Nole … I said. I didn’t know what to say next. I was scared of my sister. I didn’t recognize anything in her face. I couldn’t read a thing. I couldn’t feel a thing coming from her.

She stared at us.

Perfect, she said.

Suddenly her eyes seemed to be flaming.

Sweetie, what happened? Keeley said, moving toward her. Noelle held her hand out.

Don’t come near me, she said.

Keeley stopped.

And don’t call me sweetie. You fucking liar.

She pushed her hood back and sat up straight.

Both of you fucking liars. What did you think? Oh, we’ll just have our perfect little honor roll beautiful people pseudo-relationship and dumb Noelle will never know the difference. We’ll just grow up into this perfect newspaper reading student government couple and forget about everyone else. We’ll just pretend we don’t have sisters or best friends or anything else. We’ll just have our perfect Oxford trips and scholarships and giggling pathetic romantic dinners and oh, WHO THE FUCK IS NOELLE? Honey, didn’t we used to know someone named Noelle? I don’t know honey it sounds kind of familiar but everything before Harvard is just a BLUR …

By the end she was yelling, almost spitting her words. Keeley looked like Noelle had slapped her. She was frozen in place.

I felt numb. I felt like a crazy person was standing in my sister’s sweatshirt. A true maniac.

Noelle stood up slowly. She walked past Keeley as if she weren’t even there. It was like she’d stopped seeing her. She stopped right in front of me. Her face inches from mine.

You are both so fucking selfish, she whispered. I bet you’re just like him.

She walked out of the room so soundlessly it was like she simply stopped being there. The air was cold. The only sound was Keeley’s quiet crying.

You looked wrecked, Jessica said when I walked into Government first period. She offered me eye drops but I waved them away. I dug my sunglasses out of my bag and slipped them on. My eyes were filling and spilling over before I noticed, all the time, before my head could catch up. Eye drops wouldn’t help me. Being back in school made everything rush in. Everything I was feeling changed to anger. I was stiff with being mad. By the time Ms. Hayes started lecturing I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I knew.

Noelle, sunglasses, Ms. Hayes said, as if she’d just noticed I was there.

Yes, I said. They are.

Off, she said.

I stared at her. I knew she couldn’t see my eyes and I narrowed them to glare.

Now, she said. The rest of the class was silent, watching me.

What do you care? I can listen just as well with them on as with them off. I didn’t know where this was coming from, who I was, talking to her.

Noelle. We don’t wear sunglasses in the classroom. Take them off or it’s the principal’s office. It’s that simple.

I’m not leaving, I said. You’re telling me you’re going to deny me a history lesson because of sunglasses.

Ms. Hayes took a deep breath. She stared at me.

You’re wasting everyone’s time, she said. Sunglasses or door, Noelle.

Jessica leaned in to me. Just take them off, she whispered.

But I felt empowered suddenly. For the first time in three days I felt something. I wasn’t invisible. Everyone was looking at me.

This is bullshit, I said.

Ms. Hayes already had the classroom phone against her ear. I need Mr. Taylor in Room 209 now, she was saying.

I’m just sitting here listening and you’re harassing me because of some bullshit rule. This is great.

Ms. Hayes shook her head. Nobody was moving. Mr. Taylor came in the door and looked at me. Ms. Hayes whispered something to him.

Noelle, he said. I think you need to come with me.

My face was hot. I didn’t know where the sound of my voice was coming from. I could see Ms. Hayes’ disappointment, embarrassment, all of it. I could see Keeley and my brother …

Forget it, I said. Just forget all of it.

The chair crashed to the floor behind me as I stood up. I didn’t mean to knock the chair over. But it crashed and echoed and I felt relieved.