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myself out the front doors. I even consider getting a scone and eating it in the back room.
    Okay, Ruby, you’re fifteen years old. You can walk down the street, do a little window shopping, buy some lunch.
    â€œCan I get you anything?” I ask the one couple in the room, who basically ignore me as they lean in and talk in romantic tones.
    The tables are nearly empty now, but I feel vaguely guilty to be on lunch while Aunt Jenna clears them. “Do you want me to stay and help?”
    â€œNo, no, go explore a bit. The fog burned off, and it’s a beautiful day. If you find Greens, get me an Asian salad with dressing on the side. Do you need money?”
    â€œMom gave me some.”
    One last glance around the safety of the coffeehouse, and I push myself into the warm sunlight of midafternoon. These brick grottos are full of interesting shops and boutiques. I notice a handcraft toy shop that Kate would love to explore with me, and a shop with musical instruments from all over the world dangling from the ceiling and resting against the wide windows.
    But I don’t find Greens because the farthest I venture is to the gourmet pizza parlor in the courtyard next door. I reach for my cell phone to call Aunt Jenna about getting a pizza instead. Argh! No cell phone . . .
    Without my cell, I’m truly alone. It feels like going to the mall and realizing I’ve forgotten my shoes. As I get in line at the counter, I hear someone else’s phone beep, and I look around like a hungry orphan at a banquet.
    The walls of Antonio’s Gourmet Pizza are covered in pictures of famous people standing beside the owner, presumably Antonio. Harrison Ford, Cameron Diaz, Tom Hanks, the lead singer of Green Day, and others I recognize but whose names I don’t know.
    The counter girl asks me if I want the couscous crust, and I say yes simply because I don’t know what it is. I sigh when I walk away, tired of feeling stupid. The tables are full, but I see a guy leave a table outside. That’s where I sit, with the number 17 on the iron tabletop.
    The day is blue and bright. Hanging baskets cascade flowers from light poles along the street, and I think what a beautiful town this is. When have I done something like go to a restaurant alone? Never, I realize. I haven’t done anything alone in my fifteen years that I can think of. Even when I’m alone in my room, I have connections all around, thanks to the miracle of technology. Me at this wrought-iron table beside a huge planter of red geraniums waiting for my couscous pizza with people all around me—this is alone.
    So this is what it’d be like in Europe, sitting at an outdoor café with the French or the Swedes (is it too cold in Sweden for outdoor cafés?) or the Austrians or . . . whatever country I’m in. Could I do it alone? Mom says that all the truest journeys are done alone, even if traveling with companions. It’s the inner journey that matters.
    And strangely, just sitting here at a little table in this corner café, I sense such a journey stretching out before me. Once my pizza arrives, I lean back in the chair, cross my legs, and drink a sparkling mineral water.
    But okay, when a lady’s phone beeps, I do reach for my purse.

    When I get back to the Underground, the clock says 3:15. Kate and everyone will be out of school. Maybe she’s at track practice. Carson will be hanging out with his friends. Little Tony’s family will probably be making funeral arrangements, picking out his clothing, buying a coffin and plot of ground for his grave.
    I try shoving those terrible thoughts out of my head, and instead I wonder if Nick will ask me to the upcoming prom. After all, he finally knows he likes me, and he wants to ask me something. There’s a dress in a store window down the street. I caught a glimpse of it on the drive in. It’s lime green and black, with a skirt that would twirl if I felt like