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squeaks.
    “She’ll nip you.” I turn my hands over on my lap, searching for a hangnail or something to worry. Again, the smiley face grins up at me, and for some reason I think of Darin’s eyes. My heart makes a crazy move, like a fish flopping in the bottom of a boat, and I have to catch my breath. “Apparently I haven’t done the best job of keeping up with my own hobbies and interests lately,” I say. “I was thinking that a lot of what I’m interested in is really me following along with your interests, or Kayla’s. So I’m taking up a new hobby.” I force my voice to levels of brightness that rival my Mrs. Johnson tone. Maybe I should try out for drama.
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Can you keep a secret?”
    “Cass, of all people.”
    “Well, maybe there’s, like, a limit on secrets. Too many and you pop like a balloon, you know. Ka-pow.”
    He shifts on the carpet, and this time it’s Eric who examines his hands, as if he could ever discover an imperfection. “About that,” he says.
    “About what?”
    “About my secrets.”
    I shake my head. “Eric, no. Not yet. Seriously, just get through high school, okay? Go off to the Cities or to Madison, like you planned.”
    It’s too hard, making a change. Here in Sterling Creek, everyone knows you, but they also know all the yous of the past. Yesterday Eric. Fourth-grade Eric, in the neatly tucked white polo in the Christmas show, his palms skimming the legs of his pants. My thoughts stray for a moment to the tarot cards, to my promise. It would be easier to find myself if I could escape the connotations of all those Other Cassandras.
    Eric shakes his head. “I’ve been talking about it.”
    I take his hand. “I can’t … ”
    I can’t protect him from this town, from our church. It’s not like there aren’t any gay people here in Sterling Creek, Minnesota, but it’s no San Francisco either.
    “I needed … I needed to talk to someone about my faith, about what’s right.”
    “I can tell you what I think, but you already know I don’t buy the idea that God hates gay people,” I say. “It doesn’t make sense that a loving God would set you up for failure like that. Fall in love, commit a grave sin. I hope you’re not talking to Pastor Fordham about all this, because he’s the kind of guy who would send you off to be reprogrammed or something.” I shiver. I’m exaggerating, but there’s a bit of zeal in our new minister’s eyes that makes me nervous.
    “Cass. You’re not being fair.”
    “And you’re not being logical.”
    Eric shakes his head. “God doesn’t have to be logical. It’s all a part of the mystery, little sis.” He sighs, as tired as I am of this repeat conversation. “So, what’s your secret?” He nods toward the pony pillow.
    “No way. You’ll tell the God Squad about me and they’ll send over an exorcist. Pea soup everywhere. It will completely ruin the décor. Probably better keep it to myself.” I feel my eyes dart over to the pillow again, even though I’m willing them not to.
    “That bad, huh?” He shoots a hand behind the pony and pulls out the tarot cards. Nutmeg squeaks in alarm. “Cassandra, seriously. Do you know how crazy Mom would go if she saw these?” He drops the box onto my floor as though it burns his hands, and I wonder if maybe there are demons, fire and brimstone. Maybe the cards can’t hurt people who are already going to hell.
    “She’s not going to find out.” I reach out my finger and touch Nutmeg on the top of her head, the spot between her ears that calms her. I’ll have to do a better job of hiding them from Mom than I did hiding them from Eric.
    “But if she does.”
    “She won’t. And don’t worry. If she does, I’ll make sure she knows you had nothing to do with them.”
    “Because I don’t.” He stands up. He runs his hands down the legs of his jeans, the nervous gesture left over from childhood. “I don’t want any part in it.”
    I stand too, reaching for his arm,