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something almost sacred, made even more so by how he'd felt at the time and what he'd done when he got home. So he said nothing on the bus. But for the rest of the day, he found himself thinking about what Dylan had said, about what he had seen. And Robby found himself feeling envious.
    There was a moving van parked in front of her house and two hefty men in green jumpsuits were carrying a sofa across the front lawn, but Lorelle was nowhere in sight.  
    Robby stopped at the mailbox to check the mail – his mother usually forgot to do it when she got home from work – then headed up the front walk with a handful of sweepstakes offers and sales flyers.  
    "Robby!"
    He stopped, waited a beat before turning, and saw Lorelle waving at him from her front porch. She wore a black sweatshirt with a baggy pouch in front and an old pair of jeans with a hole over her left thigh, revealing bare flesh, her hair in a pony tail.  
    "Are you going to give me a hand this afternoon?" she asked.
    "Urn, well ...”
    "My power's on and I bought steaks for dinner. How about it?"  
    "Well, um ..." He had a lot of homework –
    – You've blown off your homework for a lot less , he thought –
    – and he knew being alone with her would make him a nervous wreck, even though he knew nothing would happen. Maybe he could take Dylan along –
    – You want to be alone with her and you know it .
    "Yeah," he finally called to her as the mail slipped from his hand and scattered on the walk, "I'll be over in about ... an hour, or so." He gathered the mail, then turned toward the house.
    Jen peered out her bedroom window at him, her face a vague, gauzy mask behind the screen.  
    A fat, smoke-colored cloud glided by overhead, blocking the sunlight for a long moment.  
    Robby started for the front door and forced himself not to look back at the sound of Lorelle's voice.  
    "I'll see you then," she called as he went inside.
     
    * * * *
     
    Peering down the hall from her bedroom door, Jen watched Robby come inside. With his head sagging forward and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his down jacket, he looked thoughtful and troubled, maybe even a little sad. He turned to come down the hall and Jen pulled back so he couldn't see her, then closed her door softly.  
    Robby's room was next to hers and she listened to him close the door, take off his jacket, then flop onto his squeaky bed with a sigh.  
    Jen returned to her desk and picked up her pen. She was writing a letter to Diana Strait, her best friend. Diana had moved to Seattle seven months ago and they wrote one another regularly.  
    Things had not been quite the same since Diana had gone. Now she spent time with the twins down the street. And she saw Diana’s friends, although somehow, they seemed to remain Diana's friends even in her absence.
    Jen and Diana had become acquainted by accident one day two years ago when they'd both been put on detention together – Jen for not dressing for PE and Diana for mouthing off to a teacher – and had become friends instantly. Jen automatically became a member of the clique of half a dozen or so girls that Diana moved in, a group popular enough to raise Jen's standing in the eyes of her peers – and a group that never would have accepted her without Diana's insistence. All of the girls in Diana's clique were very studious and got good grades. Jen got fairly good grades, too, but not in the same way. For Jen, a B was a struggle, an A was an all-out war she had to fight with the books and tests. For that reason, she was unable to go out with the girls every day after school, or get together for a group date in the evening – what Diana called a "date orgy" – with half a dozen guys. Jen was, as Diana's friends so often pointed out, no fun, but Diana was always happy to help her with her homework so Jen didn't have to stay home all the time.  
    She never got to know any of those girls as well as Diana, and when Diana moved, her friends allotted Jen