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she died, and she never even knew how much I always loved her, even when I was being horrible."
    "Oh, Pres. She knew you loved her." I touched his shoulder li ghtly. He must be exaggerating—I couldn’t imagine him ever being horrible. "You know kids go through all kinds of stuff. My mom still rolls her eyes when she talks about the way I acted in junior high. She said I almost drove her nuts with my moods. She laughs too. It sounds as though you and your mother had a good relationship. She probably was annoyed by some of your behavior, but I’m sure she always knew that you loved her. Nobody’s perfect." I paused. "Do you think she stopped loving you whenever she was angry with you?"
    "You ... you probably have a point. And I guess maybe deep down I know that’s true. Still ...." A shy smile crept into his look of uncertainty. "You know what? I used to wish I would walk around a corner somewhere and see my mother. Just for a minute. Just long enough to tell her I loved her."
    I gasped. "I used to wish I’d see my father in my dreams, only he’d really be there and we could talk."
    "Honest?"
    I nodded.
    "Maybe that’s how everyone feels. That if only they could say one more thing, do one more thing ...." Pres seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me.
    "I think you’re right," I said. "I used to think I was the only person who ever wanted to do that, and I was afraid I was being stupid. But now I can see it’s only natural to want to talk to someone you’ve loved just one more time."
    "I’m glad I’ve found someone I can talk to about these feelings." Pres put his hand over mine. "I never said anything to my father, because I was afraid it would just make him sad and I didn’t want him worrying about me."
    "Yes. I always thought that if I said anything to Mom that she’d start to worry about me." I cleared my throat. "You know, Pres, I never realized until now how much I needed to talk to someone about this."
    "Me too." Pres gave me a quick hug. "I’m glad we’ve got each other."
    "Me too."
    Funny, I wasn’t thinking about Pres as a potential boyfriend then. He was a friend who shared some of my deepest feelings. There was a shimmer of kinship.
    "Well, it’s getting late." Pres stood up and pulled me up too. "We’d better call it a night."
    I went to my room and crawled into bed. Somehow, right then, my list of arguments and being upset with Bill over television didn’t seem quite so important.
     
    Chapter Six
     
    The next morning my conversation with Pres was still fresh in my thoughts. New feelings were surfacing. It had been an intimate moment up there in the attic. Images of Pres hugging me, his hand over mine, kept flashing through my mind. I couldn’t wait until after school to be alone with Celeste, so I could tell her all about it.
    "I’ve got good news," I whispered at her locker.
    "I could use some good news." Celeste shoved a book into her locker. "The history test I just took was murder."
    " Sorry," I said, trying to give Celeste the sympathy she deserved. "Let’s get out of here first. There’s no privacy."
    "Oh." Celeste’s eyes widened. "It’s that kind of good news."
    Once we were a few blocks from school , I told Celeste about the night before in the attic, giving special emphasis to Pres’s hug and our hand holding. I mentioned only the barest details of our conversation. That was too personal to blab around, even to Celeste.
    "Oh, Celeste," I said, spinning around, "Pres and I, we’re kindred spirits."
    "Whoa. Slow down." Celeste grabbed my hand and brought me to a halt. "Don’t start imagining things just because Pres needed a sympathetic ear."
    "Lighten up." I sighed. "Next, I suppose, you’ll be telling me I’m just projecting my feelings onto Pres."
    "You do have a tendency to do that." A shadow crossed her face.
    "Not this time," I said. "I just know that Pres is about to start liking me the way I like him. It won’t be long before our relationship is headed in