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cannot,” Franny said. And then, after a look at her sister, “Can you?”
    â€œIt’s not that I want to,” Jet said. “It just happens.”
    â€œFine. What am I thinking right now?”
    â€œFranny,” Jet demurred. “Thoughts should be private things. I do my best not to listen in.”
    â€œSeriously. Tell me. What am I thinking right now?”
    Jet paused. She gathered her long, black hair in one hand and pursed her lips. Since coming to Massachusetts she had grown more beautiful each day. “You’re thinking we’re not like other people.”
    â€œWell, I’ve always thought that. ” Franny laughed, relieved that was all her sister had picked up. “That’s nothing new.”
    Later, when Jet went out into the garden, she stood beneath the lilacs with their dusky heart-shaped leaves. Everything smelled like mint and regret.
    I wish we were like other people.
    That was what Franny had been thinking.
    Oh, how I wish we could fall in love.

    One bright Sunday the sisters awoke to find a third girl in their room. Their cousin April Owens had come to visit. April had been raised in the rarefied world of Beacon Hill. With her platinum blond hair pulled into waist-length braids, and the palest of pale gray eyes, she looked like a painting from an earlier era, yet she was oddly modern in her demeanor. For one thing, she carried a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter, and she wore black eyeliner. She was bitter and fierce and she didn’t give a hoot about anyone’s opinions other than her own. Strangest of all, she kept a pet ferret on a leash; it ambled beside her, instantly making her far more interesting than any other girl they’d met.
    â€œCat got your tongue?” she said as the sisters stared at her mutely.
    â€œMost certainly not,” Franny said, snapping out of her reverie. “If anything I’d have the cat’s tongue.”
    â€œWell, meow,” April purred.
    April had visited this house last summer when she’d turned seventeen, and now she’d run off from Beacon Hill and come back to the one place she’d been accepted. Her presence was an unexpected surprise and, in Franny’s opinion, completely unnecessary. April dressed as if ready for Paris or London rather than a small New England town. She wore a short black skirt, a filmy blouse, and white leather boots. She had on pearly pink lipstick, and her long pale hair had a thick fringe that nearly covered her eyes. She’d begun to unpack: chic clothes, makeup, several candles, and a battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which had been banned and had only recently been published in America.
    â€œI’d love to read that,” Jet said when she saw the racy novel everyone was talking about.
    April tossed her cousin the book. “Don’t get corrupted,” she said with a grin.
    Their cousin was clearly far more sophisticated than they. She was a wild child, doing as she pleased, refusing to be constrained by the social mores of Beacon Hill. There was a blue star tattooed on her wrist that had caused her to be grounded for several months. She had another on her hip, but that one hadn’t yet been detected by her prying, fretful parents. Ever since childhood she’d rarely been out of eyeshot of a nanny, a tutor, or Mary, the long-suffering housemaid, whose hair had turned gray as she dutifully did her best to keep up with her charge’s shenanigans. According to Dr. Burke-Owens’s theories, such ingrained behavior couldn’t be stopped; it was like a tide, rising to flood-like proportions despite anything placed in its way.
    April had been to several private schools and each time had been asked to leave. She didn’t believe in authority and was a born radical. She told the girls that she could turn lights on and off at will and recite curses in four languages. She had been sent on trips to Europe and South