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the rear, and behave like a normal human being, and flirt with Christo and miss Madrigals and study algebra.
    “Let’s have lunch again tomorrow,” Christo said.
    She hesitated. What about Jethro? Well, she would talk to Jethro in Art Appreciation. Or follow him again.
    “Yes,” she said. “Lunch was fun today.” She couldn’t even remember lunch today.
    And lunch the next day blurred as well. She had difficulty paying attention to Christo. Everything she did was a fake. She was sufficiently aware to know that, and be appalled at herself. She knew that Christo half-knew.
    She knew he was thinking that perhaps this was what girls were like: that easy friendship evaporated, to be replaced by hot and cold flirtation. And she knew that while he was hurt by her distance, he was also fascinated by it. He had never experienced that with a girl; all the girls adored him. Christo was thinking more about Nicoletta than he had ever thought about a girl.
    And am I flattered? thought Nicoletta. Am I falling in love with him? Am I even thinking about my first formal dance and my first bouquet?
    No.
    I am thinking about a boy in art whose last name I do not even know. I am thinking about a cave in which I thought I might die and a monster in whom I no longer believe because there is no such thing as a monster.
    Lunch ended and she rushed to Art Appreciation, barely taking time to wave good-bye to Christo.
    “He would have kissed you,” whispered Rachel as the girls rushed up the stairwell together. “He wanted to kiss you in front of everybody, I can tell. I know these things.”
    Two days ago, Nicoletta had thought that the loss of her girlfriends in Madrigals would kill her. Now she just wanted Rachel to vanish so that she could concentrate on Jethro.
    And because passing period was only three minutes, Rachel had no choice but to vanish, and Nicoletta entered Art Appreciation.
    Jethro was present.
    She was filled with exuberance. It was like turning into a hot-air balloon. Flames of delight lifted her heart and soul.
    “Jethro,” she said.
    His body stiffened in his seat but he did not turn.
    She knelt beside his chair and looked up into his face.
    He remained frozen. How perfect he was. Like a statue—sculpture from some Dark Age. She wanted to stroke his face and hair, as if he were artwork himself, and she could study the curves and surfaces.
    He relented and looked down at her.
    “I’m sorry about lunch,” she said, keeping her voice so soft that nobody could share their words. “But I have to talk to you. Something happened yesterday, Jethro. I have to tell you about it.”
    She stared into his eyes, looking for a clue to his thoughts.
    Jethro wet his lips, as if she were frightening him.
    “After school?” she said. “Let’s walk down the lane together.”
    He was shocked.
    She might have suggested that they bomb a building.
    “Just a walk,” she whispered. “Just a talk. Please.”
    He shivered very slightly.
    She could not imagine what his thoughts were. His eyes gave her no more clues than a sculpture would give and he used no words.
    The teacher cleared his throat. “Uh—Nicoletta? Excuse me?”
    She got to her feet, and in the moment before she slid into her seat she stroked the back of Jethro’s hand.
    He spent the entire class period looking at his hand.
    As if nobody had ever touched him before.

Chapter 7
    T HEY STOOD WHERE THEY had stood before, beside the stone. With Jethro beside her, she was not afraid of the stone. It still seemed alive, as if left over from another world, it held a spirit. A woodland power. But it no longer threatened her.
    “And you promised?” said Jethro.
    How measured his speech was. How carefully he pondered each word before he actually put it in his mouth and used it. Nicoletta realized that everybody else she knew used speech cheaply: It meant little. To Jethro, every syllable was precious. He squandered nothing.
    “I didn’t actually make any promises,” said