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she didn't want. And that was to be married to my father. I wasn't sure if it was that she fell out of love or if it was that she just never was. In love, I mean.
    When we were at Granna's, my mother took off on one of her trips. She'd go to far-off places like Hungary or Alaska. She always went alone. She took pictures, but I never asked to look at them, and she never asked if I wanted to.
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    chapter thirteen
    I was sitting in an Adirondack chair eating toast and reading a magazine when my mother came out and joined me. She had that serious look on her face, her look of purpose, the one she got when she wanted to have one of her mother-daughter talks. I dreaded those talks the same way I dreaded my period.
    "What are you doing today?" she asked me casually.
    I stuffed the rest of my toast into my mouth. "This?"
    "Maybe you could get started on your summer reading for AP English," she said, reaching over and brushing some crumbs off my chin.
    "Yeah, I was planning on it," I said, even though I hadn't been.
    My mother cleared her throat. "Is Conrad doing drugs?" she asked me.
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    "What?"
    "Is Conrad doing drugs?"
    I almost choked. "No! Why are you asking me anyway? Conrad doesn't talk to me. Ask Steven."
    "I already did. He doesn't know. He wouldn't lie," she said, peering at me.
    "Well, I wouldn't either!"
    My mother sighed. "I know. Beck's worried. He's been acting differently.
    He quit football ..."
    "I quit dance," I said, rolling my eyes. "And you don't see me running around with a crack pipe."
    She pursed her lips. "Will you promise to tell me if you hear something?"
    "I don't know . . . ," I said teasingly. I didn't need to promise her. I knew Conrad wasn't doing drugs. A beer was one thing, but he would never do drugs. I would bet my life on it.
    "Belly, this is serious."
    "Mom, chill. He's not doing drugs. When'd you turn into such a narc, anyway? You're one to talk." I elbowed her playfully.
    She bit back a smile and shook her head. "Don't start."
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    chapter fourteen
    AGE 13
    The first time they did it, they thought we didn't know. It was actually pretty stupid of them, because it was one of those rare nights when we were all at home. We were in the living room. Conrad was listening to music with his headphones on, and Jeremiah and Steven were playing a video game. I was sitting on the La-Z-Boy reading Emma --mostly because I thought it made me look smart, not really because I enjoyed it. If I was reading for real, I would be locked in my room with Flowers in the Attic or something and not Jane Austen.
    I think Steven smelled it first. He looked around, sniffed like a dog, and then said, "Do you guys smell that?"
    "I told you not to eat all those baked beans, Steven," Jeremiah said, his eyes focused on the TV screen.
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    I snickered. But it wasn't gas; I smelled it too. It was pot. "It's pot," I said, loudly. I wanted to be the one who said it first, to prove how sophisticated and knowledgeable I was.
    "No way," said Jeremiah.
    Conrad took off his headphones and said, "Belly's right. It's pot."
    Steven paused the game and turned to look at me. "How do you know what pot smells like, Belly?" he asked me suspiciously.
    "Because, Steven, I get high all the time. I'm a burn-out. You didn't know?" I hated it when Steven pulled the big brother routine, especially in front of Conrad and Jeremiah. It was like he was trying to make me feel small on purpose.
    He ignored me. "Is that coming from upstairs?"
    "It's my mom's," Conrad said, putting his headphones back on again. "For her chemo."
    Jeremiah didn't know, I could tell. He didn't say anything, but he looked confused and even hurt, the way he scratched the back of his neck and looked off into space for a minute. Steven and I exchanged a look. It was awkward, whenever Susannah's cancer came up, the two of us being outsiders and all. We never knew what to say, so we didn't say anything. We mostly pretended it wasn't happening, the way Jeremiah did.
    My mother didn't,