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she died of old age. I just kind of agreed with you.” I splutter, and he takes my wrist, maneuvering me away from the crowded walk. “Look, my dad asked me not to mention it, because Miss Millie asked
him
not to mention it to your mom.”
    “That’s unethical. Can’t he lose his license for misleading people? For lying by
omission
?”
    Nate scoffs. “It’s not like the Mansons camped out there.Some depressed old lady committed suicide. So what? People die everywhere.”
    “Then why didn’t Millie want my mom to know?”
    “Guess you’ll have to ask Miss Millie that.”
    “Oh, stop calling her ‘Miss Millie.’ That’s so, so …”
    “Hick?” he suggests. “Hayseed? Yokel?”
    “All of the above. Oh, forget it.” I walk away and head for the corner, but he catches up before I make the bend.
“What?”
    “Rinn.” He sounds tired. “Do you want me to apologize for not telling you some old lady hung herself in your attic? Okay, I apologize. Now why don’t we go for a walk or something?”
    “A walk?”
    “A walk.”
    The last time I went for a “walk” with a guy I hardly knew, I woke up in City Heights, in a very bad neighborhood, minus my purse, plus the dope I’d just scored. “You just met me, Nate. Why’re you hanging all over me?”
    Nate clenches his jaw so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a tooth. “I don’t know what it’s like where you come from. But first of all, I’m not ‘hanging all over’ you—I’m headed the same way you’re headed, and if you’d rather not walk with me, then say so. Second of all, I was brought up to be nice to people, which I guess is a foreign concept to you. Thirdly—”
    “Is that a word? Thirdly?” I ask, hoping to temper his tirade. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings if that’s what happened here.
    “
Thirdly
, I …” He stares at the whirlpool of leaves circling our feet. “For some stupid reason I guess I kinda like you.”
    Startled, I blurt, “Why?”
    “Beats me. Maybe because you’re the only girl aroundhere I haven’t known since kindergarten?” He nods at my un-Mayberry-like boots. “You’re, uh, interesting. Some folks think that’s a crime round these parts.”
    I’m ridiculously flattered. “You really like me?”
    “If you get down off your high horse and lose the attitude, I sincerely might.” A lopsided grin. “Now, do you want to take a walk or don’t you? I can show you the sights.”
    I snicker. “Oh, golly, the
sights
! Sorry,” I add quickly. “Attitude. I know.”
    We cross the square, pass the Boxcar Diner—
ooh, I’d like to drop in and dunk Millie’s head into her famous deep fryer
—and circle down Main Street, past the high school football field, and back up Walnut Street, where Nate points out Meg’s house, a cozy green bungalow. It’ll be nice to have a friend who lives so close to me.
    As upset as I was earlier to find out about Mrs. Gibbons, spending this time with Nate has calmed me down. Besides, he’s right: people die everywhere. Is it such a big deal that somebody died in my new house?
    No, not just somebody.
    Somebody’s
grandmother
committed suicide in my
room
.
    “Mom’s gonna freak,” I say aloud as we cross Main Street again. “About the old lady, I mean. She knew her. She’ll probably make us move again.”
    “I hope not.”
    “Me, too.”
    Even though I’ve only been here three days, the idea of leaving—of packing all those stupid boxes back into the SUV, of abandoning that big turreted room I’m in the middle ofpainting, not to mention the first friends I’ve made in years—makes me wants to rip out my hair.
    “Let’s find out.” I break into a run.

     
    Mom’s home from school by the time we make it back. Nate and I hear her before we even hit the porch.
    Yes, she knows. How could she not? Probably the whole town is discussing it by now:
Guess who moved into the old Gibbons house? The new school secretary and that spooky daughter of