At the bus stop on Monday morning, Dana said, “Just so you know … it’s all over between Jeremy and me.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I told her.

“But I want to. You seemed so …” She paused, trying to find the right word. “You seemed so surprised the other night.”

“I was.”

“You really don’t know Charles, do you?” she said. “If you’d just give him half a chance, you might be …” She paused again, then came up with the same word. “Surprised.”

“He’s a very surprising person,” I agreed.

She shook her head at me, obviously annoyed. “I really don’t understand you, Rachel. Most of the time you seem so grown-up, and then you …”

I glanced over at Alison and Stephanie, who were listening to every word.

“I just hope you’ll try to get to know your brother,” Dana continued, “because he’s a very warm and intelligent person.”

“If you say so.”

“And would you, please, stop acting like such a bitch!” With that, she turned and marched away from me in a huff.

Now Stephanie and Alison were really cracking up. I went over to them, took each one by the arm like a mother with two small children, and led them away.

“Is she really going with Charles?” Alison asked.

“It sounds like she thinks so,” Steph said.

“What about him?” Alison asked. “Does he think he’s going with her?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Charles and I haven’t exchanged a word since Saturday night.”

That afternoon Dana rang our doorbell. “I’m here to see Charles,” she said when I came to the door.

“Charles is with his tutor,” I told her. “He’s busy until five-thirty.”

“I know that,” she said, as if she knows everything about our family. “But they take a break at four-thirty, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I said, “but just for ten minutes.”

She checked her watch. It was quarter after four. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself,” I told her. But I didn’t invite her inside.

“And Rachel,” she said, “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss this with Jeremy again.”

“Discuss what with Jeremy?” I asked, since I’ve never actually discussed anything with him.

“This,” Dana said, as if I were stupid. “Charles and me.”

“I’ve never discussed you and my brother with Jeremy.”

“Oh, please!” she said. “It’s not like I didn’t see the two of you coming out of math class today.”

But what Jeremy had said on the way out of math class today had nothing to do with Dana.

He’d said, “I can’t say I like your brother, Macbeth.”

“I can’t say I do, either,” I’d answered.

“He’s too full of himself.”

“He’s definitely full of something.”

“He’s not … you know … as real as you,” he’d said, looking directly into my eyes. The way he said it made it sound like a compliment, but I couldn’t be sure.

So Dana sat on the front steps to wait for Charles. Burt rubbed against her leg and she petted him, cooing, “Good kitty … sweet kitty.” I turned away and went back into the house.

At four-thirty, when Charles and Paul came into the kitchen for their break, Charles asked, “Is Dana here?”

“Out front,” I told him.

“You could have invited her in,” he said.

“You didn’t mention you were expecting company,” I answered.

Paul dropped an arm around Charles’s shoulder and said, “No distractions during our time together. Ask her to come back at five-thirty … okay?”

“Okay,” Charles called, on his way to the front door. He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed. I don’t understand how Charles can get along so well with Paul but not with any of us. If Mom or Dad had said no distractions during tutoring, Charles would have told them where to go. But with Paul, he’s a totally different person. He’s keeping up with his schoolwork and even moving ahead of where he would be if he were just finishing ninth grade. Of course since he’s already finished ninth grade once before, that’s not surprising. But still … As soon as Charles left the kitchen, Paul looked at me and said, “What about you, Rachel?”

“What about me?” I asked.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No!” I answered too quickly, feeling my lower lip begin to twitch. I couldn’t look at him. Instead I said, “I have to practice now. Excuse me.” And I ran from the room.

“When am I going to hear you play?” Paul called after me.

“Whenever …” I called back.

I wish I could let Paul know how I feel about him. I often imagine us having deep, meaningful conversations. I often imagine us kissing passionately. Sometimes I imagine more than kisses. If Steph knew what I was thinking, she’d be relieved. She’d say, So you’re normal after all … at least in that way! But she can’t know. No one can. Paul has to remain my secret.