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Had Josh been mean when they broke up? That didn’t seem like Josh, but Claire had become such a mess.

* * *

By Saturday, Claire still hadn’t said another word about the breakup. I stood behind the Arts Club counter, washing dishes and thinking about her, when who should walk through the doors but Josh and three of his buddies.

The same friends who had tormented Marcus at his locker last year. How had they found this tiny, tucked-away café? Was I the only one who hadn’t known about this place?

Josh smiled right away when he saw me. “Loann. Hi! Your sister told me you worked here. ” The way he talked about Claire, it sounded like he wasn’t the least bit torn up over their breakup. My thoughts went immediately to Claire—was she just being melodramatic about the whole thing? I mean, they hadn’t been dating that long. But then my second thought—she told him I worked here? Really? And he remembered?

“Um, hi, ” I finally spit out.

Marcus moved to the back end of the counter and cleaned one of the machines that we hadn’t used all morning. I glanced back at him and felt a flush to my face, having my two favorite guys so close to me at the same time.

Josh ordered an Americano, and I didn’t bother asking Marcus for help. I made the drink and slid it over. When Josh passed me his money, I swear, he grasped my hand as he placed the bills in it.

What was that for? Was it supposed to be a message about Claire? Maybe it was his way of saying he did miss her, even if he was acting strong in front of his friends.

I offered him a sympathetic smile as I gave him his change. Then one of his friends butted in front of him at the counter.

The guy, I think his name was Ron, eyed Marcus while he asked for a grandé dark roast. After filling his cup, I passed it over. I waited for Ron to pay, but he didn’t reach for his pocket. Instead he leaned in a little and said, “Thanks, Loann. ”

He turned to leave.

What? Seriously?

“Hey, buddy! ” I called out as they walked for the door. “You have to pay for that. ”

“Oh, sorry, ” Ron called back, not sounding sorry in the least. “Is it Loann, or is it Slow-ann? ”

He kept walking but then Josh grabbed him by the shoulder. Ron stopped in place and went rigid, as if he couldn’t believe Josh would challenge him.

The other two guys headed outside, like the stench of their friends’ body odor wasn’t enough to hide behind.

I could see a silent battle going on between Josh and Ron.

“Funny, ” I said. “I’d be more inclined to think a guy who couldn’t remember to pay the cashier was the slow one. ” I stared at Ron and didn’t relent. Who cared if he hated me? Then Marcus and I would have another thing in common. “But don’t worry if you’re too broke. ” I flicked the donation can for a charity organization that Armando kept beside the till. “We keep a fund here to help the mentally disabled. ”

I spun back to the coffeemaker and cleaned it as if the boys weren’t worth my attention. I heard the door open and close, but didn’t turn for fear I’d start shaking.

Then footsteps sounded near the cash register. I glanced up just as Josh placed a five-dollar bill on the counter.

“Sorry about that, ” he said, and left without giving me a chance to reply, or offer any change.

Marcus was quiet after the café cleared out. I couldn’t stop thinking about the whole scene: not only about how I’d stood up to Ron but also how awesome Josh had been. I could definitely understand why Claire was heartbroken.

“That was really cool of Josh, ” I said.

Marcus just pftted at my comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean? ”

He raised his eyebrows and passed me a latte he’d just made. I set it down. I knew Marcus was just insecure. I mean, the guys were way bigger than him. And more popular. Though I thought Marcus was just as cute.

“No, really. What did you mean by that? Because Josh has always been nothing but nice to you. ” And to me, I added silently in my head.

Marcus shrugged. “I just think they’re all the same. Josh puts up a better front than the rest of them. That’s all. ”

I wanted to argue, to tell Marcus that lumping Josh with the other jocks was just as bad as them picking on him. But I clamped my mouth shut.

Maybe Marcus was jealous. And maybe that meant he had the kind of feelings for me that I had for him.

Maybe.

I hadn’t allowed myself to hope since that time in the genie outfit. Since the time I’d offered him three wishes, and he’d almost made one. A smile lit up my face. Let Marcus get mad about Josh.

Let him get really, really mad.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

On Monday I was so happy to see Jasmine at our house, I almost hugged her. Claire really needed a friend. Someone who knew how to talk to her and bring her out of her mopey, selfish funk. I couldn’t do it. I wondered if Claire acted this way at work, too. I doubted that would fly at a brand-new job. And didn’t she have to work today? I thought she’d said it was Monday to Friday.

I wandered into the kitchen at lunchtime, expecting them to be chatting and stop the moment they saw me, but they just sat there stoically, staring down at the table.

“Hey, Jasmine! ” I tried to infuse the room with some cheeriness, even though I’d already said hi an hour ago when she arrived. Still, I swear, a look of relief crossed her face when she met my gaze.

“Hey, Loann. What are you up to today? ”

“Working later, ” I said. I told her about my job at the Arts Club, where I’d started working more than just Saturdays. Jasmine sat taller and acted genuinely interested. Claire sunk lower into her chair, like I was putting her to sleep.

Whatever. I just wanted a sandwich.

As I waited for my bread to toast, I listened to them crunch at their salads. By the time my toast popped, I had the meat, cheese, and mustard out on the counter. I couldn’t get out of the wordless chamber fast enough.

“Mmm. Smells good, Loann, ” Jasmine said. “Would you make me one, too? ”

Was she serious? Her raised eyebrows looked like she was. “Sure. ” I dropped two more slices of bread into the toaster.

As I finished assembling my sandwich, Jasmine murmured to Claire, “I thought you said there was no other food in the house. That your mom hadn’t been shopping in weeks. ”

Claire scoffed. “Yeah, well, if you want food like that. ” She pushed her salad away and crossed her arms. “Do you have any idea how many carbs are in a sandwich? ”

Jasmine scrunched her face. “I’m just hungry. It’s not like I’m scarfing down chocolate bars. ”

Claire looked her best friend up and down. “Okay. Whatever you say. ”

I couldn’t believe this. I’d always thought Claire was the amiable one. The one who won her popularity, at least in part, by her ability to get along with everyone. Who was this girl?

When Jasmine’s toast popped, it sounded like a gunshot in the quiet. I quickly threw together her sandwich, not even knowing if she’d eat it now, then placed it on the table in front of her. I avoided Claire’s glare on my way out of the room.

While I ate lunch alone at my desk, I dug through my shoe box of negatives and pictures, trying not to think of the weirdness downstairs. Each time I held up a strip of negatives toward the window, the little squares sparked so many memories.

I cringed when I came across the photos of Mom making elaborate gestures toward the camera, and the shots of Claire’s dainty hand held out like a stop sign. I was surprised how many pictures had accumulated in my box. The spontaneous ones were something else. I had a great one of Claire in the bathroom, putting on her mascara. She leaned into the mirror with the most serious look. Her full lips formed a funny oval shape with her concentration. With the click of my camera, she had jumped away from the counter, getting a swipe on her cheek. She flashed me a look and pointed at me with her mascara wand, but I could tell she was fighting a smile.

The great thing about my pictures of Claire was that they all said something. It was effortless with her as my subject. She was beautiful, of course, but so many other things seemed to be going on inside her, and all of that emotion came through clearly on film. If a person had only ever heard her speak they would think she was one kind of person, but in my pictures she was quite another.

But the girl down at our kitchen table? She was another yet.

* * *

Apparently Monday’s lunch with Jasmine was a one-time deal. Day after day passed with no sign of Claire’s best friend, and who could blame her after the way Claire had acted? Most nights Claire just stayed in her room with her iPod docked and playing.

I’d been thinking about putting together a photography portfolio to see if there was some place to submit it for a scholarship, but by the end of the week, I could no longer concentrate with Claire next door. It was as if she radiated her agitated energy.

I wondered what had happened to the days when she never stayed home on a Friday or Saturday night. She hadn’t even gone to her job all week.

She pulled my bathroom door shut, and a few seconds later I heard the water running. My photos were spread all over my desk, but I didn’t have much idea of how to start putting together a portfolio. Should I pick my favorites? Or look for ones that went together?

An odd noise caught my attention from the bathroom. It was a gurgling or choking sound. The water was running, so I wondered what Claire was doing in there.

I walked to the door, to see if she was okay. Then I heard it. Claire was vomiting.

At dinner, I’d made a point of dishing some food out on Claire’s plate before she came to the table. When she tried to escape with most of it covered by her napkin, I’d called her on it, said she was wasting food when we couldn’t afford it, and Mom had made her sit down and finish her plate.

So she was just going to throw it all up instead?

I had to talk to her about this. She couldn’t stay this upset about her breakup with Josh forever. I knocked on the bathroom door.

“What? ” Claire asked over the running water. “I’m busy! ” She sounded angry and bossy.

“Busy with what? ” Yeah, I felt like a tool, but I couldn’t keep letting her push me away. Not now.

She didn’t answer.

“Can I, uh, talk to you when you’re done? ”

Thirty seconds later the water stopped, then Claire jostled open the door to my room and walked back through the bathroom to hers. She didn’t acknowledge me in any way.

I made the trek through the bathroom, which smelled strongly of air freshener, and into Claire’s room. She sat at her desk and looked out her window, tapping her pen. I took a few uncomfortable steps across the room and sat on her bed.

I picked at the edge of her bedspread, like I used to do when we were younger. I’d sit here and listen while she talked on the phone, and she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, during our middle-school years, I think she liked having an audience as she talked about the boys she was interested in.

But that was years ago, and this felt way different. I didn’t even know how to start a conversation in this thorny silence.

“Are you. . . do you think you’re fat or something? ” I asked finally.

Claire’s knuckles whitened around her pen. “No, of course not, ” she said in a much angrier tone that I expected. “Do you think I’m fat? ”

I didn’t know how to reply. Obviously I did not think she was fat, but somehow I didn’t think that was the answer she was looking for. But what did she want to hear?

She glanced over at the bathroom, and a worried look crossed her face. Then Claire spoke as though she didn’t really want anyone to hear her. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it again. ” She flicked her pen harder. “You should just be glad that everyone doesn’t want you to be something you’re not, Loann. You don’t know what it’s like. It’s too hard. ”

I don’t know what that’s like? Give me a break! The term “unmet expectations” was pretty much invented for me! But okay. This was about her, and somehow she was struggling in a way that I didn’t understand.

Claire’s bottom lip trembled.

“You. . . you’re so thin already. And so pretty. ” I started saying it to make her feel better, but by the end I was shaking my head. Didn’t she already know that?

“He told me I was pretty, ” she said with a humorless laugh. It took me a second to realize she meant Josh. “That’s the best part of having a boyfriend, Loey. They treat you special and tell you you’re beautiful. Girls need that, you know? ”

She sounded sad, wistful. And she’d called me Loey, which was a good sign.

“What about you? ” she asked.

I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I answered her question with a question. “Why don’t boys like me, Claire? ”

Immediately I felt uncomfortable for asking, but Claire seemed to think nothing of it. In fact, I think it made her brighten a bit. She tilted her head at me.

“I know I’m not pretty enough, ” I added, to make sure she understood I had a few of the family brain cells. “But is that all there is? ”

“Oh, Loey, ” she said as she came over and draped her light arm around my shoulders. “Is that what you think? That you’re not good enough? ” She squeezed me as she said it. “If anything, Loey, if anything at all, you’re too good for them. For all of them. ”

I felt my forehead contorting.

Claire continued, “I think maybe you intimidate boys. ”

How could I ever intimidate anyone? I thought back to when Josh and his friends had been in the café. But no, I hadn’t intimidated Ron. Josh had come back to pay, and that was just because he’s nice. I had never told Claire that he’d stopped by that day, and I wondered if I should have.

Claire sat up on her knees behind me on the bed and took the sides of my hair, pulled them away from my face, and gathered them on top of my head. Unlatching the barrette from her own hair with her free hand, she fastened it into mine. We looked across the room together into her antique mirror, our faces close.

“See how pretty you are? ” she said.

My mouth twitched. I didn’t know if I could see it.

But one thing I was quite certain of: I couldn’t say for sure that I didn’t see it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Marcus and I both looked up from our spot behind the front hedges when Mom’s car pulled into the driveway. When Marcus and I weren’t at the café, we went on what we called “photography hunts” around town or just in my yard. I was excited to have so many rolls of film ready to develop when we got back to school in the fall.

Claire got out on the passenger side of the car, Mom on the other, the two of them already in midargument. I looked over at Marcus, who had gone frozen. I didn’t get what the big deal was. Mom wasn’t that scary.

Claire’s words trailed behind her toward the house. “Mom, I’ve been dancing for practically my whole life. I just want time to concentrate on other things for a while. Like finding the right college. ”

My mind couldn’t compute this conversation. Claire now wanted to dump ballet to go to a regular college, instead of a performing-arts school?

“You can do both, Claire. It’s not fair to the other dancers if you quit in the middle of the season. ”

“But, Mom—”

Their voices escalated as they walked into the house, but Claire’s words were cut off by the door. I handed Marcus my camera and told him I’d be right back. Then I raced around to the back door. I could hear Mom’s and Claire’s voices as soon as I was in the house, but peered through an inch-wide opening of the kitchen door anyway.

“This is what you asked us for. ” Mom marched around the living room, tidying up the couch cushions. “We paid good money for you to be a part of the summer program. Finish up the session. Then we’ll talk about it. ”

Claire let out a melodramatic sigh and dropped her dance bag. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. ”

Understand what?! Claire seriously wanted to drop ballet, the only real thing she was doing with her life, because she didn’t have time for it? She’d hardly been working, but of course, Mom probably didn’t know that. What was Claire so busy with? Soap operas?

“I understand just fine, Claire. But you committed to the summer performance. ” I was proud of Mom, sticking to her guns even though it went against Claire’s sudden college aspirations.

“I’m not doing the recital, ” Claire said, pulling her arms across her chest like a two-year-old.

Mom straightened, but didn’t reply right away. I pushed the door a little wider. Claire jutted her chin forward, waiting for her rebuttal.

Mom placed her hands firmly on her hips. “You will do exactly what we tell you while you’re still living in our house. ”

Claire dropped her head in her hands and started to cry. “Why, Mom? Why do you care? It’s just a stupid show. ” If this was true, I wondered why Claire cared so much.

“Claire, it is not stupid. ” Mom put an arm around her and stroked her back. “You and the girls have been working toward this, and they’ll be counting on you. Mrs. Avery’s counting on you. They need you. You know that. ”

Claire always had a big solo right in the middle of the show, and it wouldn’t be the same without her. Why was that hard for her to grasp?

But after a few seconds, she wiped away her tears, looked back at Mom, and nodded.

That was the end of that. Claire would continue ballet. I let out a breath. Even though the argument had nothing to do with me, the idea of Claire getting her way right now, when she seemed so unlike herself, scared me. For once in my life I was glad to have such a bull-headed mother.

* * *

Summer was like a fever in Alder Grove, Wisconsin: too hot and too long. Armando seemed happy enough to work in the air-conditioned café, so I asked Marcus if he’d be into heading for the bridge. I didn’t know why; it wasn’t like Armando ever interfered with us. The idea of being alone with Marcus just seemed more, well, exciting.

Neither of us could wait to get into the water. Marcus took off his shirt as we walked. I stopped for a second to adjust my flip-flop, which had come partway off in my surprise. Before Marcus turned to find me, I saw a large, purplish-black bruise across the middle of his back.

I opened my mouth to say something, but stopped myself. We were friends. Because I didn’t pry. Marcus only talked about stuff when he wanted to. This was obviously part of the reason he didn’t want to talk about his family.

But I couldn’t just leave it alone, either. Never being one for subtlety, I blurted, “Ow, what happened? ”

Marcus stiffened, hung his shirt over a shoulder to cover most of the bruise, and picked up his pace again.

By the time we reached the river, he still hadn’t answered me. He didn’t walk toward the bridge. He rushed ahead and jumped in from the bank.

“Yeow! ” he yelled, surfacing. He kept ducking underwater and floating on his back, keeping his bruise hidden. “C’mon, Curly, you’re gonna like this! ”

Judging by his shout, the water must be freezing. I dipped my toe in. Brrrr.

I looked down at my jean shorts, already imagining how gross and heavy they would feel wet. I peeled them off, taking a quick peek for Marcus’s reaction, but thankfully he was underwater.

Standing in my T-shirt and underwear, I tried to cover my legs with my hands. Marcus splashed around and came up for air, still oblivious. To avoid being seen half-naked, I decided to tackle the cold in one fell swoop and just get in the water. But I worried about my white underwear, too. Would it become see-through when it was wet? When Marcus bobbed up again, I decided I couldn’t stand around wondering about that.

The cold hit me like an enormous bowl of ice cubes, and I squealed as I came up out of it. Marcus laughed at me, but I didn’t care. I was practically hyperventilating from the cold.

My curly hair straightened down my back and Marcus stared at my forehead. As much as I disliked my curly hair, it suited me. I tried to run my fingers through the strands plastered to my forehead but my fingers snagged. I yanked harder until the hairs pulled apart, then tried to scrunch them into curls so my face wouldn’t look freakishly round.

Marcus cackled. “Hah, I guess I won’t buy you a flat iron. ”

Although it was the same kind of remark Shayleen might have made—and probably wouldn’t have bothered me at all—this hit me hard. I was tired of feeling frumpy and ugly, especially around Marcus. I pulled a few strands of hair forward to hide my face. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes.

“Aw, c’mon, Loann. Where’s your comeback? ” he said, still trying to rile me. “C’mon, ” he said again, a little quieter.

I pushed my lips together to stop them from quivering.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me about my hot bod? ” He gestured to his far-from-Taylor-Lautner frame.

The slow-moving water rippled toward me as he stepped closer. Then his still-warm hand rested on my shoulder. I couldn’t look up at him or I’d start crying, I knew I would.

He slid his arms around my neck and pulled me closer. My rigid body relaxed a little.

“You just look different, that’s all, ” he murmured into my wet hair.

Marcus and I had never been this close. His whole body felt warm against mine. Or maybe my body was the warm one, it was hard to tell. Shivers that had nothing to do with the water ran up and down my spine. I put my hands on his hips, willing myself to be strong and just breathe.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, ” he said, pulling me in tighter. “I’m sorry, Loey. ”

I wasn’t worried about my hair anymore. It felt good being this close to Marcus and I wanted him to know I hoped he wouldn’t let me go. Tentatively, I felt his waist. Then I let my hands move around to his lower back. His breath caught, which made me shiver again.

Marcus’s hand stroked the back of my wet hair in a way that his fingers wouldn’t catch in my curls. I closed my eyes and tried to be bold, starting to move my hands in tiny circles, exploring his wet, shirtless body.

Suddenly he jumped, then stiffened, and I remembered the purple bruise on his back. I dropped my hands to his waist and fisted them, holding my breath, hoping he could relax into me again.

But Marcus pulled away and dunked underwater, swimming off a few feet. When he popped up a moment later, he said, “Hey, can you do a handstand? ”

I bit my lip in disappointment.

Marcus was a good friend, the best I’d ever had, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.

But then, was he even that good of a friend? I mean, we didn’t talk about anything really serious. If I really wanted to be his friend, I had to ask about this.

He came up out of the water and didn’t react at all to the fact that I still hadn’t attempted a handstand. In fact, he stayed so busy with his synchronized swimming tricks, I was sure he was trying to avoid something. Or everything.

Every time Marcus went under, I took a step toward him, and consciously or unconsciously, he moved away from me. By the time I’d taken five or six steps, he was against the grassy riverbank and didn’t have room to dive down again.

“Trying to corner me? ” He said it like it was a joke, but it was true and we both knew it.

“What happened to your back, Marcus? ”

He stared down at me, didn’t say a word, but his face hardened.

“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but—”

“I thought you got it, ” he practically spit in my face. His suddenly loud, curt tone made me take a step back. “I thought we were friends, Loann. ”

“We are fr—look, Marcus. Friends can talk about stuff. No matter how bad. ”

He shook his head, looking hurt and angry.

“It’s not just you. It’s me, too. I need someone to talk through stuff with, and, well. . . ” I trailed off because he wasn’t softening, not one iota. “Listen, if we can’t talk about stuff that’s real, then maybe we aren’t truly friends at all. ”

I said it to bait him, but he just nodded. Then he pulled himself up onto the bank behind him. I was about to take it all back, to try to make things revert to the way they were before, when he said, “You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t see it, ” in a tone void of emotion.

“No, Marcus, no. ” I pushed through the water toward him, but it felt like the current had suddenly doubled and was pulling me in the opposite direction.

He crossed the bridge in three long strides, snapped his shirt up from the ground, and darted into the trees before I could get myself out of the water.

My stomach clenched as I thought a hundred self-deprecating remarks about my stupid mouth that I never seemed able to keep shut.

But halfway home, I picked up my pace as my anger at myself turned into just plain anger.

Why couldn’t he talk to me about anything? Maybe it stung so badly because our conversation rang true. Maybe we’d never really been friends and we were just each other’s default way to spend our extra time.

I headed straight for the computer at home and opened a blank e-mail. But I had no idea what to say. Finally I just typed Marcus’s e-mail address and “Can we talk? ” in the subject line. I hit send.

I could tell Claire was home by the sound from her iPod dock. I tiptoed by quietly, not wanting to talk to anyone. The door to the bathroom was ajar, and I nudged it closed for some privacy. I thought back to my talk with Claire the other night in her room.

I was glad I talked to her. Glad I confronted her, because things could get better for her now.

But I wasn’t so sure that same thing would happen with Marcus.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I checked my e-mail later that evening. Nothing. In the morning, still, not a thing. Marcus and I needed to talk, so I headed for the Arts Club.

The day was another scorcher. The heat from yesterday hung on like sticky, wet honey. I walked as quickly as I could without drowning in my own sweat. Usually Marcus beat me to the café, and I always wondered if he and Armando had actual conversations before I arrived. But today I got there first. I felt awkward, since Armando had never said a word directly to me. I was in the mood for facing some fears, though.

I strode up to the counter and dropped my backpack on the floor. “Hi, Armando. ”

He smiled over at me and nodded.

“So. . . Marcus isn’t here yet, huh? ”

He shook his head, as he wiped off one of the counters that already looked plenty clean to me. “No. No yet, ” he said.

“He. . . ” I had to think of how to word this. “He has some problems at home. ”

Armando stopped wiping and scrunched his thick eyebrows together, but didn’t look at me. Great. Was this a family trait—avoiding talking about problems?

After a moment Armando said, “Marcus no talk about it. ” He started wiping again. “You talk to him. ”

I had to suppress a balk. “I’ve tried. ”

Armando nodded and didn’t say anything else until a few minutes later. “I go now. I stop two places. I no be long. ”

It must have seemed obvious, even to Armando, that I’d been ditched.

Once the door shut behind him, I sat down on a stool by the counter and let out a loud sigh for no one’s benefit but my own. I just wanted to go back to bed. Pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened.

But as I processed that, I shook my head. That wasn’t what I wanted. If Marcus couldn’t talk to me, if he couldn’t be bothered to return my e-mail or to show up for work, who needed him?

I’d have to think of what to tell Armando. I liked having a job, and especially one with so little pressure. But I wouldn’t work with Marcus anymore, not after the way he’d treated me. I’d have to figure out a way to tell Armando that I wanted to switch off days with his nephew. It’s not like it took more than one employee to run the place, anyway.