双语畅销书·怦然心动 Chapter 12　晚餐

Chapter 12

晚餐

一到家，我就知道，抵制罗斯基家的晚宴是一种自私的行为。

妈妈已经花了很长时间用来挑选做派的食谱，并且搜遍衣柜寻找一件“得体的衣服”。她甚至为爸爸买了一件新衬衫，还仔细审查了男孩子们打算穿什么。显然，她很期待这次晚餐——我虽然不是很理解，但也不想把我刚刚对布莱斯产生的怨恨告诉她，毁掉这一切。

而爸爸已经对戴维够内疚了。他完全不需要再次听到八年级小孩对他的恶毒评论。

于是，那天晚上我三心二意地帮妈妈烤派，说服自己作了正确的决定。一次晚饭改变不了任何人的生活。我必须扛过去。

星期五上学的时候，我尽可能地躲着那个蓝眼睛的家伙，但是晚上当我打扮好之后，我发现自己正在盯着爸爸送给我的那幅画，再一次感到愤怒。布莱斯从来不是我的朋友，从来都不是！他没有捍卫那棵树，他扔掉我的鸡蛋，他用叔叔的事拿我寻开心……我为什么要把他当成好朋友、好邻居？

当妈妈叫我们出发的时候，我踏进走廊，非常想对她说，我不想、不能去罗斯基家吃晚餐，可她看起来那么漂亮、那么开心，我不能告诉她，就是不能。我深吸一口气，把派包起来，跟在哥哥和父母的后面慢吞吞地走过马路。

是查特开的门。也许我也应该对他生气，是他把我叔叔的事告诉罗斯基一家的，但我没有。我没有禁止他告诉别人，他也绝对不是一个会拿戴维寻开心的人。

罗斯基太太出现在查特身后，把我们迎进去，兴奋地在房间里走来走去。虽然她化了淡妆，但我仍然惊讶地发现她眼睛下面浮起黑色的眼袋。罗斯基太太和我妈妈拿着派离开了，哥哥们跟着利奈特消失在走廊尽头，爸爸和查特走进客厅。

像不像安排好了一样？只剩下我一个人在门厅，和布莱斯在一起。

他冲我打招呼，而我装作没有听见。我绕过他，恶狠狠地说：“别跟我说话！我听见你和加利特在图书馆说的话了，我再也不想跟你说话了，永远也不想！”

我往客厅走去，他拦住我，“朱莉！朱莉，等等！”他低声说，“那句话不是我说的！是加利特！都是加利特干的！”

我盯着他：“我知道我听到了什么。”

“不！你不明白！我……我心情很糟糕，你知道的，因为鸡蛋的事，以及我对你家院子的评价。我对你叔叔和你家的处境一点儿也不了解，好吗？我只是想和谁聊聊。”

我们的目光碰在一起，良久，这是我第一次没有被他的蓝眼睛冲昏头脑：“我听见你笑了。他开了个玩笑，说我是智障，而你笑了。”

“朱莉，你不明白。我想揍他一顿！真的，我真这么想！但我们是在图书馆里……”

“于是你没有揍他，而是笑了。”

他耸耸肩，看上去又可悲又懦弱：“是的。”

我转身走开了。我走向客厅，把他留在身后。如果他是装出来的，那他的演技很好。如果这是真的，那么查特说得对——他是个懦夫。不管怎样，我再也不想待在他旁边了。

我站在爸爸身后，试图跟上他和查特的对话，他们在聊报纸上读到的什么东西。爸爸说：“但他的建议需要一个永动机来实现，所以这是不可能的。”

查特回答道：“也许在目前的科学发展水平下是这样，但你怎么知道以后会怎样呢？”

那一刻，我完全没有一点儿对科学的好奇心。但是，我无论如何都想把布莱斯·罗斯基赶出我的头脑，于是我问：“什么是永动机？”

爸爸和查特对看了一眼，笑了，然后耸耸肩，似乎达成某种一致，接纳我进入他们的秘密俱乐部。爸爸解释道：“那是一种不需要任何外部能源就能一直运转的机器。”

“不用电、不用燃料、不用水能，什么都不用，”查特从我肩膀上面看过去，心不在焉地问，“你觉得这可能实现吗？”

是什么让他分心？布莱斯还在门厅里吗？他怎么不动地方？

我强迫自己把注意力集中在这个话题上：“我觉得这能否实现？呃，我不清楚。所有机器都需要能量，对吗？即使是那些特别高效能的机器。而能量总要来源于某些地方……”

“假如机器自己能产生能量呢？”查特问，但他仍然瞥向门厅。

“它怎么能做到？”

没人回答我。相反，爸爸伸出手，说：“晚上好，瑞克。谢谢你们的邀请。”

罗斯基先生和爸爸握过手，也加入我们几个，聊起了天气。到了没话可说的地步，他说：“哇，你们的院子弄得真不错。我想我们也应该出钱雇查特来修整一下。他很会对付那些木桩，不是吗？”

他在开玩笑吧。我想。可是我爸爸并不是这样想，查特也一样。我正在担心接下来会发生什么，但罗斯基太太敲响了一个小小的晚餐铃，喊道：“各位，开胃小吃来了！”

冷盘很美味。但是当爸爸低声告诉我，饼干上面小粒小粒的黑莓根本不是浆果，而是鱼子酱的时候，我停止了咀嚼。鱼子？太恶心了！

爸爸指出，我一直都在吃鸡蛋，为什么对鱼子这样介意呢？他说得有道理。我迟疑地把饼干吃完，很快又拿起另一块。

布莱斯一直单独站在房间里，每次我无意间看到他，他都在盯着我看。

最后，我只好完全背对着他，对爸爸说：“那么，我们到底为什么要发明永动机呢？”

爸爸笑了：“世界上到处都有疯狂的科学家。”

“真的吗？”

“没错，从几百年前就是这样。”

“呃，他们都做些什么？他们长什么样子？”

没过多久，查特也加入讨论。我刚刚开始理解磁力、回转粒子和零点能量是什么东西，就发现有人站在我背后。

是布莱斯。

我的脸颊因为愤怒而变红。他看不出我想一个人待着吗？我挪了一步避开他，但却像是在人群中打开一个缺口，邀请他走进来。现在他站在我们的圈子里听我们聊天了！

很好！显然他对永动机没有兴趣。我还是一个人！我得出结论，继续讨论的话，他就会被赶走。于是我接着说下去，当谈话逐渐趋于停滞，我抛出自己关于永动机的想法。我像一台提问机器，无休止地扔出一些完全不靠谱的建议。

但他还是没走。他什么也不说，只是站在那儿听。当罗斯基太太宣布开饭的时候，布莱斯抓住我的胳膊低声说：“朱莉，对不起。我从来没有像今天这样感到抱歉。你说得对，我是个浑蛋，对不起。”

我把手臂从他手里抽出来，说：“我想你最近做了太多需要抱歉的事！”他被我扔在那儿，道歉的声音还回荡在空气里。

没过多久，我就发现自己犯了个错误。我应该任凭他道歉，然后继续无视他。但我在他道歉时打断了他，显得我很无礼。

我隔着桌子飞快地瞥了他一眼，但他正看着他爸爸，后者正在问我哥哥毕业的事，以及大学时的打算。

毫无疑问，我见过罗斯基先生很多次，但一般都是远远地看到他。不过，我现在才注意到他的眼睛，这似乎很不可思议。它们是蓝色的、湛蓝的。虽然罗斯基先生离我很远，他的眼睛被眉毛和颧骨所遮挡，但毫无疑问，布莱斯继承了他的眼睛。他的头发是黑色的，和布莱斯一样，他的牙齿又白又整齐。

虽然查特说布莱斯是他爸爸的翻版，可我从来没想过他俩长得这么像。但现在我看到他们确实很像，虽然他爸爸看上去有点自命不凡，而布莱斯则是……好吧，现在他有点愤怒。

从桌子的另一侧传来一个声音：“你的讽刺一点儿也不好笑，爸爸。”

罗斯基太太轻轻地倒抽了一口气，人人都看着利奈特。“嗯，这不好笑。”她说。

这些年我们一直住在罗斯基家对街，我跟利奈特说过的话不超过十句，而她跟我说过的更少。对我来说，她有点可怕。

因此，当我看到她这样瞪着她爸爸时，我吃了一惊，但也有点不自在。罗斯基太太的微笑凝固在脸上，可她拼命地眨着眼，紧张地环视餐桌。我也一个人一个人地看过去，想知道罗斯基家的晚餐是否一直这么紧张。

利奈特突然站起来，冲向走廊，但她马上拿着一张CD回来了。当她放进唱机，从音响里飘出的旋律，我听出这是哥哥们写的一首歌。

我们听过这首名叫《蜡烛冰》的歌，它千百次地从哥哥们的房间里飘出来，我们早就习惯了。我看了妈妈一眼，有点担心她会因为其中失真的吉他噪声和粗俗的歌词感到尴尬。

这音乐绝不是用来搭配鱼子酱的。

她看起来有点迷茫，但心情还不算太糟。她和爸爸交换了一个隐蔽的微笑，诚实地说，我甚至听到她咯咯笑了几声。爸爸一副开心的表情，但他毕竟要矜持一些，直到一曲结束，我才意识到他很自豪，为了儿子们制造的这些噪声而自豪。

我很惊讶。对于哥哥们的乐队，爸爸向来不怎么热心，不过他也从来没有发表过什么评论。但是，罗斯基先生随即开始对马特和麦克严加质询，问他们如何负担得起录音费用。而他们解释说自己如何工作攒钱，寻找二手设备，这时我才明白，爸爸为什么那样自豪。

看得出来，哥哥们的心情也很好。这也难怪，因为利奈特拼命鼓吹《蜡烛冰》是一首伟大的曲子。她真的过分热情了，这些话竟然出自利奈特之口，实在有点奇怪。

环视四周，我忽然有种身处陌生人中间的感觉。我们两家在对街住了很多年，但我根本不了解他们。利奈特确实是会笑的。罗斯基先生外表整洁优雅，而内心却明显有些东西深埋在外表之下，慢慢腐烂。而一向能干的罗斯基太太似乎慌乱到几近亢奋的程度。她是因为我们的存在才如此紧张吗？

然后是布莱斯——他最让人烦恼，因为我不得不承认，我其实并不了解他。从最近的发现来看，我也不打算继续了解下去。看着桌子对面的他，我只觉得陌生、冷漠而超然。没有火花，也不再有任何的愤怒或焦虑。

什么都没有。

吃完甜点，我们准备告辞。我走向布莱斯，说我很抱歉在他之前找我的时候对他太凶。“我应该听完你的道歉，而且我真的很感谢你们全家邀请我们来吃饭。我知道这很费事，嗯，我想妈妈今晚很开心，这对我很重要。”我们彼此对视着，但他似乎根本没有听到我在说什么，“布莱斯？我说我很抱歉。”

他点点头，然后我们全家挥手道别，互道晚安。

妈妈挽着爸爸的手，我和哥哥们一起走在他们身后，他俩拿着吃剩的派。我们一起走进厨房，马特给自己倒了杯牛奶，对麦克说：“罗斯基先生今晚对咱们穷追不舍啊，是不是？”

“他还挺较真。也许他以为我们在追求他女儿。”

“我可没有，哥们儿！你呢？”

麦克也倒了一杯牛奶：“说是斯凯勒还差不多。绝对不是我。”他笑了。

“可她今天晚上真酷。她狠狠批了她爹一通，对吗？”

爸爸从橱柜里拿出一个纸碟，切了一片派：“你们今天晚上很克制嘛。换了我，不知道能不能有你们那样淡定。”

“啊，你知道，他只是有点……固执。”马特说，“你得附和他的观点，然后跟他讨价还价。”他又补充道，“当然，我可不想要个那样的爹……”

麦克把牛奶喷了出来，“哥们儿！你能想象吗？”马特一掌拍向爸爸后背，“没门儿。对我最重要的那个人在这儿呢。”妈妈站在厨房另一头笑着说：“我也一样。”

我从来没见过爸爸掉眼泪。他没有坐在那儿大声痛哭，但泪水明明白白地从眼眶里滑落。他拼命眨着眼睛，说：“孩子们，不想再来点派配牛奶吗？”

“哥们儿，”马特跨坐在椅子上说，“我也是这么想的。”

“是啊，”麦克补充道，“我饿坏了。”

“也给我拿个盘子！”麦克打开橱柜，我冲他喊道。

“但我们刚吃完饭。”妈妈叫道。

“别这样嘛，特瑞纳，吃点派吧。味道好极了。”

那天晚上，我捧着吃撑的肚子，开心地上床去了。躺在黑暗里，我想，一天之内可以经历多少强烈的感情啊，像现在这样结束这一天又是多么幸福。

当我快要迷迷糊糊进入梦乡的时候，我的心是那么……自由。

第二天早上，我的心情依旧很好。我走出屋子，给院子浇水，享受着水流击打泥土的啪啪声，心里想着，小草什么时候才能破土而出，沐浴阳光呢。

接着，我清理了鸡笼，平整了地面，拔除了院子边缘几丛疯长的野草。

我把残土和野草铲进垃圾箱里的时候，斯杜比太太出现了，她靠在围栏上问道：“最近好吗，朱莉安娜？准备养只公鸡了？”

“公鸡？”

“怎么了，当然哪。那些母鸡需要一些激励才能下更多的蛋！”

这倒是真的。邦妮、克莱蒂特还有其他几只鸡下的蛋只有过去的一半那么多。但是养只公鸡？“我想邻居会对我有意见的，斯杜比太太。另外，那样我们就会有小鸡了，我想我家院子里养不了更多家禽了。”

“胡说。你把这些小鸡宠坏啦，让它们占用整个院子。它们可以共享这个空间。这很容易！否则你要怎么把生意继续做下去？过不了多久，这些小鸡就一个蛋也下不出来了！”

“真的？”

“嗯，非常少。”

我摇摇头说：“它们只是我养的小鸡，现在长大了开始下蛋。我从来没把它们当成一桩生意。”

“好吧，我也不该在你这里赊账，实在抱歉。我保证这个星期给你把钱补齐，不过，考虑一下买公鸡的事吧。我有个住在纽康姆大街的朋友，她可眼红我做的‘魔鬼蛋’了。我把菜谱告诉她，可她说就是做不出我做的味道。”她朝我眨眨眼睛，“如果可能的话，我保证她愿意出大价钱买到我的秘密原料。”她要走了，最后对我说，“顺便提一句，朱莉安娜，你在前院的改造工作非常出色。实在太棒了！”

“谢谢，斯杜比太太，”她关门的时候我喊道，“非常感谢！”

我接着把自己制造出来的垃圾堆铲干净，想着斯杜比太太说的话。

我是否应该养只公鸡？我曾经听说过，只要养一只，就能让周围的母鸡下更多的蛋，不管它们是否有实际上的接触。我甚至可以让我的鸡继续繁殖，得到一群全新的用来生蛋的母鸡。但我是不是真的想把这个过程重新经历一遍？

不。我不想为了邻居维持一个农场。如果我的母鸡全都不再生蛋了，也许对我更好吧。

我把耙子和铲子放到一边，挨个亲了每只母鸡，然后回到屋里。主宰自己命运的感觉真好！我感觉自己充满力量，正确而坚定。

那时我还不知道，前几天在学校发生的事将改变一切。

Chapter 12

The Dinner

JULIANNA

By the time I got home, I knew it would be selfish of me to boycott the Loskis' dinner party. My mother had already spent a lot of time humming over pie recipes and going through her closet for "something suitable to wear." She'd even bought a new shirt for Dad and had scrutinized what the boys intended to wear. Obviously she was looking forward to the dinner — not that I really understood that, but I didn't want to ruin everything by telling her about my newfound hatred of Bryce.

And Dad felt bad enough about David already. The last thing he needed was to hear about crackpot comments made by immature eighth graders.

So that night I went through the motions of baking pies with my mother and convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. One dinner couldn't change anyone's life. I just had to get through it.

Friday at school I avoided the blue-eyed brat the best I could, but that night as I got dressed, I found myself staring at the painting my father had given me and became furious all over again. Bryce had never been a friend to me, ever! He hadn't made a stand for the tree, he'd thrown away my eggs, and he'd made fun of me at my uncle's expense...Why was I playing along like we were jolly friends and neighbors?

When my mother called that it was time to go, I went out in the hall with every intention of telling her that I would not, could not go to the Loskis' for dinner, but she looked so lovely and happy that I couldn't. I just couldn't. I took a deep breath, wrapped up a pie, and shuffled across the street behind my brothers and parents.

Chet answered the door. Maybe I should've been mad at him, too, for telling the Loskis about my uncle, but I wasn't. I hadn't asked him not to tell, and he certainly wasn't the one making fun of David.

Mrs. Loski came up behind Chet, whisked us in, and fluttered about. And even though she had quite a bit of makeup on, I was surprised to see the blueness of bags beneath her eyes. Then Mrs. Loski and my mother went off with the pies, my brothers vanished down the hall with Lynetta, and my father followed Chet into the living room.

And wasn't that just dandy? That left me alone in the foyer with Bryce.

He said hi to me and I lost it. I spun on him, snapping, "Don't you speak to me! I overheard you and Garrett in the library, and I don't want to talk to you now or ever!"

I started to walk into the living room, but he stopped me. "Juli! Juli, wait!" he whispered. "I'm not the bad guy here! That was Garrett. That was all Garrett!"

I glared at him. "I know what I heard."

No! No you don't! I ... I was feeling bad about, you know, the eggs and what I'd said about your yard. I didn't know anything about your uncle or what kind of situation your family was in, okay? I just wanted to talk to someone about it.

Our eyes locked for a minute, and for the first time the blueness of his didn't freeze up my brain. "I heard you laugh. He made a joke about me being a retard, and you laughed."

Juli, you don't understand. I wanted to punch him! Really, I did! But we were in the library...

So instead you laughed.

He shrugged and looked miserable and sheepish. "Yeah."

I left him. Just walked into the living room and left him. If he was making it up, he was quite an actor. If he was telling the truth, then Chet was right — he was a coward. Either way, I didn't want to be anywhere near him.

I stood beside my father and tried to follow his discussion with Chet about something they'd both read in the paper. My father was saying, "But what he's proposing would require a perpetual-motion machine, so it's not possible."

Chet replied, "Maybe in the context of what scientists know now, but do you rule it out completely?"

At that moment I was feeling absolutely no scientific curiosity. But in a desperate attempt to block Bryce Loski from my mind, I asked,"What's a perpetual-motion machine?"

My father and Chet glanced at each other, chuckled, then shrugged, giving me the sense that they'd just agreed to let me into a secret club. My father explained, "It's a machine that runs without any external power source."

No electricity, no fuel, no water propulsion, nothing. Chet glanced over my shoulder and asked rather absently, "You think that's a doable thing?"

What had distracted him? Was Bryce still in the foyer? Why didn't he just go away?

I forced myself to focus on the conversation. "Do I think that's a doable thing? Well, I don't really know. All machines use energy, right? Even real efficient ones. And that energy has to come from somewhere..."

What if the machine generated it itself? Chet asked, but one eye was still on the foyer.

How could it do that?

Neither of them answered me. Instead, my father stuck out his hand and said, "Good evening, Rick. Nice of you to have us over."

Mr. Loski pumped my dad's hand and joined our group, making little comments about the weather. When that topic was all dried up, he said, "And wow, that yard of yours has really come along. I told Chet here that we ought to hire him out. He really knows his pickets, doesn't he?"

He was joking. I think. But my father didn't take it that way, and neither did Chet. I was afraid of what might happen next, but then Mrs. Loski tinkled a little dinner bell and called, "Hors d'oeuvres, everybody!"

The hors d'oeuvres were delicious. But when my father whispered that the teeny-tiny black berries on top of the crackers weren't berries at all, but caviar, I stopped midbite. Fish eggs? Repulsive!

Then my father pointed out that I ate chicken eggs all the time, so why get squeamish over fish eggs? He had a point. I hesitantly finished the cracker, and before long I was having another.

Bryce was standing all by himself across the room, and every time I happened to look his way, he was staring at me.

Finally I completely turned my back on him and said to my father, "So who's trying to invent a perpetual-motion machine, anyway?"

My father laughed. "Mad scientists all over the world."

Really?

Yes. For hundreds of years.

Well, what do they do? What's one look like?

It wasn't long before Chet was in on the discussion. And just as I was finally starting to catch on to magnetism, gyroscopic particles, and zero-point energy, I felt someone standing behind me.

It was Bryce.

I could feel my cheeks flush with anger. Couldn't he see I wanted to be left alone? I took a step away from him, but what that did was open up the group and allow him to move forward. Now he was standing in our circle listening to our discussion!

Well! Surely he was not interested in perpetual motion. I barely was myself! So, I reasoned, continuing our discussion would drive him away. I dove back in, and when the conversation started to peter out, I came up with my own ideas on perpetual-motion machines. I was like a perpetual-idea machine, spinning ridiculous suggestions right out of the air.

And still he wouldn't leave. He didn't say anything, he just stood there, listening. Then when Mrs. Loski announced that dinner was ready, Bryceheld my arm and whispered, "Juli, I'm sorry. I've never been so sorry about anything in my whole life. You're right, I was a jerk, and I'm sorry."

I yanked my arm free from his grasp and said, "It seems to me you've been sorry about a whole lot of things lately!" and left him there with his apology hanging wounded in the air.

It didn't take me long to realize that I'd made a mistake. I should have let him say he was sorry and then simply continued to ignore him. But I'd snapped at him in the middle of an apology, which somehow made me the rude one.

I sneaked a peek at him across the table, but he was watching his dad, who was asking my brothers about graduating and their plans for college.

I had, of course, seen Mr. Loski many times, but usually from a distance. Still, it seemed impossible that I'd never noticed his eyes before. They were blue. Brilliant blue. And although Mr. Loski's were set farther back and were hidden somewhat by his eyebrows and cheekbones, there was no mistaking where Bryce had gotten his eyes. His hair was black, too, like Bryce's, and his teeth were white and straight.

Even though Chet had called Bryce the spitting image of his father, I'd never really thought of them as looking alike. But now I saw that they did look alike, though where his dad seemed kind of smug, Bryce seemed... well, right now he seemed angry.

Then from the other side of the table, I heard, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Dad."

Mrs. Loski gave a small gasp, and everyone looked at Lynetta. "Well, it's not," she said.

In all the years we've lived across the street from the Loskis, I've said about ten words to Lynetta, and she's said fewer back. To me she's scary. So it wasn't a surprise to see her glaring at her father, but it was uncomfortable. Mrs. Loski was keeping a smile perched on her face, but she was blinking a lot, glancing nervously around the table. I looked from one person to the next, too, wondering if dinner at the Loskis' was always this tense.

Suddenly Lynetta got up and dashed down the hall, but she was back in a flash with a CD in her hand. And when she put it in the player, I recognized one of my brothers' songs blaring through the speakers.

We'd heard this song, "Candle Ice," pouring out of my brothers' bedroom at least a million times, so we were used to it. But I looked over at my mom, worried that she might be embarrassed by the distorting guitars and the gritty lyrics. This was definitely not caviar music.

She seemed a little uncertain, but in a happy way. She was sharing secret smiles with my father, and honestly, I think she even giggled. My dad was looking amused, although he was very reserved about it, and it took me until the end of the song to realize that he was proud. Proud that this noise came from his boys.

That surprised me. Dad has never been real big on any rendition of my brothers' band, although he's never really criticized it either. But then Mr. Loski started grilling Matt and Mike about how they'd afforded to record their own music, and they explained about working and saving and shopping for good deals on equipment, and that's when I realized why my father was proud.

My brothers were feeling pretty good, too, you could tell. And it was no wonder, with the way Lynetta was carrying on about how great"Candle Ice" was. She was positively gushing, which seemed very odd, coming from Lynetta.

As I looked around, it struck me that we were having dinner with a group of strangers. We'd lived across the street for years, but I didn't know these people at all. Lynetta did know how to smile. Mr. Loski was clean and smooth on the outside, but there was a distinct whiff of something rotten buried just beneath the surface. And the ever-efficient Mrs. Loski seemed flustered, almost hyper. Was it having us over that was making her nervous?

Then there was Bryce — the most disturbing of all because I had to admit that I didn't really know him, either. And based on what I'd discovered lately, I didn't care to know any more. Looking across the table at him, all I got was a strange, detached, neutral feeling. No fireworks, no leftover anger or resurging flutters.

Nothing.

After we'd had dessert and it was time to go, I went up to Bryce and told him I was sorry for having been so fierce when we'd first come in. "I should've let you apologize, and really, it was very nice of your family to have us over. I know it was a lot of work and, well, I think my mom had a really good time and that's what matters to me."We were looking right at each other, but it was almost as though he didn't hear me. "Bryce? I said I'm sorry."

He nodded, and then our families were waving good-bye and saying good night.

I walked behind my mother, who was holding hands with my father, and beside my brothers, who were carrying home what was left of our pies. We all wound up in the kitchen, and Matt poured himself a glass of milk and said to Mike, "That Mr. Loski was sniffing us out pretty good tonight, wasn'the?"

No kidding. Maybe he thinks we're hot for his daughter.

Not me, dude! You?

Mike got himself a glass of milk, too. "That's Skyler's gig. No way I'dgo there."He grinned. "But she was really cool tonight. Did she come down on papa bear or what?"

My dad took a paper plate out of the cupboard and cut a slice of pie. "You boys showed a lot of restraint tonight. I don't know if I could've kept my cool that way."

Aw, he's just, you know... entrenched, Matt said. "Gotta adjust to the perspective and deal from there." Then he added, "Not that I'd want him as my dad..."

Mike practically sprayed his milk. "Dude! Can you imagine?"Then Matt gave my dad a slap on the back and said, "No way. I'm sticking with my main man here." My mom grinned from across the kitchen and said, "Me too."

I'd never seen my father cry. And he didn't exactly sit there bawling, but there were definitely tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back the best he could and said, "Don't you boys want some pie to go with that milk?"

Dude, said Matt as he straddled a chair. "I was just thinking that."

Yeah, Mike added. "I'm starved."

Get me a plate, too! I called as Mike dug through the cupboard.

But we just ate, my mother cried.

Come on, Trina, have some pie. It's delicious.

I went to bed that night feeling very full and very happy. And as I lay there in the dark, I wondered at how much emotion can go into any given day, and thought how nice it was to feel this way at the end of it.

And as I nestled in and drifted off to sleep, my heart felt wonderfully... free.

The next morning I still felt good. I went outside and sprinkled the yard, enjoying the splish and patter of water on soil, wondering when, when, that first little blade of grass would spring up into the sunshine.

Then I went out back, cleaned the coop, raked the yard, and dug up some of the bigger weeds growing along the edges.

Mrs. Stueby leaned over the side fence as I was shoveling my rakings and weeds into a trash can and said, "How's it going, Julianna? Making neat for a rooster?"

A rooster?

Why, certainly. Those hens need some motivation to start laying more!

It was true. Bonnie and Clydette and the others were only laying about half the eggs that they used to, but a rooster? "I don't think the neighborhood would appreciate my getting a rooster, Mrs. Stueby. Besides, we'd get chicks and I don't think we can handle any more poultry back here."

Nonsense. You've spoiled these birds, giving them the whole yard. They can share the space. Easily! How else are you going to maintain your business? Soon those birds won't be laying anything a-tall!

They won't?

Well, very little.

I shook my head, then said, "They were just my chicks that grew into chickens and started laying eggs. I never really thought of it as a business."

Well, my runnin' a tab has probably contributed to that, and I'm sorry. I'll be sure and get you the whole sum this week, but consider buying yourself a rooster with some of it. I've got a friend down on Newcomb Street who is positively green over my deviled eggs. I gave her my recipe, but she says hers just don't taste the same. She winked at me. "I'm certain she'd pay handsomely for a supply of my secret ingredient if it became available." She turned to go, then said, "By-the-by, Julianna, you have done a mighty fine job on that front yard. Most impressive!"

Thanks, Mrs. Stueby, I called as she slid open her patio door. "Thanks very much."

I finished scooping up the piles I'd made and thought about what Mrs. Stueby had said. Should I really get a rooster? I'd heard that having one around made chickens lay more, whether they were in contact with each other or not. I could even breed my chickens and get a whole new set of layers. But did I really want to go through all of that again?

Not really. I didn't want to be the neighborhood rancher. If my girls quit laying altogether, that would be just fine with me.

I put away the rake and shovel, clucked a kiss on each of the hens, and went inside. It felt good to take charge of my own destiny! I felt strong and right and certain.

Little did I know how a few days back at school would change all of that.