It was actually worse having her mad at me than having her harass me. Why? Because I'd screwed up, that's why. I had egg all over my face, and blaming it on her yard had done nothing to wash it off. The way she ignored me, or so obviously avoided me, was a screaming loud reminder to me that I'd been a jerk. A royal cluck-faced jerk.

Then one day I'm coming home from hanging out with Garrett after school, and there's Juli in her front yard, hacking at a shrub. She is thrashing on the thing. Branches are flying over her shoulder, and clear across the street I can hear her grunting and growling and saying stuff like, "No… you… don't! You are coming… off… whether you like it or… not!"

It didn't take long for me to realize that I'd traded in my old problems with Juli Baker for a whole new set of problems with Juli Baker. I could feel her anger a mile away.

Did I feel good about this? No, my friend, I did not. Yeah, their yard was a mess, and it was about time someone did something about it, but c'mon -- where's the dad? What about Matt and Mike? Why Juli? Because I'd embarrassed her into it, that's why. I felt worse than ever.

So I snuck inside and tried to ignore the fact that here's my desk and here's my window, and right across the street from me is Juli, beating up a bush. Not conducive to concentration. No siree, Bob. I got all of zero homework done.

The next day at school I was trying to get up the nerve to say something to her, but I never even got the chance. She wouldn't let me get anywhere near her.

Then on the ride home I had this thought. It kind of freaked me out at first, but the more I played with it, the more I figured that, yeah, helping her with the yard would make up for my having been such a jerk. Assuming she didn't boss me too much, and assuming she didn't decide to get all gooey-eyed or something stupid like that. No, I'd go up and just tell her that I felt bad for being a jerk and I wanted to make it up to her by helping her cut back some bushes. Period. End of story. And if she still wanted to be mad at me after that, then fine. That was her problem.

My problem was, I never got the chance. I came trekking down from the bus stop to find my grandfather doing my good deed.

I crouched behind a neighbor's hedge and watched them for ten or fifteen minutes, and man, the longer I watched, the madder I got. My grandfather had already said more to her in this little slice of time than he'd said to me the whole year and a half he'd been living with us. What was his deal with Juli Baker?

I took the back way home, which involved climbing two fences and kicking off the neighbor's stupid little terrier, but it was worth it, considering I avoided the garden party across the street.

Now, jump back. This was not something I could immediately absorb. My grandfather did not do yard work. At least, he'd never offered to help me out. My grandfather lived in house slippers -- where'd he get those work boots? And those jeans and that flannel shirt -- what was up with those?

Again I got no homework done. The more I watched them, the madder I got. I was still a cluck-faced jerk, while Juli was laughing it up with my grandfather. Had I ever seen him smile? Really smile? I don't think so! But now he was knee- high in nettles, laughing.

"Well, Dad," my mom said with a laugh, "your excursion across the street seems to have done you a world of good."

"Good evening," he said as he sat down with the rest of us. "Oh, Patsy, that looks delicious!"

My father was just joking around, but I don't think my grandfather took it that way. He helped himself to a cheese-stuffed potato and said, "Pass the salt, won't you, Bryce?"

Dad didn't drop it, though. Instead, he said, "So why's the girl the one who's finally doing something about their place?"

At dinner that night he'd showered and changed back into his regular clothes and house slippers, but he didn't look the same. It was like someone had plugged him in and turned on the light.

"Yeah," my father said. "Patsy tells me you've been over there all afternoon. If you were in the mood for home improvement projects, why didn't you just say so?"

So there was this definite tension between my father and my grandfather, but I think if Dad had dropped the subject right then, the vibe would've vanished.

My grandfather salted his potato very carefully, then looked across the table at me. Ah-oh, I thought. Ah- oh. In a flash I knew those stupid eggs were not behind me. Two years of sneaking them in the trash, two years of avoiding discussion of Juli and her eggs and her chickens and her earlymorning visits, and for what? Granddad knew, I could see it in his eyes. In a matter of seconds he'd crack open the truth, and I'd be as good as fried.

After the dishes were cleared, I retreated to my room, but my grandfather came right in, closed the door behind him, and then sat on my bed. He did this all without making a sound. No squeaking, no clanking, no scraping, no breathing… I swear, the guy moved through my room like a ghost.

He pinched his lips together and looked at nothing but me.

Enter a miracle. My grandfather petrified me for a minute with his eyes but then turned to my father and said, "She wants to, is all."

A raging river of sweat ran down my temples, and as my father said, "Well, it's about time someone did," my grandfather looked back at me and I knew -- he was not going to let me forget this. We'd just had another conversation, only this time I was definitely not dismissed.

And of course I'm banging my knee and dropping my pencil and deteriorating into a pathetic pool of Jell-O. But I tried my best to sound cool as I said, "Hello, Granddad. Come to check out the digs?"

I cracked. "Look, Granddad, I know I messed up. I should've just told her, but I couldn't. And I kept thinking they'd stop. I mean, how long can a chicken lay eggs? Those things hatched in the fifth grade! That was like, three years ago!

He was nodding, but very slowly.

I sighed and said, "Thank you for not saying anything about it at dinner. I owe you."

"Yes, sir."

Don't they eventually run out? And what was I supposed to do? Tell her Mom was afraid of salmonella poisoning? And Dad wanted me to tell her we were allergic -- c'mon, who's going to buy that? So I just kept, you know, throwing them out. I didn't know she could've sold them. I thought they were just extras."

He frowned and said, "Don't yes-sir me, Bryce." Then he stood and added, "Just think about what I've said, and the next time you're faced with a choice, do the right thing. It hurts everyone less in the long run." With that, poof, he was gone.

He pulled my curtain aside and looked across the street. "One's character is set at an early age, son. The choices you make now will affect you for the rest of your life." He was quiet for a minute, then dropped the curtain and said, "I hate to see you swim out so far you can't swim back."

The next day I went to shoot some hoops at Garrett's after school, and when his mom dropped me off later that afternoon, my granddad didn't even notice. He was too busy being Joe Carpenter in Juli's front yard.

I tried to do my homework at the breakfast bar, but my mom came home from work and started being all chatty, and then Lynetta appeared and the two of them started fighting about whether Lynetta's makeup made her look like a wounded raccoon.

I look out the window and there's Juli, spitting out nails and slamming them in place. No kidding. She's got nails lined up between her lips like steel cigarettes, and she's swinging that hammer full-arc, way above her head, driving nails into pickets like they're going into butter.我看向窗户,朱莉就在那儿,吐出钉子用力把它们钉上去.没开玩笑,她把钉子放在嘴唇中间像一条钢香烟,她把榔头甩成一条弧线,超过头顶,把钉子敲进尖桩里.

Lynetta. I swear she'll never learn.

For a split second there, I saw my head as the recipient of her hammer, cracking open like Humpty Dumpty. I shuddered and dropped the curtain, ditched the homework, and headed for the TV.

I packed up my stuff and escaped to my room, which, of course, was a total waste. They've got a saw revving and wailing across the street, and in between cuts I can hear the whack, whack, whack! whack, whack, whack! of a hammer.

They handymanned all week. And every night Granddad would come in with rosy cheeks and a huge appetite and compliment my mom on what a great cook she was. Then Saturday happened. And the last thing I wanted was to spend the day at home while my grandfather churned up dirt and helped plant Juli's yard. Mom tried to get me to do our own yard, but I would have felt ridiculous micromowing our grass with Granddad and Juli making real changes right across the street.

So I locked myself in my room and called Garrett. He wasn't home, and everybody else I called had stuff they had to do. And hitting up Mom or Dad for a ride to the movies or the mall was hopeless. They'd tell me I was supposed to be doing the yard.

What I was, was stuck.

And what I wound up doing was looking out the stupid window at Juli and my grandfather. It was a totally lame thing to do, but that's what I did.

I got nailed doing it, too. By my grandfather. And he, of course, had to point me out to Juli, which made me feel another two inches shorter. I dropped the curtain and blasted out the back door and over the fence. I had to get out of there.

I swear I walked ten miles that day. And I don't know who I was madder at -- my grandfather, Juli, or me. What was wrong with me? If I wanted to make it up to Juli, why didn't I just go over there and help? What was stopping me?

I wound up at Garrett's house, and man, I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Leave it to Garrett to get your mind off anything important.

And when I got home, there was Juli, sprinkling the yard.

That dude's the master. We went out back and shot hoops, watched the tube, and talked about hitting the water slides this summer.

She saw me, all right, but she didn't wave or smile or anything. She just looked away.

Normally what I'd do in that situation is maybe pretend like I hadn't seen her, or give a quick wave and charge inside. But she'd been mad at me for what seemed like ages. She hadn't said word one to me since the morning of the eggs. She'd completely dissed me in math a couple days before when I'd smiled at her, trying to tell her I was sorry. She didn't smile back or nod or anything. She just turned away and never looked back.

I even waited for her outside the classroom to say something, anything, about her fixing up the yard and how bad I felt, but she ditched me out the other door, and after that anytime I got anywhere near her, she'd find some way to skate around me.

"Thanks," she said without smiling. "Chet did most of it."

Chet? I thought. Chet? What was she doing, calling my grandfather by his first name? "Look, Juli," I said, trying to get on with why I was there. "I'm sorry for what I did."

"I… I don't know. It was dumb. I should have. And I shouldn't have said anything about the yard, either. It was, you know, out of line."

So there she was, watering the yard, making me feel like a jerk, and I'd had enough of it. I went up to her and said, "It's looking real good, Juli. Nice job."

I was already feeling better. A lot better. Then Juli says, "Well, maybe it's all for the better," and starts bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, acting more like her old self. "Doesn't it look great? I learned so much from Chet it's amazing. You are so lucky. I don't even have grandparents anymore."

She looked at me for a second, then went back to watching the water spray across the dirt.

Finally she said, "I still don't get it, Bryce. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Oh," I said, not knowing what to say.

"Yeah," she laughs again. "That's what I said. But he meant it in a nice way."

"What?"

"I do feel sorry for him, though. He sure misses your grandmother." Then she laughs and shakes her head, saying, "Can you believe it? He says I remind him of her."

I could not see Juli coated in powder. Okay, maybe gun powder, but the white perfumy stuff? Forget it.

I looked at Juli and tried to picture my grandmother as an eighth grader. It was hopeless. I mean, Juli's got long, fluffy brown hair and a nose full of freckles, where my grandmother had always been some variety of blond. And my grandmother had used powder. Puffy white powder. She'd put it on her face and in her hair, in her slippers and on her chest… That woman powdered everything.

"Yeah, whatever. Well, good luck with the grass. I'm sure it'll come up great." Then I totally surprised myself by saying, "Knowing you, you'll get 'em all to hatch." I didn't say it mean or anything, I really meant it. I laughed, and then she laughed, and that's how I left her -- sprinkling her soon-to-be sod, smiling.

I guess I was staring, because Juli says, "Look, I didn't say it, he did. I just thought it was nice, that's all."

Lynetta had on her usual pout, so that wasn't it. But my father's idea of saying hello was to lay into me about the lawn.

"No sweat," I told him. "I'll do it tomorrow."

Mom nudged Dad with her foot, but that only made things worse. "No, Patsy! I want to know why your father has the energy and inclination to befriend a complete stranger when he's never done so much as toss a baseball around with his own grandson!"

Then Mom says to my granddad, "You tired tonight, Dad?"

It took me a few minutes at the dinner table to realize that I was the only one who was.

My grandfather straightens his fork on his napkin and says, ""That girl" is named Juli, and no, she isn't "working me too hard," as you so callously put it."

"Callous? Me?" My dad laughs and says, "Developed quite a soft spot for that girl, haven't you?"

I hadn't been in such a good mood in weeks. The eggs were finally behind me. I was absolved. Relieved. Happy.

"Yeah," my father tosses down the table at him. "That girl working you too hard?"

All that got me was a scowl.

I hadn't even noticed him sitting there like a stone.

Even Lynetta let her pout go for a minute. These were fighting words and everyone knew it.

"Yes, her spirit." My grandfather's quiet for a minute, then asks, "Do you know why the Bakers haven't fixed up the yard until now?"

Well, yeah! I thought. But then I remembered -- I owed my grandfather. Owed him big-time.

"They are not trash, Rick. They are good, honest, hardworking people --"

"Her spirit," my father says. Like he's talking to a lying kindergartner.

He nodded and rearranged his fork some more.

"Who have absolutely no pride in how they present themselves to the rest of the world. We've lived across the street from those people for over six years, and there is no excuse for the state they're in."

"Why? Sure. They're trash, that's why. They've got a beat-up house, two beat-up cars, and a beat-up yard."

Everyone clammed up and stared at me. So I looked at my grandfather and said, "Uh… isn't that right, Granddad?"

Without thinking, I said, "Take it easy, Dad. Juli just reminds him of Grandma."

"Of Renée?" My father looked at my mother and then at Granddad. "She can't possibly!"

My granddad closed his eyes and said, "It's her spirit that reminds me of Renée."

"Sure! It explains why those people are the way they are…!" He grins around the table at us. "Must run in the family."

My grandfather looks at him for a minute, then quietly says, "Juli's father has a retarded brother, and --"

"No?" My grandfather takes a deep breath and seems to weigh things in his mind for a few seconds. Then he says, "Tell me this, Rick. If you had a brother or sister or child who had a severe mental or physical handicap, what would you do?"

It was like my granddad had passed gas in church. My father's face pinched, his head shook, and finally he said, "Chet, what does that have to do with anything?"

My father interrupts him with a laugh. "Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it!"

Everyone looks at him. Lynetta's jaw drops, and for once she's speechless. My mother says, "Rick!" but all my father can do is laugh a nervous kind of laugh and say, "It was just a joke! I mean, obviously something's wrong with those people. Oh, excuse me, Chet. I forgot. The girl reminds you of Renée."

"Explains… a lot?" my grandfather asks. Quietly. Calmly.

"Oh, Patsy, please. Your father's being overly dramatic, trying to make me feel bad for criticizing our neighbors because there's a retarded relative someplace. Other people have family troubles and still manage to mow their lawn. They should have a little pride in ownership, for cryin' out loud!"

"Rick!" my mother says again, only this time she's mad.

"Still," my dad says, "there are government facilities available, and if they don't want to go that route, that's their choice. It's not our fault their family had some sort of chromosomal abnormality, and I refuse to feel guilty for wanting --"

Very quietly my mom asks, "Don't they have government facilities for that kind of thing?"

My grandfather's cheeks are seriously flushed, but his voice is rock-steady as he says, "They don't own that house, Rick. The landlord is supposed to maintain the premises, but he doesn't. And since Juli's father is responsible for his brother, all their reserves go to his care, and obviously it doesn't come cheap."

"I don't know the details, Patsy. Maybe there are no government facilities nearby. Maybe they thought a private facility was a better place for him to be."

"What do you mean?"

That left Granddad and me and a table full of cold food. "Wow," I finally said. "I had no idea."

My mother was suddenly hysterical. In seconds she was bawling her eyes out, wailing, and my father was all over her, trying to calm her down. It was no use. She basically dissolved right there on the spot.

My grandfather slams his hand on the table and half-stands as he says, "It had nothing to do with chromosomes, Rick! It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth." He brings his voice down, but it makes his words seem even more forceful. "Juli's uncle had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Twice. One minute he was a perfect little baby, just like your son, Bryce, and the next he was irreversibly damaged."

He sat there like granite for a minute, then leaned across the table toward me and said, "Why do you suppose that upset your mother so much?"

"You still don't," he told me.

Lynetta threw her napkin down and muttered, "This family is a joke," and took off. Then my mother bolted out of the room, sobbing into her hands, and my father raced after her, throwing my grandfather the wickedest look I'd ever seen.

He leaned forward even farther and whispered, "You did."

I thought about it a minute and finally asked, "Did her brother have the cord around his neck when he was born?"

He nodded. "Twice."

"I did?"

"The doctor who delivered you was on the ball, plus apparently there was some slack in the cord, so he was able to loop it off as you came out. You didn't hang yourself coming into the world, but it could very easily have gone the other way."

If I'd been told years or even weeks ago that I'd come down the chute noosed and ready to hang, I'd have made some kind of joke about it, or more likely I'd have said, Yeah, that's nice; now can you spare me the discussion?

He smiled, but just barely. "No. She's upset because she knows that she could very well be standing in Mr. Baker's shoes right now."

"But…"

But after everything that had happened, I was really freaking out, and I couldn't escape the questions tidal-waving my brain. Where would I be if things had been different? What would they have done with me? From the way my dad was talking, he wouldn't have had much use for me, that's for sure. He'd have stuck me in a nuthouse somewhere, any where, and forgotten about me. But then I thought, No! I'm his kid. He wouldn't do that… would he?

He shook his head. "Well, then…"

"I… I don't know." I gave a halfhearted grin and said, "Because she's female?"

"Well…!"

I nodded and tried to get a grip, but I wasn't doing a very good job of it. Then he said, "By the way, I appreciated your comment before."

I doubted it, and man, I doubted it big-time. I'd have been an embarrassment. Something to try to forget about. How things looked had always been a biggie to my parents. Especially to my dad.

"About your grandmother. How did you know that?"

"Oh? You spoke with her, then?"

"Yeah. Actually, I apologized to her."

I shook my head and said, "Juli told me."

"And I was feeling a lot better about everything, but now… God, I feel like such a jerk again."

I looked around at everything we had -- the big house, the white carpet, the antiques and artwork and stuff that was everywhere. Would they have given up all the stuff to make my life more pleasant?

Very quietly my granddad said, "You can't dwell on what might have been, Bryce." Then, like he could read my mind, he added, "And it's not fair to condemn him for something he hasn't done."

"What?" I asked, but my throat was feeling all pinched and swollen.

"I find it really helps to clear the mind," he said, and that's when I realized that this wasn't just a walk -- this was an invitation to do something together.

Go for a walk? What I wanted to do was go to my room, lock the door, and be left alone.

I stood up and said, "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

"Don't. You apologized, and that's what matters." He stood up and said, "Say, I'm in the mood for a walk. Want to join me?"

For a guy who'd only basically ever said Pass the salt to me, my granddad turned out to be a real talker. We walked our neighborhood and the next neighborhood and the next neighborhood, and not only did I find out that my granddad knows a lot of stuff, I found out that the guy is funny. In a subtle kind of dry way. It's the stuff he says, plus the way he says it. It's really, I don't know, cool.

As we were winding back into our own territory, we passed by the house that's going up where the sycamore tree used to be. My granddad stopped, looked up into the night, and said, "It must've been a spectacular view."

Luckily I didn't have to answer. He just grinned and said, "Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, some in gloss…" He turned to me. "But every once in a while you find someone who's iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare."

"Your mother pointed her out to me one time as we drove by. It scared me to see her up so high, but after I read the article I understood why she did it." He shook his head. "The tree's gone, but she's still got the spark it gave her. Know what I mean?"

"Me too," I told him, and we went inside.

I looked up, too, and noticed for the first time that night that you could see the stars. "Did you ever see her up there?" I asked him.

Right away we knew we'd stepped into a war zone. And even though no one was yelling or crying, from the look on my parents' faces I could tell there'd been a major meltdown while my granddad and I were out.

As we walked up to our front porch, my grandfather put his arm around my shoulder and said, "It was nice walking with you, Bryce. I enjoyed myself very much."

I wondered if Juli had ever been in the sycamore at night. Among the stars.

I wanted nothing to do with that vibe. I went straight to my room, closed the door, and flopped through the darkness onto my bed.

I lay there awhile and let the dinner disaster play through my mind. And when I'd totally burned a fuse thinking about it, I sat up and looked out the window. There was a light on somewhere inside the Bakers' house and the streetlights were glowing, but the night still seemed really dense. Like it was darker than usual and, I don't know, heavy.

Granddad whispered to me, "I've got another fence to mend, I'm afraid," and headed into the dining room to talk to my parents.

I shook my head. Flat, glossy, iridescent. What was up with that? Juli Baker had always seemed just plain dusty to me.

I snapped on my desk lamp and dug the newspaper with the article about Juli out of the drawer where I'd tossed it.

I leaned closer to the window and looked up into the sky, but I couldn't see the stars anymore.

Just like I thought -- they made it sound like Juli was trying to save Mount Rushmore or something. They called her a "strong voice in an urban wilderness" and "a radiant beacon, shedding light on the need to curtail continued overdevelopment of our once quaint and tranquil community."

And the odd thing is, it all made sense to me. She talked about what it felt like to be up in that tree, and how it, like, transcended dimensional space. "To be held above the earth and brushed by the wind," she said, "it's like your heart has been kissed by beauty." Who in junior high do you know that would put together a sentence like that? None of my friends, that's for sure.

Except. Except for the places where they quoted Juli. Maybe it was just in contrast to the reporter's slant or something, but Juli's parts didn't come off oh-woe-is-me like I was expecting. They were, I don't know, deep. Sitting in that tree was seriously philosophical to her.

End of story. The piece in the paper was gag-me gush.

There was other stuff, too, like how something can be so much more than the parts it took to make it, and why people need things around them that lift them above their lives and make them feel the miracle of living.

Spare me. I mean, what's wrong with letting a guy cut down a tree on his own property so he can build a house? His lot, his tree, his decision.

A month ago if I'd read this article, I would have chucked it in the trash as complete garbage, but for some reason it made sense to me now. A lot of sense.

I wound up reading and re-reading her parts, wondering when in the world she started thinking like that. I mean, no kidding, Juli Baker's smart, but this was something way beyond straight A's.

A month ago I also wouldn't have paid any attention to the picture of Juli, but now I found myself staring at it. Not the one of the whole scene -- that was more emergency rescue equipment than Juli. The other one, on the bottom half of the page. Someone must've used a killer telephoto lens, because you can tell that she's in the tree, but it's mostly from the shoulders up. She's looking off into the distance and the wind is blowing her hair back like she's at the helm of a ship or something, sailing into the sun.

I'd spent so many years avoiding Juli Baker that I'd never really looked at her, and now all of a sudden I couldn't stop. This weird feeling started taking over the pit of my stomach, and I didn't like it. Not one bit. To tell you the truth, it scared the Sheetrock out of me.

I made myself shut out the light and go to bed. I was slipping, man, and it was definitely time to get a grip.

I buried the paper under my pillow and tried to remind myself of what a pain Juli Baker was. But my mind started to wander again, and pretty soon I had that stupid paper out from under my pillow.

This was insane! What was I doing?