"Well, I have. But thanks for, you know, caring."

She looked at me skeptically. "Uh-huh."

The Monday after the Loskis' dinner party, Darla tracked me down at school and forced Bryce Loski back into my brain. "Jules! Whoa, girl, wait up! How have you been?"

"It's not a diet. I've just, uh, lost my taste for him."

"Who told you that?"

She laughed. "How long's this diet gonna last?"

"Yes, I am. But thanks for thinking about me." I eyed her and said, "And Darla? It's not a given anymore."

"Like I haven't got eyes? Come on, girl. It's a given. Which is why I got to worryin' about you. Are you seriously all right?"

"I'm fine, Darla, how are you?"

All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain, but then Mrs. Simmons ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said, "Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil."

"No, seriously," she whispered. "Are you doing okay?" She shifted her backpack and looked over each shoulder. "I got to thinking, you know, that was just so cold of Bryce. Especially since you've got that soft spot for him."

A wave of relief swept across the room. "Basket boys? You mean it's not a quiz?"

"Everything!" she said. "Come on, you're wasting valuable time."

"What?" everyone cried, and believe me -- I was right along with them. I was not prepared for a quiz!

She ticked through the stack, counting ballots as she spoke. "It is like a quiz in that I don't want you conferring with one another. It's also like a quiz in that you have a limited amount of time." She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk of row one, then went on to the second row. "I will collect them from you individually when the bell rings, and I will inspect to see that you have complied with the following instructions." She scooted over to row three. "Choose five, and only five, of the boys on the list. Do not put your name on it, and do not discuss your choices with your neighbors." She was on to row four now, talking faster and faster. "When you've made your selections, simply turn your sheet over." She slapped the remainder down on the last desk. "Do not, I repeat, do not fold your ballot!"

The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders, and when we'd all pretty much complied with her request, she picked a stack of bright yellow papers off her desk, fanned them with an evil grin, and said, "It's time to vote for basket boys!"

"Robbie…," Mrs. Simmons warned.

Robbie Castinon raised his hand and blurted out, "Why do guys have to vote. It's lame to have guys vote."

A lot of people snickered, and Mrs. Simmons scowled, but he had a point. Twenty of the school's eighth-grade boys would be made to pack a picnic lunch for two and be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"Seriously! What are we supposed to do? Vote for our friends or our enemies?"

All the guys around him muttered, "Not me," but Mrs. Simmons cleared her throat and said, "You should want to be one! It's a tradition that has helped support the school since it was founded. There have been generation after generation of basket boys helping make this campus what it is today. It's why we have flower beds. It's why we have shade trees and a grove of apple trees. Visit another junior high sometime and you'll begin to realize what a little oasis our campus really is."

"Being a basket boy is an honor --" Mrs. Simmons began, but she was interrupted by Robbie.

"It's a joke!" he said. "It's embarrassing! Who wants to be a basket boy?"

"All this from the sweat and blood of basket boys," Robbie grumbled.

Mrs. Simmons sighed. "Robbie, someday when your children go to school here, you'll understand. For now, please just vote for whoever you think will earn a high bid. And class," she added, "we're down to nine minutes."

She'd give me detention, that's what. So with two minutes left to go, I put dots next to the boys I knew who weren't jerks or clowns, but were just nice. When I was through, there were all of ten names with dots, and of those I circled five: Ryan Noll, Vince Olson, Adrian Iglesias, Ian Lai, and Jon Trulock. They wouldn't make basket boy, but then I wouldn't be bidding, so it didn't really matter. At the bell I handed over my ballot and forgot all about the auction.

The room fell quiet. And as I read down the list of over one hundred and fifty eighth-grade boys, I realized that to me, there had only ever been one boy. To me, there had only been Bryce.

I didn't let myself get sentimental. I had liked him for all the wrong reasons, and I certainly wasn't going to vote for him now. But I didn't know who else to vote for. I looked at Mrs. Simmons, who was eagle-eyeing the class between glances at the clock. What if I didn't choose anybody? What if I just turned it in blank?

Until lunchtime the next day, that is. Darla cut me off on my way to the library and dragged me over to her table instead. "Have you seen the list?"

she asked. "What list?"

"The list of basket boys!" She shoved a scrawled copy of twenty names in front of me and looked around. "Your main dish is on it!"

Five from the top, there it was -- Bryce Loski.

I threw the list back at Darla and said, "He's not my main dish! As a matter of fact, I didn't even vote for him."

I should have expected it, but still, this awful surge of possessiveness shot through me. Who had voted for him? Out of one hundred fifty names he must have gotten a lot of votes! Suddenly I was picturing a swarm of girls waving stacks of cash in the Booster ladies' faces as they begged to have lunch with him.

"Oooo, girl! You are stickin' to your diet!"

"It's not a diet, Darla. I'm… I'm over him, okay?"

"I'm glad to hear it, 'cause rumor is, that bimbette Shelly is already stakin' her claim on him."

"Shelly? Shelly Stalls?" I could feel my cheeks flush.

She laughed. "Good for you."

"No! I'm not bidding. Not on anyone!"

"You get to miss the second half of school…"

Macy's top lip curled a little and she said, "Jon Trulock? Jon Tru lock? How did he get on this list?"

For a moment I couldn't believe my ears. I snatched the paper out of Macy's hand. "Are you sure?"

"The quiet girls, I guess," Darla said. "Me, I'm more interested in Mike Abenido. Have I got any competition?"

"How about you, Jules?" Darla asked me. "Bringin' spare change on Friday?"

Macy laughed, "If you're in, I'm out!"

"No!"

"And Denny's on it, too!" Liz squealed. "That boy is"-- she shivered and giggled --"fi-yi-yine!"

"Me too," said Liz.

"Right there," she said, pointing to his name. "Who do you suppose voted for him?"

Darla's friends fell all over themselves getting to her, then pored over the paper like it was a treasure map. Macy cried, "Chad Ormonde's on it! He is so cute. I'd go ten bucks on him, easy!"

"That's right." Darla waved her list in the air, calling, "Liz! Macy! Over here! I've got the list!"

When I wasn't thinking about Bryce, I was worrying about poor Jon Trulock. He was quiet, and I felt sorry for him, having to clutch a basket and be auctioned off in front of the whole student body. What had I done to him?

That afternoon I rode home from school brooding about Bryce and the whole basket boy auction. I could feel myself backsliding about Bryce. But why should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn't even be thinking about him!

"Really?" She emerged from the bathroom with her cleaning gloves and a pail. "I was wondering if it was ever going to spring up."

But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out of my mind. Was that green I saw poking out of the dirt? Yes! Yes, it was! I dropped the bike and got down on my hands and knees. They were so thin, so small, so far apart! They barely made a difference in the vastness of the black dirt, and yet there they were. Pushing their way through to the afternoon sun.

"Well, it has! Come! Come and see!"

I ran in the house, calling, "Mom! Mom, there's grass!"

She cocked her head a bit and looked a little closer. "Yawning?"

Bryce. His name shot through my brain, and with it came a panic I didn't seem able to control.

"Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they're sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their arms stretched way high, saying, Good morning, world!"

She wasn't too impressed at first. But after I made her get down on her hands and knees and really look, she smiled and said, "They're so delicate…"

"They look like they're yawning, don't they?"

I got up and uncoiled the hose. "I think they need a wakeup shower, don't you?"

She laughed and said, "Yes, they do!"

Before I could stop myself, I dropped the hose and dashed inside.

My mom agreed and left me to my singing and sprinkling. And I was completely lost in the joy of my little green blades of new life when I heard the school bus rumble to a stop up on Collier Street.

I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework. Where was my peace? Where was my resolve? Where was my sanity? Had they left me because Shelly Stalls was after him? Was it just some old rivalry making me feel this way?

It was working, too! I was growing stronger by the day. Who cared about auctions and basket boys? I didn't!

But in my heart I knew that just like the new grass, I wasn't strong enough yet to be walked on. And until I was, there was only one solution: I had to stay away from him. I needed to rope him out of my life.

So I closed my ears to the news of basket boys and steered clear of Bryce at school. And when I did happen to run into him, I simply said hello like he was someone I barely even knew.

So what? I told myself. So what? But as I was throwing on my windbreaker, I eyed my money tin and hesitated. What if…

Friday morning I got up early, collected what few eggs there were in the coop, watered the front yard, which was by now definitely green, ate breakfast, and got ready for school.

But as I was running a brush through my hair, I couldn't help thinking about Shelly Stalls. It was auction day. She'd probably been up since five, making her hair into some impossibly pouffy do.

I had to get past Bryce and Shelly. They deserved each other -- let them have each other!

"Julianna," she called, waving her hand through the air. "Here, dear. Take this. I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get it to you. I keep missing you in the mornings."

I ran to the garage, got my bike, and pushed out of the driveway. And I was in the street and on my way when Mrs. Stueby flew right in my path.

"Nonsense, child! Of course I'm going to pay you. Here!" she said, and waved it out for me to take.

No! No-no-no!

I didn't even know how much she owed me. At that moment I didn't care. All I knew was the top bill in her hand was a ten, and it was striking terror in my heart. "Mrs. Stueby, please. I… I don't want that. You don't have to pay me."

"No, really. I… I don't want it."

She wedged it in the pocket of my jeans and said, "What utter nonsense. Now go! Go buy yourself a rooster!" then hurried back up her walkway.

All the way to school Mrs. Stueby's money was burning a hole in my pocket and another in my brain. How much was it?

"Mrs. Stueby… Mrs. Stueby?" I called after her. "I don't want a rooster…!" but she was gone.

When I got to school, I parked my bike, then broke down and looked. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I folded the bills together and slid them back into my pocket. Was it more than Shelly had?

All through first period I was furious with myself for even thinking it. All through second period I kept my eyes off of Bryce, but oh! It was so hard! I'd never seen him in a tie and cuff links before!

Then at break I was at my locker when Shelly Stalls appeared out of nowhere. She got right next to me and said, "I hear you're planning to bid on him."

"What?" I took a step back. "Who told you that? I am not!"

"Someone said they saw you with a whole wad of cash this morning. How much do you have?"

She laughed, "Oh, that'll be the day!"

"It's true." I slammed my locker closed. "Go ahead and waste your money on him. I don't care."

I left her there with her mouth open, which felt even better than getting her in a headlock.

"It's… it's none of your business. And I'm not bidding, okay? I… I don't even like him anymore."

Then the basket boys came out on the stage. Bryce looked so adorable holding a picnic basket with red-and-white-checked napkins peeking out from either side, and the thought of Shelly Stalls flipping one of those napkins into her lap nearly made the bills in my pocket burst into flames.

Darla came up behind me and whispered, "Rumor is you've got a wad of cash. Is that true?"

"What? No! I mean, yes, but I… I'm not bidding."

She looked from me to the stage and back to me. "You got nothin' to lose but your self- respect."

That feeling carried me clear through to eleven o'clock, when the entire student body assembled in the gymnasium. I was not going to bid on Bryce Loski. No way!

"Oooo, girl, look at you. You feelin' all right?"

I felt light-headed and wobbly -- like I wasn't in control of my own body.

Darla said, "Maybe you should sit down."

"Stop it!" I whispered at her fiercely. It felt like I was having a panic attack. I couldn't breathe.

I wasn't. I felt sick to my stomach and shaky in the knees. "I'm fine," I told her. "Fine."

She frowned at me. "I think I'll stick around to make sure."

"I'm fine, Darla, I'm fine."

The Booster Club president, Mrs. McClure, had been fluttering around the basket boys, fixing ties and giving them last-minute instructions, but now suddenly she was slamming her gavel on the podium, calling into the microphone, "If you'll all settle down, we're ready to begin."

I'd never seen six hundred kids quiet down so fast. I guess Mrs. McClure hadn't either, because she smiled and said, "Why, thank you. Thank you very much." Then she said, "And welcome to the fifty-second annual Basket Boy Auction! I know that your teachers have gone over the procedures with you in homeroom, but I've been asked to remind you of a few things: This is a civilized proceeding. No whistling, catcalls, or other degrading behavior will be tolerated. If you wish to place a bid, you must raise your hand high. Bidding without raising your hand is prohibited, and should you decide to be a funny guy, you will be caught and detained or suspended. Are we all clear on that? Good." She looked from one side of the gym to the other. "Teachers, I see that you are in position."

Six hundred heads turned slowly from side to side, looking at the blockade of teachers on either side of the gym.

"Man," Darla whispered, "they're not leaving much room for fun, are they?"

"All right, then!" She put on her reading glasses and looked at a three-by-five card. "Our first basket has been brought by Jeffrey Bisho." She looked over her glasses at him and said, "Come on up, Jeffrey. Don't be shy!" He inched forward as she continued. "Jeffrey has brought a scrumptious lunch consisting of chicken salad sandwiches, oriental noodles, baby grapes, iced tea, and fortune cookies." She smiled at him over her glasses. "Sounds delicious, and sounds like fun! Which," she said, looking back at the crowd, "Jeffrey is! He enjoys skateboarding, skiing, and swimming, but ladies, he also enjoys a day in the park and watching Humphrey Bogart movies." She turned to him and grinned. "They are a kick, aren't they?"

Mrs. McClure continued, "Minimum bid is ten dollars, and of course, the sky's the limit, but we don't accept IOUs." She pointed to her right. "Winning bidders should go directly to the table at the north door when I declare the basket to be sold. And as you're aware, winners and their basket boys have the rest of the school day off and are exempt from tonight's homework in all classes." She smiled out at the blockade. "Teachers, we appreciate your support on this.

"I don't want to! But I've liked him for so long. Darla, I've liked him since I was seven. And even though I know he's a coward and a sneak and I should never speak to him again, I'm having trouble focusing on that. Especially since Shelly Stalls is after him. And now I've got this money burning a hole in my pocket!"

"Exactly, and --" I looked at her looking at me and stopped cold.

"How can you even think about bidding on that boy?"

"I think her name's Tiffany," she said. "She's a seventh grader."

I looked at her and almost dissolved right on the spot. "Darla, I didn't bring money on purpose! My neighbor made me take it on the way to school because she owed it to me for eggs and --"

Poor Jeff tried to smile, but you could tell -- he wanted to die.

"Who is that?" I asked Darla.

"All right, then," said Mrs. McClure as she whipped off her glasses. "Do I hear ten?"

"Really? Wow. I would never have bid last year! And I… I don't remember bids going up that high, either."

"For eggs? Oh, like Bryce was talking about in the library?"

Darla eyed me. "Which tells me that maybe you would bid this year? How much you got?"

Not only did she hear ten, she heard twelve, fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five, too! "Going… going… gone!" cried Mrs. McClure. "To the young lady in the purple tunic!"

As the bidding continued, the battle in my head got louder and fiercer. What was I going to do?

I looked back at the stage. The auction was happening so fast! They'd be at Bryce in no time.

Then suddenly the gym fell quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. And standing next to Mrs. McClure looking completely mortified was Jon Trulock. Mrs. McClure was scouring the crowd with her eyes, looking very uncomfortable, too. "What happened?" I whispered to Darla.

She shook her head. "Oh, girl. I'm hurting for you here."

"Well, I can understand the bit about Shelly Stalls, but if you know that boy's just a big piece of fluffy cheesecake that you're gonna regret eating, I can help you with your diet." She put out her hand. "Give me the money. I'll hold it for you."

"I mean… I can handle this. I've got to handle it."

"No one's bidding," she whispered back.

"No!"

"Come on, out there! This lunch is delicious. Strawberry tarts, roast beef and Muenster cheese sandwiches…"

"No?"

"Do I hear ten?" called Mrs. McClure.

That's when I realized what I had to do. My hand shot into the air and I called, "Ten!"

"Well, you couldn't have been the only one…"

I put my hand up higher and said to Darla, "Say twelve."

"But why isn't anyone bidding on him? He's… he's so nice."

"Ten?" warbled Mrs. McClure. "Did I hear ten?"

"I voted for him!"

There was a moment of silence and then, "Eighteen going once! Eighteen going twice… Sold! for eighteen dollars."

Darla nodded. "Exactly."

"What?"

Darla laughed and said, "Whoa, girl! What a rush!"

"No way!"

I nodded. "Yes, it was!"

"Sixteen!" called Darla, and eyed me with a laugh.

"Darla! He can't go for ten, c'mon!"

"Twelve!" Darla called, but her hand didn't go up very high.

"Fifteen!" I cried.

I whispered, "Darla! I've only got fifteen."

Her eyes got enormous.

I laughed and called, "Eighteen!" then held her arm down and said, "But that really is all I've got."

"You? What did you do?"

"Say twelve, I'll outbid you."

"Oh, no!" I whispered to Darla. "I can't believe I did this to him!"

Everyone gasped and turned around to see who had called the bid. Darla whispered, "It's Jenny."

"I can't believe it," I whispered to Darla. "Sixty-two dollars! C'mon, Miranda, come on."

I almost didn't have a choice. Before Mrs. McClure could say two words about Bryce or his basket, Shelly called, "Ten!" Then from the middle of the gym came "Twenty!" It was Miranda Humes, with her hand way in the air. They went back and forth, back and forth, higher and higher, until Shelly called, "Sixty-two!"

"Well, no dessert for you. Looks like you got cleaned out by something a little more… uh… nutritious." She nodded toward the stage. "You gonna go up to the table like you're supposed to? Or you gonna stick around and see the carnage?"

"I think she's out. Shelly's got it."

"Sixty-two dollars going once!" cried Mrs. McClure, but before she could say, Going twice! a voice from the back of the gym called, "A hundred!"

She was easy to spot, standing tall above the others in the number-seven basketball jersey she almost always wore. "Wow," I whispered, "I had no idea."

Darla pointed. "Right over there."

"Atkinson?" I asked.

"Who cares?" I giggled. "She slam-dunked Shelly!"

Mrs. McClure was gushing into the microphone about the record-breaking bid when a big commotion broke out over by Miranda. I spotted Shelly's hair, and my first thought was that there was going to be a fight. But instead, Shelly and Miranda turned to face Mrs. McClure and called, "One-twenty-two fifty!"

"Maybe she'll slam-dunk him for you," Darla said with a grin.

I choked down a cry. "What?"

"They're teamin' up," Darla whispered.

"Oh, no-no-no!" I looked over Jenny's way. "Come on, Jenny!"

Darla shook her head and said, "She's through," and she was. Bryce went to Shelly and Miranda for one hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents.

It was a little strange, meeting up with Jon and walking over to the multi-purpose room for lunch. But he was just so nice, and I think grateful that I'd bid, that by the time we got situated at our table, I wasn't feeling so awkward or silly. It was just lunch.

Things would have been easier if they hadn't seated me in direct view of Bryce and his little harem, but I did my best to ignore them. Jon told me all about this radio-controlled airplane that he and his dad were building from scratch, and how he'd been working on it for nearly three months, and that over the weekend they were finally going to get to try it out. He told me a funny story about soldering the wires wrong and practically starting a fire in their basement, and I asked him about how a radio-controlled airplane works because I didn't really understand it.

Jon asked about my family, so I was telling him about my brothers and their band when a huge commotion broke out over at Bryce's table.

So I'd relaxed a lot and was actually having a good time eating lunch with Jon. And I was so relieved that I hadn't bid on Bryce. What a fool I would have made of myself! Watching Shelly and Miranda fawning all over him didn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. Really, they looked ridiculous.

Out of nowhere Bryce appeared at our table. He grabbed my hand, pulled me a few feet away, and whispered, "Do you like him?"

He held my other hand and asked again, "Do you like him?"

Suddenly Shelly and Miranda were rolling on the floor like an enormous furball, smearing each other with food.

I was stunned.

I can't remember what I said. He was looking into my eyes, holding my hands tight, and then he began pulling me toward him. My heart was racing and his eyes were closing and his face was coming toward mine… Right there, in front of all the other basket boys and their dates and the adults, he was going to kiss me. To kiss me.

"You mean Jon?"

"Yes!"

A couple of adults steered her back to her seat, and then everyone started whispering double-speed. And Bryce didn't even seem to care! He kept trying to come over and talk to me, but either he'd get intercepted by a teacher or I'd dash away from him before he had a chance to say anything.

I yanked free and ran back to my table, and when I sat down Jon whispered, "Did he just try to kiss you?"

I panicked. I'd been waiting all my life for that kiss, and now?

I turned my chair away from Bryce and whispered, "Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?"

People were whispering and looking my way, and when Shelly Stalls came back from cleaning up in the washroom, everyone fell quiet. Her hair looked awful. It was sort of oiled to her scalp and still had little chunks of food in it. She glared at me so hard it looked like she was trying to get laser beams to shoot from her eyes.

When the dismissal bell finally rang, I said a quick goodbye to Jon and bolted out the door. I couldn't reach my bike fast enough! I was the first one off campus, and I pedaled home so hard it felt as though my lungs would burst.

My mother heard me slamming doors and came to check on me in my room. "Julianna! What's wrong?"

Mrs. Stueby was out front watering her flower bed and she tried to say something to me, but I just dropped my bike in the driveway and escaped into the house. I certainly didn't want to talk about roosters!

I hesitated, then threw my hands up in the air. "He tried to kiss me!"

I flipped over on my bed to face her and wailed, "I am so confused! I don't know what to think or feel or do…!"

My mother struggled not to let it show, but underneath her composed expression was a growing smile. She leaned in a little and asked, "Who did?"

She sat down beside me on the bed and stroked my hair. "Tell me what happened, sweetheart."

The doorbell rang. And rang again. My mom started to get up, but I grabbed her arm and said, "Don't get that!" The bell rang again, and almost right after that there was a loud knocking at the door. "Mom, please! Don't get it. That's probably him!"

"Bryce!"

She hesitated. "But you've always liked him…"

She chewed the side of one cheek, then moved over to chew the other. At last she said, "I shouldn't really discuss it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was over him! Completely over him!"

"Why? Did something happen at the dinner that I don't know about?"

"But sweetheart…"

"My," she said after a moment. "Don't you sound like a teenager."

"Since when?"

My mother leaned back and crossed her arms. "Well," she said. "Isn't this something."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, because I knew I was hurting her feelings. I sat up and said, "Mom, all those years I liked him? I never really knew him. All I knew was that he had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen and that his smile melted my heart like the sun melts butter. But now I know that inside he's a coward and a sneak, so I've got to get over what he's like on the outside!"

"Since last Friday. After the dinner. If he had vanished from the face of the earth after our dinner at the Loskis', I wouldn't have cared!"

I threw myself back onto my pillow and said, "It's too complicated, Mom! I… I just can't talk about it."

"Because… I just shouldn't. Besides, I can tell there are things you don't feel comfortable discussing with me…"

"Why not?"

Then I realized something. "And you know, you've seemed happier ever since."

I sat up a little. "Wait… how did you know?"

We stared at each other a moment, neither of us saying a word. Finally I looked down and whispered, "When Chet and I were fixing up the yard, I told him how we didn't own the house and about Uncle David. He must have told the rest of the family, because the day before the Loskis' dinner party I overheard Bryce and his friend making cracks about Uncle David at school. I was furious, but I didn't want you to know because you'd think they were only inviting us over because they felt sorry for us." I looked at her and said, "You just seemed so happy about being invited for dinner."

She held my hand and smiled. "I have a lot to be happy about." Then she sighed and said, "And I already knew they knew about Uncle David. It was fine that you talked about him. He's not a secret or anything."

While she was gone, I remembered what Chet had said about someone he knew who had never learned to look beneath the surface. Had he been talking about his own daughter? And how could this happen to her after twenty years of marriage?

"I don't understand."

I blinked at her. "She did? Before the dinner?"

Mom let out a deep breath and said, "I think you're mature enough to keep this inside these four walls, and I'm only telling you because… because I think it's relevant."

"How come?"

"Patsy and Rick have been having ferocious fights lately."

I held my breath and waited.

"Mr. and Mrs. Loski? What about?"

The phone rang and Mom said, "Let me get that, okay? Your dad said he'd call if he was working overtime, and that's probably him."

Mom sighed. "About everything, it seems."

Very quietly my mother said, "For the first time in her life, Patsy is seeing her husband for what he is. It's twenty years and two children late, but that's what she's doing." She gave me a sad smile. "Patsy seems to be going through the same thing you are."

"No, no. After." She hesitated, then said, "Patsy's been over several times this week. She's… she's going through a very rough time."

"Patsy told me."

When my mother came back, I absently asked, "Is Dad working late?"

"That wasn't Dad, sweetheart. It was Bryce."

"You don't have to marry the boy, Julianna. Why don't you just listen to what he has to say? He sounded desperate to talk to you."

So I gave her the blow-by-blow, beginning with Mrs. Stueby, going clear through Darla, the auction, the furball fight, and ending with Bryce trying to kiss me in front of everybody.

"Jealous? Of whom?"

"Mom, it's not funny!"

"I don't want to wind up like Mrs. Loski!"

"What could he possibly have to say? He's already tried to blame Garrett for what he said about Uncle David, and I'm sorry, but I don't buy it. He's lied to me, he hasn't stood up for me… he's… he's nobody that I want to like. I just need some time to get over all those years of having liked him."

I sat straight up. "Now he's calling? I have lived across the street from him for six years and he's never once called me! Is he doing this because he's jealous?"

She clapped her hands and positively giggled.

She tried to straighten up. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

My mother knew I needed time to think, but Bryce wouldn't leave me alone. He kept calling on the phone and knocking on the door. He even snuck around the house and tapped on my window! Every time I turned around, there he was, pestering me.

Then she left me alone with my thoughts.

I wanted to be able to water the yard in peace. I wanted not to have to avoid him at school or have Darla run block for me. Why didn't he understand that I wasn't interested in what he had to say? What could he possibly have to say?

Then this afternoon I was reading a book in the front room with the curtains drawn, hiding from him as I had all week, when I heard a noise in the yard. I peeked outside and there was Bryce, walking across my grass. Stomping all over my grass! And he was carrying a spade! What was he planning to do with that?

Mom sat there for the longest time, biting her cheek. Then she said, "People do change, you know. Maybe he's had some revelations lately, too. And frankly, any boy who tries to kiss a girl in front of a room full of other kids does not sound like a coward to me." She stroked my hair and whispered, "Maybe there's more to Bryce Loski than you know."

Was it so much to ask just to be left alone?

He dragged over some potting soil, pierced the bag with the spade, and shoveled dirt into the hole. Then he disappeared. And when he came back, he wrestled a big burlapped root ball across the lawn, the branches of a plant rustling back and forth as he moved.

It was torture seeing him dig up my grass. The hole he was making was enormous! How could my father let him do this to my yard?

"But what is it? What's he doing?"

Bryce knew I was there, too, because he looked at me once and nodded. No smile, no wave, just a nod.

"That's right. I told him he could."

"Calm down, Julianna," he said, and eased me back inside. "I gave him permission."

I flew off the couch and yanked open the door and ran right into my father. "Stop him!" I cried.

"Watch. You'll figure it out."

"It's not going to kill your grass, Julianna. Just let him do what he's come to do."

"But why?"

"I think the boy has a very good idea, that's why."

"Permission! Permission to do what?" I flew back to the window. "He's digging a hole."

"But --"

My dad joined me on the couch and peeked out the window, too.

"I'd help him, but he says he has to do this himself."

I flipped around on the couch and just sat. A sycamore tree.

"Is it a…" The words stuck in my throat.

"A tree?" I whispered. "He's planting a tree?"

I didn't really need to ask, though, and he knew he didn't need to answer. I could tell from the shape of the leaves, from the texture of the trunk. This was a sycamore tree.

I've been sitting here for hours now, just staring out the window at the tree. It may be little now, but it'll grow, day by day. And a hundred years from now it'll reach clear over the rooftops. It'll be miles in the air! Already I can tell -- it's going to be an amazing, magnificent tree.

Bryce finished planting the tree, watered it, cleaned everything up, and then went home. And I just sat there, not knowing what to do.

And I can't help wondering, a hundred years from now will a kid climb it the way I climbed the one up on Collier Street? Will she see the things I did? Will she feel the way I did?

Will it change her life the way it changed mine?

I know he's home because he looks out his window from time to time. A little while ago he put his hand up and waved. And I couldn't help it -- I gave a little wave back.

Maybe it's time to meet him in the proper light.

So maybe I should go over there and thank him for the tree. Maybe we could sit on the porch and talk. It just occurred to me that in all the years we've known each other, we've never done that. Never really talked.

I also can't stop wondering about Bryce. What has he been trying to tell me? What's he thinking about?

Maybe my mother's right. Maybe there is more to Bryce Loski than I know.