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"All right, then. We'll go on Friday." She refolded a pair of jeans and spoke carefully. "You haven't said much about school. How's it going?"
Each time Phoebe had asked the question in the past two weeks, Molly had refused to respond with anything more than monosyllables. Now her expression grew stony.
"How do you think? I hate it. Even the advanced classes are easy."
"Your classes were easy at Crayton, too."
"Public school is full of cretins."
"When you registered, your counselor mentioned that the English department uses student tutors in the writing lab. Why don't you volunteer?"
"Why should I?"
"Sometimes it feels good to help other people." When Molly failed to respond, Phoebe continued her cautious probing. "At least you get to go to school with boys."
Molly became very busy picking at the tag on a pair of jeans. Phoebe tried again. "What's it like?"
"What do you mean?"
"Going to school with boys."
"They're big show-offs. And they're disgusting in the lunchroom."
"What about the boys in the advanced classes? Are they show-offs, too?"
"Some of them, I suppose. But a lot of them are nerds."
Phoebe suppressed a smile. "I've always liked nerds. There's nothing sexier in a man than intelligence. Of course, there is something to be said for dumb and cute."
Molly giggled, and for a few moments the barriers between them dissolved. "The boy who has a locker next to mine has long hair. He's really loud and obnoxious, always making guitar noises, but he's kind of cute, too."
"Is he?"
"He's in my advanced English class, but he's having trouble keeping up."
"Maybe you could offer to help him out."
"He doesn't even know who I am." Molly shoved a sack out of the way, her face clouding. "Nobody likes me. All the girls are bitches. If you're not a Pom Pom and you don't have the right clothes, they won't even talk to you."
Now Phoebe understood what had motivated the shopping spree. "I'm sure all the girls aren't that way. You just have to find the right group. It'll take time."
"I don't care about them! You told me that I only had to stay a semester, and then I'm leaving."
Defeated, Phoebe rose from the side of the bed. "Enjoy your new clothes. I wish we could have gone shopping together. I would have liked that."
Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw a flash of uncertainty cross her sister's face.
Just before bedtime that night, Phoebe clipped Pooh's fuchsia leash to her collar and led her outside for a walk. After the danger of Manhattan's streets, she loved this quiet residential area where she had the freedom to walk at night without worrying about becoming a statistic.
The town houses butted up against an area of wooded parkland. A paved bicycle path lit by an occasional streetlamp ran along the fringe. She loved the dense quiet, the loamy smell of the woods, and the crispness in the night air that announced the end of summer.
Pooh trotted ahead, sometimes stopping to poke her nose at a pile of acorns or beneath a clump of dry leaves, occasionally squatting to leave her mark on a particularly blissful spot. Phoebe's sneakers squeaked on the sidewalk, and the fleecy sweatshirt she wore was warm and cozy. For a few moments she let everything unpleasant slip away and enjoyed the night quiet.
Her sense of well-being was broken by the sound of a car turning into her court. She watched it slow down in front of her condo, then begin to pull into her driveway only to come to a stop as the headlights caught her. The driver immediately backed the car and drove toward her. Even before the vehicle stopped at the curb, she saw that it was a red Ferrari.
She tensed as Dan unfolded from the car and came toward her. He was wearing his glasses, and he'd thrown a Stars' windbreaker over a plum-colored shirt and jeans. Pooh began barking and straining at the end of her leash to get to him.
She tried to brace herself for what was certain to be another painful encounter, but it had been a difficult, exhausting day, and she didn't have many resources left.
