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“And apparently a handful,” Jessica added.

“Oh? Why?”

“Let’s not start spreading rumors so soon, Jessica. Give them twenty-four hours.”

“I’m not spreading rumors. I—”

“Does Mrs. Caro know I have a guest?” I asked Jordan quickly to change the subject.

“Yes,” Jordan said.

“Okay. Let’s get on to our homework,” I told Jessica.

“I’ll see you before I leave,” Jordan said, and Jessica and I went up to my room.

While she chose music for us, I began an e-mail to Kiera. I didn’t want to finish reading her e-mail to me from last night while Jessica was there. She also knew that I didn’t like anyone looking over my shoulder when I wrote to Kiera.

I described the episode with Shayne Peters in detail and even included my little joke about Nobody at lunch. Then I mentioned Ryder Garfield, but I didn’t go into any detail, and I certainly didn’t describe any of my feelings about him.

What were my feelings, anyway? I wondered. I’d be the last to say he wasn’t very good-looking, and I had to confess that I was looking at him whenever I had the chance to do so. I just made more of an effort not to be as obvious about it as most of the other girls. His initial nasty attitude had turned me off, but his reaction to my response in English class not only turned me back on to him but, despite the way I spoke to Jessica, made me even more intrigued. I did want to get to know him and looked forward to tomorrow.

Jessica had chosen music for us to listen to, but she was already on my phone talking to Claire Simpson about Ryder Garfield. Claire had graduated last year and was at UCLA. Jessica was friendly with her because their parents were very close. Claire’s father worked for the Hollywood Reporter, so if anyone at our school would have some nitty-gritty for us, it was she. I finished my e-mail just as Jessica finished her phone call.

“Okay, I got it,” she began as if I had asked her to do it. “The Garfields bought a new house near the school, but Claire made a phone call while I was on hold and thinks there were some problems at their old school, which was also a private school, of course.”

“What kind of problems?”

“She’s not sure, but she thinks it involved Summer. She’s digging into it for me.”

“So maybe that was why he was so angry at her in the parking lot.”

“Exactly. Claire is confident she can find out.”

“I’m sure she can. She probably works for the CIA. What difference is it going to make, anyway?” I asked, and went to my book bag.

“You’re not really going to start on our homework, are you?”

“I’m not going to sit here and talk about Ryder and Summer Garfield. You wanted to watch that new Blu-ray movie we have, I thought.”

“Whatever,” she said, disappointed. “I guess I need some help in math anyway.”

Jordan stopped by before she left. She hadn’t told me where she was going to dinner or with whom, but I didn’t think much of that. There were many other times when she left for something and didn’t speak of it until the next day or even days later. However, although she looked very nice and as well put together as ever, I had been here long enough and with her long enough to know that wherever she was going and whomever she was seeing were not just to pass the time or fill the gap Mr. March left by being away. I thought she looked worried, in fact, and wished I had no one with me so I could have asked her about it.

I had gotten so I knew her moods almost as well as her natural children would. When someone is your own flesh and blood, you have that special sense, that connection that gives you a real sixth sense about each other. Jordan had tried so hard to make me feel more like her real daughter. I knew she lived for the day when I would call her Mother, but I couldn’t get myself to do that yet and probably never would. In the beginning, it was difficult even to refer to her as Jordan and not Mrs. March.

Despite that, a part of me wanted to feel closer to her. At times, I thought I needed her almost as much as she needed me to help fill the great hole in her heart that Alena’s death had caused. I was always reluctant to show her any affection. It was easy to sound appreciative and grateful, but to throw my arms around her, to kiss her lovingly, to reach for her hand when we walked in the street or in shopping centers, or even to smile warmly and bathe in the sunshine of her affection was still, after three years, very difficult, if not impossible, to do. Besides the danger of riling up Kiera’s jealousy, I felt as though every soft word, every mechanical kiss on the cheek, every embrace was a small betrayal of my mother.

Would or could I ever get past all that and really feel as if I was part of the March family?

I wished I had Mrs. Caro’s clairvoyance, her prescience and wisdom, so that one morning I could throw open a window, look out at this beautiful world I was in, and see where it would all take me. I knew if I asked her, she would avoid answering, even though she knew. She would say something like, “You need to make your own discoveries.”

But I was here because I had not been able to foresee what would happen if I didn’t stop my mother from crossing a street. What could I prevent

or do about my own future?

“Stop thinking so much,” Jessica told me before we went down to dinner. I had finished my work and helping her with her math and was just staring at nothing. “You make me nervous.” I started to protest, but then she added, “Unless you’re thinking about Ryder Garfield.”

I smiled.