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"I'd better get home," I said.

"I'll walk you." He smiled at my surprise. "I don't think I could do any reading, concentrate on anything, or go to sleep for a while anyway," he explained.

I laughed to hide what I was feeling, the same excitement still echoing in my body.

He opened the door, and we started out. We were almost to the door when we heard someone call from the living room.

"My mother," Bernie said under his breath.

A very elegant-looking woman, dressed as if she was on her way to an important ball or just returning from one, came toward us, her long diamond-studded earrings swinging from her lobes. Her styled hair was nearly platinum, the strands so perfectly shaped I wondered if she was wearing a wig. She was tall, with an hourglass figure that seemed held together by wires and pins. When she stepped out of the shadows and drew closer, I saw that her face was so free of wrinkles it looked like a mask Her temples were stiff, pulling back on her eyes as if her skin had shrunk. Her nose was small, but the nostrils were a little too large. The puffiness in her lips made her smile seem painful. It was more of a grimace.

The fingers of her left hand were full of rings. She looked like a walking jewelry store with her diamond necklace, hairpin, and bracelets. I thought she might have taken a bath in expensive perfume. The scent arrived days before she did.

"Who's this, Bernard?" she asked.

"A friend," he said quickly.

"Why don't you introduce me? You've never had a friend over before, and especially not a female friend," she said, her eyes fixed on me.

"This is Crystal," he said. "Crystal, my mother."

"Hello," I said quickly.

"Crystal who?" she asked without replying. "Crystal Morris," Bernie said. "She was just going home."

"Morris? Which Morris is that? Charlie Morris from the advertisement agency?"

"No," Bernie said. "I'm walking her home." He practically lunged at the front door and opened it.

"It's nice to meet you," his mother said as I started after him. "It's about time Bernie brought someone home," she added. She looked as if she could shatter her face by changing expression too rapidly. I gazed back at her once and then hurried to catch up to Bernie, who was already out of the house.

He closed the door behind me and nearly jogged down the walkway.

"Maybe we shouldn't have run out like that, Bernie," I said, catching up. He walked faster.

"All she wants me to do is have girlfriends, listen to rock music, and dress like some teenage movie or television star," he muttered. "Look at her," he said, stopping and gazing back at his house. "If that was your mother, would you want anyone to meet her? She just likes to embarrass me." He started walking again. "It's about time you brought someone home,' " he mimicked. " 'Especially a female friend.'"

"She's probably just worried about you," I offered.

"No, she's not. She's worried about herself, about what it will look like if I'm not a so-called normal young man. Let's not talk about it. It just gets me angry," he said.

We walked silently until we reached my house. It was an overcast night, and there was a chill in the air. Our breath could be seen in vague little puffs. Neither of us was really dressed warmly enough.

"You hold onto these," he said at the door. He handed me the graphs. I hadn't noticed them clutched in his hand.

"We should probably just leave them in your room:' I said.

He shook his head. "Sometimes, when I'm in school, she goes into my room and searches it, looking for something bizarre. I deliberately left a dissected frog reeking from formaldehyde on the table one morning, and she stayed away for a while, but she still spies on me from time to time. I don't want her finding these papers," he said. "She would never understand."

"Okay," I said, taking them. I was certain Karl and Thelma wouldn't understand, either, but I wasn't ready for our experiments to end.

"Good night." He hesitated. "I really enjoyed our experiment:' he said. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow." He turned to leave and then stepped back to kiss me quickly on the cheek again.

I stood there with my hand on my cheek, watching him disappear up the sidewalk. Then I went inside, my brain whirling, a potpourri of emotions making me dizzy. Karl was still up, but Thelma had gone to bed.

"She was very tired tonight. She kept falling asleep in her chair, so I got her to go to bed:' he explained. "How are you doing?"

"Okay," I said.