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"Oh it is. Believe me. I've been in a few and none of them was as good as this is already. It has a lot to do with you, Rain. You're really very good."

"Thank you, Audrey. When you're as scared about it as I am, you appreciate that."

"A huh," she said.

She was quiet for a moment.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked her. "If you'd like, you could come over here and have some dinner with me."

"Really? Let me ask my mother," she said jumping at the invitation. I heard the receiver drop to a table and laughed to myself. Moments later, she was back on line. "She said okay. We're just staying at your house though, right?"

"Yes," I said.

"I'll be right there," she said. She didn't even say good-bye.

I couldn't help but marvel at how easy it was to make friends and even become involved in a relationship with these rich white kids. Loneliness knew no boundaries after all. It doesn't care about the color of your skin or the numbers in your bank account. It just waits for its opportunity to crawl inside you and put a shadow over your heart.

Less than fifteen minutes later, I heard the door chimes and greeted Audrey just as her mother drove away.

"Hi," she said. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Come on in. I'll show you around, if you like."

"Oh, you don't have to. I've been in this house before," she said as I closed the door. "It's very nice. The last time I was here, I met Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter and grandson."

"Really? Tell me about them," I urged.

"You've never met them?"

"No. Come on. We'll talk in the kitchen. You can help me cook."

"Cook? You're making your own supper?"

"Yes," I said laughing. She still looked amazed. "It's not brain surgery."

"My mother never lets me make anything-- except brownies once when I was very little."

"I often cooked for my family because Mama was working late or she'd come home tired," I said as we entered the kitchen.

"What are you making tonight?" she asked, looking at the bowls I had out on the counter. She was obviously telling the truth, I thought. Anyone with just the smallest amount of experience in the kitchen would know what I was doing.

"Fried chicken. First, I beat the egg, then I dip the chicken in the egg, the flour and seasoned bread crumbs."

I showed her how to prepare a few pieces.

"What do we do next?"

"We put it in the deep fryer?"

On the stove I had some black-eyed peas.

"You can mash the potatoes. They're already boiled." She looked like she was in heaven helping me.

"I've got to watch the biscuits," I told her. "Roy says I always bake them an inch from burning."

"Roy is your brother?"

"Yes," I said. "Tell me about Mrs. Hudson's grandchildren."