“From: [email protected]: [email protected]: November 21, 8:25 p.m.Subject: Now I'm SorryAlex,I feel badly.You probably feel worse.My grandmother thinks canned tuna is a disaster waiting to happen. She used to stand in the door of the fridge and make protective hand symbols over my mom's letover tuna casserole. We don't keep Starkist in the house anymore.Have a great TG.-Ella.”

“He's right,you know," Edward was saying almost before I'd made it into my room. I had crept through the house unnecessarily. No one was home."Your assertions have lost a bit of their value these days, Mr. Willing.""You know," he repeated.I tossed my coat onto the bed. The stark black and white of my quilt was broken by a purple stain now, the result of a peaceful interlude with grape juice turning into a gentle wrestling match.The stain was the size of my palm and shaked like, I thought, an alligator. Alex insisted it was a map of Italy. Later, we'd dripped the rest of the juice onto the thick pages of my drawing pad, finding pictures in the splotches like the Rorschach inkblots used in psychology."Well," he'd said in response to my pagoda, antheater, and Viking, "verdict's in.You're nuts."The pictures were tacked to my wall, unaccustomed spots of color. I'd penciled in our choices. Viking (E), pineapple (A). Lantern (E), cheese (A). Crown (E), birthday cake (A) were over my desk, over Edward.I turned on my computer. It binged cheerfully at me. I had mail.From: [email protected]: [email protected]: December 15, 3:50 p.m.Subect: Should you choose to accept...Tuesday. I'll pick you up at 10:00 a.m. Ask no questions. Tell no one.-Alex"Ah, subterfuge" came from over the desk."Shut up, Edward," I said.”

“Dad's in D.C. all week," he said as we climbed out, "so I get to use the garage. Parking's a bitch around here."I didn't know whether to roll my eyes or sympathize."Is your mom home?" I really didn't know how I felt about seeing Karina Romanova in her own home. Well,no.Truth: I was worried how she would feel about seeing me in it."Will she mind my being here?""Why would she?" Alex gave me an odd look as he pushed open a small door onto a wide brick patio. "But no, she's at the studio until midnight. It's just you,me,and the lacrosse team."I could see myself with amazing clarity in the huge glass wall that was the entire back of the house. I was small, dark, and frozen. "You're kidding, right?"Next to mine, Alex's reflection looked twice as big and ust as still. "You're kidding. Right?"I nodded. Clearly not emphatically enough."Christ,Ella. Who do you think I am?"I sighed. Honestly, I didn't know. "I think you're probably a terrific guy, Alex. But let's be truthful here.We don't really know each other.""Oh,come one.We've gone to school together for two and a half years. I've been to Marino's..." He stopped. Sighed. "Okay.Fine.So let's change it. Now." And he unlocked the door to his house.”

“This,bellissima," Nonna began, "is true love story..."The Costas, we were born to the sea and proud, very proud. Son after father after son build their boats and follow the fish.My bisnonno, father of my nonno, is proudest of all. He is the only son of a widowed mother-king of the sea.But he is...ppffftt..." Nonna blew out a breath and fluttered her fingers maybe an inch or two above her own head. "Basso. Piccolo. When he was young, his uncles and cousins at first fear to take him on board.They think the smallest of waves or biggest of tono...tono...What is it?""Tuna," I said."Si. Silly word. A tuna would flip him from the boat. But no one looks down on him. Ah, you laugh, you. Go on, laugh. They are not much bigger than he. So he is little, but he is proud, because his boat sails highest on the waves and soon brings in the most fish. Like gold, it makes him rich. And when a man becomes rich, he must think of marriage, or the village mamas will think of it for him. Capisci?"I smiled. "Yeah, I get it. 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.""Ah,si!" Nonna nodded, delighted. "Austen.So smart.""You know Pride and Prejudice?" I asked. She flicked my ear. "Ow!”

“I kept my head down and my mouth full. I didn't want Frankie's sharp eyes or tongue focused on me any more than necessary. It was a lot easier with Daniel taking up half of the food and most of the air."What about it, Ella?" he asked when everything was gone except the parsley garnish. "When do we get the pleasure of your vocal stylings?""I don't sing.""You mean you won't sng," Sadie corrected. I tried to be charitable about her treason; she goes pretty brainless around Daniel. "Ella sings really well.""I'm sure she does." Daniel tipped his beer glass in my direction. "In fact, I bet she could totally murder 'Don't Stop Believin'." A song that is actually one of my guilty pleasures. I think he probably knew that. I think he probably had himself a lovely chuckle over it.Then he whispered, "Coward."In another story, the plucky little heroine would have slapped both hands onto the table, making it wobble a little on its predicatbly uneven fourth leg. She would then have taken both hands, ripped the long scarf from around her neck and, chin high and scar spotlit, stalked to the dais, leaped up, and slayed the audience with her kick-ass version of "Respect." Or maybe "Single Ladies," for the sheer Yay factor.In this version,I gave Daniel what I hoped was a slayer look and busied myself refolding my napkin.He was,not surprisingly, unfazed. "Can I ask you a question?"I sighed. "Will my answer to that one make any difference?""None whatsoever.""Fine," I grumbled. "Ask." I didn't have to answer.He wasn't my Hobbes."Why are there interstate highways in Hawaii?"I gaped at him. "That's your question?""Nope." He leaned back in his chair, propping one foot on the other knee. "That's a question. My question is this: What's the one thing you should ask yourself before getting involved with someone?""Seriously?""Do I look serious?"Maybe not serious, but vaguely deadly. Still,it was an interesting question, especially coming from Daniel Hobbes. I thought for a second. "'Will he make me happy?'""You think?" Daniel asked, the unfolded himself and got to his feet. "I'm outta here. Who's coming?”

“Mr. Stone is a jackass."That was Alex's greeting when he found me in the hall Friday afternoon."Probably," I agreed, levering myself out of the corner where I'd been waiting, on nervous Hannanda alert, for him to show up. "But I don't think he can help it.""Generous of you." Alex swung his backpack from his left shoulder to his right, then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulled mine out of my hand. I was too surprised to stop him. "Allons-y."We turned a few heads as we went. I would have happily met him a block away from school, but he'd preempted my cowardice, sliding a note into my locker that morning. Front hall, 3:15. I ignored the stares as Alex held the big front door open for me, my heavily inked bag dangling from his wrist. I figured any speculation would last only as long as it would take for us to hit the street in front of the school. By then, at least one "Wait. Wait. Alex Bainbridge left with Freddy Krueger?" would have been met with "Yeah. He's tutoring her in French. Winslow's making him.”

“Nonna is convinced that the ink from tattoos gets way inside and,like the mercury in tinned tuna, causes brain damage.She doesn't know that Leo has a lip print tattooed on his left butt cheek. Now,maybe Leo's not the best argument against ink as brain damager, but heaven help him when someone lets that secret out to Nonna.”