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her eyes.

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  “Oh-ho! Too good to dish with the rest of us?” Kate teased, flicking

  the condensed water from the side of her glass in Helen’s

  direction.

  Helen play-shrieked, and then had to leave Kate for a moment to

  ring up a few customers. As soon as she finished the transactions,

  she came back and continued the conversation.

  “No. I just don’t think it’s that strange for a big family to buy a

  big property. Especially if they’re going to live in it year-round. It

  makes more sense than some old wealthy couple buying a summer

  home that’s so huge they get lost on the way to the mailbox.”

  “True,” Kate conceded. “But I really thought you’d be more interested

  in the Delos family. You’ll be graduating with a few of them.”

  Helen stood there as Delos ran around her head. The name

  meant nothing to her. How could it? But some echoey part of her

  brain kept repeating “Delos” over and over.

  “Lennie? Where’d you go?” Kate asked. She was interrupted by

  the first members of the book club coming early, wound-up and

  already in the throes of wild speculation.

  Kate’s prediction was right. The Unbearable Lightness of Being

  was no match for the arrival of new year-rounders, especially since

  the rumor mill had revealed that they were moving here from

  Spain. Apparently, they were Boston natives who had moved to

  Europe three years ago in order to be closer to their extended family,

  but now, suddenly, they’d decided to move back. It was the

  “suddenly” part that everyone spent the most time discussing. The

  school secretary had hinted to a few of the book club members that

  the kids had been enrolled so far past the normal date that the parents

  had practically had to bribe their way in, and all sorts of special

  agreements had to be made to ship their furniture over in time

  for their arrival. It seemed like the Delos family had left Spain in a

  hurry, and the book club agreed that there must have been some

  kind of falling-out with their cousins.

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  The one thing Helen could confidently gather from all the chatter

  was that the Delos family was rather unconventional. There were

  two fathers who were brothers, their younger sister, one mother

  (one of the fathers was a widower), and five kids, all living together

  on the property. The entire family was supposed to be unbelievably

  smart and beautiful and wealthy. Helen rolled her eyes when she

  heard the parts of the gossip that elevated the Delos family to

  mythic proportions. In fact, she could barely stand it.

  Helen tried to stay behind the register and ignore the excited

  whispering, but it was impossible. Every time she heard one of the

  members of the Delos family mentioned by name, it drew her attention

  as if it had been shouted, irritating her. She left the register

  and went over to the magazine rack, straightening the shelves just

  to give her hands something to do. Even so, she couldn’t help but

  hear how scandalized the book club was to find out that Cassandra

  Delos, who was thirteen, had skipped a grade and was going to be

  attending high school. She was supposed to be exceptionally

  bright, but on the whole, the book club disapproved of children

  skipping grades, probably because none of their children had ever

  managed it.

  They don’t like to be separated, Helen thought. It’s safer if they

  stick together. That’s the real reason why Cassandra skipped a

  grade.

  Helen had no idea where the thought had come from, but she

  knew it was true. She also knew she had to get as far away from the

  gossip as she could or she was going to start yelling at Kate’s

  friends. She needed to make herself as busy as possible.

  As she wiped down the shelves and stocked the candy jars, she

  mentally ticked the kids off in her head. Hector is a year older

  than Jason and Ariadne, who are twins. Lucas and Cassandra

  are brother and sister, cousins to the other three.

  She changed the water for the flowers and rang up a few customers.

  Hector wouldn’t be there the first day of school because he

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  was still in Spain with his aunt Pandora, though no one in town

  knew why.

  Helen pulled on a pair of shoulder-length rubber gloves, a long

  apron, and dug through the garbage for stray recycling items. Lucas,

  Jason, and Ariadne are all going to be in my grade. So I’m

  surrounded.

  She went to the back kitchen and put a load in the industrial

  dishwasher. She mopped the floors and started counting the

  money. Lucas is such a stupid name. It’s all wrong. It sticks out

  like a sore thumb.

  “Lennie?”

  “What! Dad! Can’t you see I’m counting?” Helen said, slamming

  her hands down on the counter so hard she made a stack of quarters

  jump. Jerry held up his hands in a placating gesture.

  “It’s the first day of school tomorrow,” he reminded her in his

  most reasonable voice.

  “I know,” she responded blankly, still unaccountably irritable but

  trying not to take it out on her father.

  “It’s almost eleven, honey,” he said. Kate came out from the back

  to check on the noise.

  “You’re still here? I’m really sorry, Jerry,” she said, looking perplexed.

  “Helen, I told you to lock the front and go home at nine.”

  They both stared at Helen, who had arranged every bill and every

  coin in neat stacks.

  “I got sidetracked,” Helen said lamely.

  After sharing a worried glance with Jerry, Kate took over counting

  the change and sent them home. Still in a daze, Helen gave

  Kate a kiss good-bye and tried to figure out how she had missed

  out on the last three hours of her life.

  Jerry put Helen’s bike on the back of the Pig and started the engine

  without a word. He glanced over at her a few times as they

  drove home, but he didn’t say anything until they parked in the

  driveway.

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  “Did you eat?” he asked softly, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t . . . yes?” Helen had no idea what or when she’d last

  eaten. She vaguely remembered Kate cutting her some cherries.

  “Are you nervous about the first day of school? Junior year’s a big

  one.”

  “I guess I must be,” she said absentmindedly. Jerry glanced over

  at her and bit his lower lip. He exhaled before speaking.

  “I’ve been thinking maybe you should talk to Dr. Cunningham

  about those phobia pills. You know, the kind for people who have a

  hard time in crowds? Agoraphobia! That’s what it’s called,” he

  burst out, remembering. “Do you think that could help you?”

  Helen smiled and ran the charm of her necklace along its chain.

  “I don’t think so, Dad. I’m not afraid of strangers, I’m just shy.”

  She knew she was lying. It wasn’t just that she was shy. Any time

  she extended herself and attracted attention, even accidentally, her

  stomach hurt so badly it felt almost like the stomach flu or menstrual

  cramps—really bad menstrual cramps—but she’d sooner

 
light her hair on fire than tell her father that.

  “And you’re okay with that? I know you’d never ask, but do you

  want help? Because I think this is holding you back. . . .” Jerry said,

  starting in on one of their oldest fights.

  Helen cut him off at the pass. “I’m fine! Really. I don’t want to

  talk to Dr. Cunningham, I don’t want drugs. I just want to go inside

  and eat,” she said in a rush. She got out of the Jeep.

  Her father watched her with a small smile as she plucked her

  heavy, old-fashioned bike off the rack on the back of the Jeep and

  placed it on the ground. She rang the bell on her handlebar jauntily

  and gave her dad a grin.

  “See, I’m just peachy,” she said.

  “If you knew how hard what you just did would be for an average

  girl your age, you’d get what I’m saying. You aren’t average, Helen.

  You try to come off that way, but you’re not. You’re like her,” he

  said, his voice drifting off.

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  For the thousandth time Helen cursed the mother she didn’t remember

  for breaking her father’s sweet heart. How could anyone

  leave such a good guy without so much as a good-bye? Without so

  much as a photo to remember her by?

  “You win! I’m not average, I’m special—just like everyone else,”

  Helen teased, anxious to cheer him up. She nudged him with her

  hip as she walked past him, wheeling her bike into the garage.

  “Now, what is there to eat? I’m starving, and it’s your week to be

  kitchen slave.”

  20/395

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  .....................................................................

  Chapter Two

  Still without her own car, Helen had to ride her bike to

  school the next morning. Normally at a quarter to eight, it

  would be cool out, even a little chilly with the wind blowing

  off the water, but as soon as she woke up, Helen could

  feel the hot, humid air lying on her body like a wet fur coat.

  She had kicked her sheets off in the middle of the night, wriggled

  out of her T-shirt, drank the entire glass of water on her nightstand,

  and still she woke up exhausted by the heat. It was very unisland

  weather, and Helen absolutely did not want to get up and go

  to school.

  She pedaled slowly in an attempt to avoid spending the rest of

  the day smelling like phys ed. She didn’t usually sweat much, but

  she’d woken up so lethargic that morning she couldn’t remember if

  she had put on deodorant. She flapped her elbows like chicken

  wings trying to catch a whiff of herself as she rode, and was relieved

  to smell the fruity-powdery scent of some kind of protection.

  It was faint, so she must have put it on yesterday, but it only

  needed to hold on until track practice after school. Which would be

  a miracle, but oh well.

  As she cruised down Surfside Road she could feel the baby hairs

  around her face pulling loose in the wind and sticking to her

  cheeks and forehead. It was a short ride from her house to school,

  but in the humidity, her carefully arranged first-day-of-school

  hairdo was a big old mess by the time she locked her crummy bike

  to the rack. She only locked it out of tourist-season habit and not

  because anyone at school would deign to steal it. Which was good

  because she also had a crummy lock.

  She pulled her ruined hair out of its bonds, ran her fingers

  through the worst of the tangles, and retied it, this time settling for

  a boring, low ponytail. With a resigned sigh she swung her book

  bag over one shoulder and her gym bag over the other. She bent

  her head and slouched her way toward the front door.

  She got there just a second before Gretchen Clifford, and was obliged

  to hold the door open for her.

  “Thanks, freak. Try not to rip it off the hinges, will you?”

  Gretchen said archly, breezing past Helen.

  Helen stood stupidly at the top of the steps, holding the door

  open for other students, who walked past her like she worked

  there. Nantucket was a small island, and everyone knew each other

  painfully well, but sometimes Helen wished Gretchen knew a little

  bit less about her. They’d been best friends up until fifth grade,

  when Helen, Gretchen, and Claire were playing hide-and-seek at

  Gretchen’s house, and Helen accidentally knocked the bathroom

  door off its hinges while Gretchen was using it. Helen had tried to

  apologize, but the next day Gretchen started looking at her funny

  and calling her a freak. Ever since then it seemed like she’d gone

  out of her way to make Helen’s life suck. It didn’t help matters that

  Gretchen now ran with the popular crowd, while Helen hid among

  the braniacs.

  She wanted to snap back at Gretchen, say something clever like

  Claire would, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she

  flipped the doorstop down with her toe to leave the door propped

  open for everyone else. Another year of fading into the background

  had officially begun.

  Helen had Mr. Hergeshimer for homeroom. He was the head of

  the English department, and had mad style for a guy in his fifties.

  He wore silk cravats in warm weather, flashy colored cashmere

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  scarves when it was cold, and drove a vintage convertible Alfa

  Romeo. The guy had buckets of money and didn’t need to work,

  but he taught high school, anyway. He said he did it because he

  didn’t want to be forced to deal with illiterate heathens everywhere

  he went. That was his story, anyway. Personally, Helen believed he

  taught because he absolutely loved it. Some of the other students

  didn’t get him and said he was a wannabe British snob, but Helen

  thought he was one of the best teachers she’d probably ever have.

  “Miss Hamilton,” he said broadly as Helen stepped through the

  door, the bell ringing at exactly the same time. “Punctual as usual.

  I’m certain you will be taking the seat next to your cohort, but first,

  a warning. Any exercise of that talent for which one of you earned

  the sobriquet Giggles and I shall separate you.”

  “Sure thing, Hergie,” chirped Claire. Helen slid into the desk next

  to her. Hergie rolled his eyes at Claire’s mild disrespect, but he was

  pleased.

  “It is gratifying to know that at least one of my students knows

  that ‘sobriquet’ is a synonym for ‘nickname,’ no matter how impertinent

  her delivery. Now, students: another warning. As you are

  preparing for your SATs this year, I shall expect you all to be ready

  to give me the definition of a new and exciting word every

  morning.”

  The class groaned. Only Mr. Hergeshimer could be sadistic

  enough to give them homework for homeroom. It was against the

  natural order.

  “Can impertinent be the word we learn for tomorrow?” asked

  Zach Brant anxiously.

  Zach was usually anxious about something, and he had been

  since kindergarten. Sitting next to Zach was Matt Millis, who

  looked over at Zach and shook his head as if to say, “I wouldn’t try

&
nbsp; that if I were you.”

  Matt, Zach, and Claire were the AP kids. They were all friends,

  but as they got older they were starting to realize only one of them

  23/395

  could be valedictorian and get into Harvard. Helen stayed out of

  the competition, especially because she had started liking Zach less

  and less the past few years. Ever since his father became the football

  coach and starting pushing Zach to be number one both on the

  field and in the classroom, Zach had become so competitive that

  Helen could barely stand to be around him anymore.

  A part of her felt bad for him. She would have pitied him more if

  he wasn’t so combative toward her. Zach had to be everything all

  the time—president of this club, captain of that team, the guy with

  all the gossip—but he never looked like he was enjoying any of it.

  Claire insisted that Zach was secretly in love with Helen, but Helen

  didn’t believe it for a second; in fact, sometimes she felt like Zach

  hated her, and that bothered her. He used to share his animal

  crackers with her during recess in the first grade, and now he

  looked for any opportunity to pick a fight with her. When did

  everything get so complicated, and why couldn’t they all just be

  friends like they were in grade school?

  “Mr. Brant,” Mr. Hergeshimer enunciated. “You may use ‘impertinent’

  as your word if you wish, but from someone of your mental

  faculties I shall also be expecting something more. Perhaps an essay

  on an example of impertinence in English literature?” He nodded.

  “Yes, five pages on Salinger’s use of impertinence in his controversial

  Catcher in the Rye by Monday, please.”

  Helen could practically smell the palms of Zach’s hands clam up

  from two seats away. Hergie’s powers for giving extra reading to

  smart-ass students were legendary, and he seemed determined to

  make an example out of Zach on the first day. Helen thanked her

  lucky stars Hergie hadn’t picked on her.

  She’d rejoiced too soon. After Mr. Hergeshimer handed out the

  schedules, he called Helen up to his desk. He told the other students

  to speak freely, and they immediately launched into excited

  first-day-of-school chatter. Hergie had Helen pull up a chair next

  to him instead of making her stand and talk across his desk.

  24/395

  Apparently, he didn’t want any of the other students to hear what

  he was going to say. That put Helen a little more at ease, but not