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"Heavenly Father," she prayed, head bowed and hands clasped, "please watch out for Tully Hart and help her through this hard time. Also, please heal her mother's cancer. I know You can help them. Amen." She said a few Hail Marys, and then went back to bed.

Downstairs, she found what she needed: a small statue of the Virgin Mary, a votive candle in a red glass holder, a book of matches, and her grandmother's old rosary beads. Taking everything back up to her room, she created an altar on top of her dresser, and lit the candle.

Kate lay awake long after Tully had left. Finally, she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

But all night she tossed and turned, dreaming about the encounter with Tully, wondering what would happen in the morning. Should she talk to Tully today at school, smile at her? Or was she expected to pretend it had never happened? There were rules to popularity, secret codes written in invisible ink that only girls like Tully could read. All Kate knew was that she didn't want to make a mistake and embarrass herself. She knew that sometimes the popular girls were "secret friends" with nerds; like, they smiled and said hi when they weren't in school or when their parents were friends. Maybe that was how it would be with her and Tully.

Finally, she quit trying to sleep and got up. Putting on her robe, she went downstairs. In the living room, her dad looked up from the newspaper and smiled. "Top of the mornin' to you, Katie Scarlett. Come give your old man a hug."

He tucked a strand of hair around her ear. She could see how tired he looked; he was working so hard, doing double shifts at Boeing so they could afford their yearly family camping trip. "How's school going?"

She plopped into his lap, rested her cheek against the rough wool of his shirt.

It was the same question he always asked. Once, a long time ago, she'd actually answered, said, "Not so good, Dad," and then waited for his advice or comfort or something, but no such words had come. He'd heard what he wanted to hear, not what she'd said. Her mom had said it was because he worked so many hours at the plant.

Kate could have been upset by his distraction, but somehow it had made her love him even more. He never yelled at her or told her to pay attention or reminded her that she was responsible for her own happiness. Those were her mother's words; her dad just quietly went on loving her no matter what.

"Yeah, Scarlett O'Hara and I have a ton in common."

"How could it not be?" he said, kissing her temple. "You're the prettiest girl in town, eh? And your mum named you after one of the great literary heroines of all time."

"Great," she answered, smiling to reinforce the lie.

"You'll see," he said, chuckling. "There's a fair bit of life still ahead of you, missy."

"Ah, Katie," he said. "You're a rare beauty already."

She took those words and tucked them in her pocket like worry stones; every now and again as she got ready for school she felt them, turned them around in her fingers.

By the time she was dressed and ready to go, the house was empty. The Mularkey family bus had left the station.

She looked at him. "Do you think I'll be pretty when I grow up?"

She was so nervous she arrived at the bus stop early. Every minute that passed seemed to last an eternity, but there was still no sign of Tully when the school bus drove up and came to a shuddering stop.

Kate dropped her chin and took a seat in the first row.

All through morning classes, she looked for Tully, but didn't see her. At lunch she hurried past the crowd of popular kids, who were busy cutting to the front of the food line whenever they felt like it, and sat down at one of the long tables at the very end of the cafeteria. On the other side of the room, kids were laughing and talking and shoving each other; these tables in social Siberia were sadly quiet, though. Kate, like the others seated around her, rarely looked up.

Tully.

It was a survival skill the unpopular kids learned early: junior high was like the jungles of Vietnam; it was best to crouch low and keep quiet. So intent was she on her lunch that when someone came up to her and said, "Hey," she practically jumped out of her seat.

Even on this cool May day, she wore a cut-to-there miniskirt, white go-go boots, shiny black panty hose, and a tube top. Several peace-symbol necklaces bounced against her cleavage. Her hair glinted with copper streaks in the light. A huge macramé-knot purse hung against her thigh. "Have you told anyone about last night?"

"So, we're friends, right?"

"No. Of course not."

Kate didn't know which surprised her more: the question or the vulnerability in Tully's eyes. "We're friends."

"Excellent." Tully pulled a package of Twinkies out of her purse, then sat down beside Kate. "Now let's talk about makeup. You need help, and I'm not being a bitch. Really. I just know about fashion. It's a gift. Can I drink your milk? Good. Thanks. Are you gonna eat that banana? I could come to your house after school…"

Kate stood outside the drugstore looking up and down the street for someone who might know her mom. "Are you sure about this?"

The answer was slim comfort, actually. In the day they'd officially been friends, Kate had learned one thing about Tully: she was a girl who made Plans.

"Absolutely."

And today's plan was to make Kate beautiful.

"Don't you trust me?"

There it was, the big question. It was like rolling a Yahtzee: once Tully said it, Kate lost the game. She had to trust her new friend. "Of course I do. It's just that I'm not allowed to wear makeup."

"Believe me, I'm such an expert your mom will never know. Come on."

Tully walked boldly through the drugstore, choosing eye shadow and blush colors that were "right" for Kate, and then -- amazingly -- she paid for everything. When Kate said something, Tully said airily, "We're friends, aren't we?"

On the way out of the store, Tully bumped her, shoulder to shoulder.

"Does she visit you?"

"My gran would freak if she saw this place," Tully said, looking embarrassed. Rhodies the size of hot-air balloons covered the side of the house. "She owns this house, you know."

Kate giggled and bumped her back. They made their way through town and followed the river toward home. All the while, they talked about clothes and music and school. Finally, they turned off the old road and went down Tully's driveway.

"Nah. It's easier to wait."

"My mom to forget about me again." Tully stepped over a mound of newspapers and around a trio of garbage cans, then opened the door. Inside, the smoke in the room was thick.

"For what?"

Mrs. Hart tried to sit up, but obviously she was too weak to manage it. "Hello, girl from nex' door."

Tully grabbed Kate's hand and pulled her through the living room and into her bedroom, then slammed the door shut. She immediately went to her stack of records, pulled out Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and put it on the turntable. When the music started up, she tossed Kate a Tiger Beat and dragged a chair over to the vanity. "You ready?"

"H-hello, Mrs. Hart," Kate said. "I'm Kate from next door."

"Good. Sit down. We'll do your hair first. It needs some highlights. This is exactly what Maureen McCormick uses."

"I read it in last month's Teen magazine."

Kate's nervousness came swooping back. She knew she'd get in trouble for this, but how would she ever make friends or become popular if she didn't take a few risks? "I'm ready."

Tully's mom was in the living room, lying on the sofa, with her eyes half opened.

Kate looked at Tully in the mirror. "How do you know that?"

"I'm guessing she goes to professionals." Kate opened the Tiger Beat and tried to concentrate on the article ("Jack Wild's Dream Date -- It Could Be You!").

"You did?" Tully asked. "Wow. Thanks."

"Hardly any. Now be quiet. I'm reading the instructions again."

Tully separated Kate's hair into strips and began spraying Sun-In onto the pieces. It took almost an hour to get it done to her satisfaction. "You are going to look like Marcia Brady when I'm done."

Tully reached for the blow dryer and turned it on, blasting Kate's hair with heat.

"I got my period," Tully yelled. "So at least assface didn't knock me up."

Kate managed not to make a face. If going bald was the price of being Tully's friend, she'd pay it.

"Take that back. I read the instructions twice."

"Really? That can't be good. And some of your hair is falling out".

"What's it like, being popular?" Kate hadn't meant to ask the question; it just slipped out.

Kate heard the bravado in her friend's voice and saw it in her eyes. "I prayed for you."

"Is there any chance I'm going to end up bald?"

"You'll see. But you'll stay my friend, won't you?"

Kate laughed at that. "Very funny. Hey, that sort of burns."

Tully clicked off the dryer and smiled, but she looked worried again. Maybe it was the smell of burning hair. "Okay. Take a shower and rinse it out."

Kate didn't know what to say to that. To her, praying was like brushing your teeth before bed, just something you did.

"Some is," she admitted.

Tully immediately grabbed her hand and led her back to the chair. "Is your hair falling out?"

Kate did as she was told. A few minutes later, she got out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed again.

Kate couldn't look. She closed her eyes and let Tully's voice meld into the whine of the dryer.

"If you're bald, I'll shave my head. Promise." Tully combed and dried Kate's hair.

"Open your eyes."

Kate looked up slowly. At this distance, she didn't need her glasses, but force of habit made her lean forward. The girl in the mirror had straight streaked blond hair, parted with precision and dried perfectly. For once it looked soft and pretty instead of thin and lank. The white highlights showed off her leaf-green eyes and the hint of pink on her lips. She looked almost pretty. "Wow," she said, too choked up with gratitude to say more.

"I'll always be your friend," Kate said, thinking she'd whispered the promise, but when Tully grinned, she knew she'd been heard.

"Good. Now let's go on the makeup. Have you seen my razor?"

"Wait till you see what mascara and blush can do," Tully said, "and concealer for those zits on your forehead."

"What do you need a razor for?"

Kate didn't even bother to hide her face when she came into the house. That was how confident she felt. For the first time ever, she knew she was beautiful.

"Your eyebrows, silly. Oh, there it is. Close your eyes."

Kate didn't think twice. "Okay."

Her dad was in the living room, sitting in his La-Z-Boy. At Kate's entrance, he looked up. "Good Lord," he said, clanking his drink down on the French provincial end table. "Margie!"

Mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She wore her school-day uniform: striped rust and olive polyester blouse, brown corduroy bell-bottoms, and a wrinkled apron that read: A WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN THE HOUSE… AND THE SENATE. When she saw Kate, she stopped. Slowly, she untied her apron and tossed it on the table.

"Well. Me, too, then. I remember when your Aunt Georgia dyed my hair red. Grandma Peet was livid." She smiled. "But you should have asked. You're still young, Kathleen, no matter what you girls want to be true. Now, what have you done to your eyebrows?"

Sean grumbled and went upstairs.

Kate nodded, trying to hold on to the memory of feeling pretty.

"I'll handle this, Bud," Mom said, frowning at Kate as she crossed the room. "The girl across the street do this to you?"

"Go wash your hands for dinner," Mom said sharply. "Now," she added when he didn't leave.

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

The sudden quiet brought Sean and the dog running into the room, tripping over each other. "Katie looks like a skunk," Sean said. "Pee-ew."

"Did you give her permission to do that to her hair, Margie?" Dad said from the living room.

Mom tried not to smile. "I see. Well, plucking is really the way to go. I should have taught you how already, but I thought you were too young." She looked around for her cigarettes. Finding them on the table, she flipped one out and lit up. "After dinner, I'll show you how. And I suppose a little lip gloss and mascara would be all right for school. I'll show you how to make it look more natural."

"Tully shaved them. Just to give them shape."

Kate couldn't help thinking of the high school party Tully had gone to. "Okay, Mom."

"I love you, too. Now get started on the cornbread. And Katie, I'm glad you made a friend, but no more breaking the rules, okay? That's how young girls get into trouble."

Within a week, Kate became cool by association. Kids raved over her new look and didn't turn away from her in the halls. Being a friend of Tully Hart's meant she was okay.

Even her parents noticed the difference. At dinner, Kate wasn't her usual quiet self. Instead, she couldn't shut up. Story after story spilled out of her. Who was dating whom, who won at tetherball, who got detention for wearing a MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR T-shirt to school, where Tully got her hair cut (in Seattle by a guy named Gene Juarez -- how cool was that?), and what movie was playing at the drive-in this weekend. She was still talking about Tully after dinner, while she and Mom did the dishes.

Kate hugged her mom. "I love you."

"I can't wait for you to meet her. She's super cool. Everyone likes her, even the heads."

Mom set the dry pan down on the speckled Formica counter. "Just do me a favor, Katie. You think for yourself around Tully Hart. I wouldn't want you to follow her into trouble."

"Druggies? Stoners?"

"Heads?"

"Oh." Mom took the glass meatloaf pan from her and dried it. "I've… asked around about this girl, Katie. She tries to buy cigarettes from Alma at the drugstore."

Kate threw the crocheted dishrag in the soapy water. "I can't believe you. What about all your take-a-risk speeches? For years you tell me to make friends, and the second I find someone, you call her a slut."

Kate stormed out of the kitchen. With each step she expected her mother to call her back and ground her, but silence followed her dramatic exit.

"I hardly called her a --"

Upstairs, she went into her room and slammed the door for effect. Then she sat down on her bed and waited. When Mom came in she'd be sorry; for once Kate had been the strong one.

But Mom didn't show, and by ten o'clock, Kate was starting to feel sort of bad. Had she hurt her mom's feelings? She got up, paced the small room.

"She's probably buying them for her mom."

Mom surprised her by laughing. "Okay, no more speeches. Maybe you're too old for that." She paused at the altar on the dresser. "You haven't made one of these since Georgia was in chemo. Who needs our prayers?"

Kate shrugged, but scooted to the left to make room for her mom.

She raced over to the bed and climbed in, trying to look bored. "Yeah?"

"Like I could stop you."

"Tully's mom has cancer and she was ra --" She snapped her mouth shut, horrified by what she'd nearly revealed. For most of her life she'd told her mother everything; now she had a best friend, though, so she'd need to be careful.

Mom sat down on the bed beside Kate, just as they did after every fight. "Cancer? That's quite a load for a girl your age to carry."

Kate couldn't help groaning. Not another life-is speech.

The door opened slowly. Mom stood there, wearing the floor-length red velour robe they'd gotten her for Christmas last year. "May I come in?"

"You could," Mom said quietly. "May I come in?"

"You know, Katie, life is --"

There was a knock at the door.

"You should be."

"You'll love her. I know you will."

"Does she?"

"And you're sorry for being so mean to me, right?"

"I'm too old, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

Mom smoothed the hair off Kate's forehead in a touch that was as familiar as breathing. Kate always felt five years old when her mom did that. "I'm sorry you thought I was judging your friend."

"Tully seems cool with it."

"I'll tell you what: Why don't you invite Tully over for dinner Friday night?"

"How so?"

Kate couldn't help smiling. "Yeah."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'm sure I will," Mom said, kissing her forehead. "'Night."

"She seems cool with everything," Kate said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.

Long after her mother had left and the house had gone quiet for the night, Kate lay there, too wound up to sleep. She couldn't wait to invite Tully for dinner. Afterward, they could watch I Dream of Jeannie, or play Operation, or practice putting on makeup. Maybe Tully would even want to spend the night. They could --

"'Night, Mom."

"Uh. Duh."

-- talk about boys and kissing and --

"You want me to sneak out?"

Tap.

Tap.

Tully was in her backyard, holding a bike beside her. "Come on down," she said, much too loudly, making a hurry gesture with her hand.

She threw the covers back and hurried to the window, shoving it open.

Tap.

Kate sat up. That wasn't a bird on the roof or a mouse in the walls.

You think for yourself around Tully Hart.

Kate had never done anything like this, but she couldn't act like a nerd now. Cool kids broke the rules and sneaked out of the house. Everyone knew that. Everyone knew, too, that trouble could follow. And this was exactly what her mom had been talking about.

Kate didn't care about that. What mattered was Tully.

"I'm on my way." Closing the window, she looked around for clothes. Fortunately, her overalls were in the corner, folded neatly beneath a black sweatshirt. She slipped out of her old Scooby-Doo jammies and dressed quickly, then crept down the hall. As she passed her parents' bedroom, her heart was pounding so fast she felt light-headed. The stairs creaked ominously with every footfall, but finally she made it.

It was a small rock, hitting the glass!

Tully was there, waiting. Beside her was the most amazing bike Kate had ever seen. It had curly handlebars, a tiny kidney-shaped seat on a platform, and a bunch of cables and wires. "Wow," she said. It would take a lot of berry-picking money to get a bike like that.

"It's a ten-speed," Tully said. "My grandma gave it to me last Christmas. You want to ride it?"

At the back door she paused just long enough to think, I could get in trouble for this, and then she opened the door.

They crested the hill as if they were flying. Kate's hair whipped back from her head; tears stung her eyes. All around them black trees whispered in the breeze. Stars glittered in the velvet black sky.

"No way." Kate closed the door quietly behind her. In the carport she found her old pink bicycle with the U-shaped handlebars, flowerdecaled banana seat, and white wicker basket. It was hopelessly uncool; a little girl's bike.

Tully didn't even seem to notice. They mounted up and rode down the wet, bumpy driveway to the paved road. There, they veered left and kept going. At Summer Hill, Tully said, "Watch this. Do what I do."

"That's the point."

Tully leaned back and put her arms out. Laughing, she glanced at Kate. "Try it."

"It's dangerous."

"Come on. Let go, Katie. God hates a coward." Then, quietly, she added, "Trust me."

"I can't. We're going too fast."

Taking a deep breath, she said a prayer and eased her arms out.

Now Kate had no choice. Trust was part of being friends, and Tully wouldn't hang out with a chicken. "Come on," she said to herself, trying to sound stern.

She was flying, sailing through the night sky, down the hill. The air smelled of the riding stable nearby, of horses and sweet hay. She heard Tully laughing beside her, but before she could even smile, something went wrong. Her front tire hit a rock; the bike bucked like a Brahman bull and twisted sideways, catching Tully's tire in its arc.

She screamed, reached for the handlebars, but it was too late. She was in the air, really flying this time. The pavement rushed up, smacked her hard, and she skidded across it, landing in a heap in a muddy ditch.

Tully rolled across the asphalt and slammed into her. The bikes clattered to the ground.

Dazed, Kate stared up at the night sky. Every part of her hurt. Her left ankle might be broken. It felt swollen, tender. She could feel where the road had ripped off her skin in patches.

"Are you kidding? We could have been killed."

"That was incredible," Tully said, laughing.

Kate winced in pain as she tried to get up. "We should get out of this ditch. A car could come along --"

"Exactly."

"But wasn't that cool? Wait till we tell the kids about this."

They helped each other to their feet and retrieved their bikes. By the time they were across the road, Kate barely noticed where she was hurt. She felt like a different girl suddenly -- bolder, braver, willing to try anything. So what if trouble followed a night like this? What was a sprained ankle or a bloody knee next to an adventure? For the past two years she'd followed all the rules and stayed home on weekend nights. No more.

And suddenly Kate was laughing, too.

The kids at school. This would be a story, and Kate would be one of the stars in it. People would listen raptly, ooh and aah, say things like, You sneaked out? Summer Hill without hands? It's gotta be a lie…

Tully sat down by a decaying, moss-covered nurse log in a place where the grass was as thick as shag carpeting.

They left their bikes by the side of the road and limped toward the river. In the moonlight, everything looked milky and beautiful -- the silvery waves, the jagged rocks along the shore.

Kate sat down beside her, so close their knees were almost touching. Together they stared up at the star-spangled sky. The song of the river floated toward them, sounded like a young girl's laugh. Just now, with the world so still and silent, it was as if the breeze had drawn in its cool breath and left them all alone in this place that until right now had been just another bend in a river that flooded every autumn.

"I wonder who named our street," Tully said. "I haven't seen any fireflies."

"Or maybe it's magic. This could be a magical street." Tully turned toward her. "That could mean we were meant to be friends."

Kate shrugged. "Over by the old bridge is Missouri Street. Maybe some pioneer was homesick. Or lost."

Kate took a tiny drag, coughed hard, and said, "Do you think about it a lot?"

"We can go all kinds of places when we grow up."

Kate heard something in her friend's voice, a sadness she didn't understand. She turned sideways. Tully was staring up at the sky.

"If my mom were normal -- not sick, I mean -- I could have told her about what happened to me at the party."

"You want a drag?"

Kate was careful not to make a face about the smoking.

"Now it's our road."

Kate wished she knew what to say. "What about your dad? Can you talk to him?"

"Are you thinking about your mom?" Kate asked tentatively.

Kate knew she had no choice. "Uh. Sure."

Tully leaned back against the log, taking the cigarette again. After a long pause, she said, "I have nightmares about it."

"I try not to think about her." There was a long pause, then she dug into her pocket for a Virginia Slims cigarette and lit up.

Kate shivered at the power of that. "Before you moved here, I thought it was just a road that went nowhere."

"Places don't matter," Tully said.

Her mother shrugged. "So?"

She slammed the book down and went out into the living room, where her mother sat sprawled on the sofa, taking a bong hit as she watched Happy Days.

Sighing dramatically, Cloud leaned over and put her bong beneath the end table beside the couch. Only a blind person would miss it, but that was as good as Cloud was likely to do.

Kate smiled. The sharp tang of smoke filled the air between them, stung her eyes, but she didn't care. What mattered was being here, with her new best friend. "That's what friends are for."

"Hide your bong."

"That's harsh."

Tully wouldn't look at her. "I don't think she even knows who he is." Her voice fell. "Or he heard about me and ran."

"Life is harsh. Besides, I don't need them. I've got you, Katie. You're the one that helped me through it."

"You're right by the door."

Tully smoothed the hair away from her face and opened the door.

That next night Tully was on the last chapter of The Outsiders when she heard her mother yelling through the house. "Tully! Answer the damn door."

A small, dark-haired woman stood there, holding a foil-covered casserole dish. Electric-blue eye shadow accentuated her brown eyes, and rose-hued blush -- applied with too heavy a hand -- created the illusion of sharp cheekbones in her round face. "You must be Tully," the woman said in a voice that was higher somehow than expected. It was a girl's voice, full of enthusiasm, and it matched the sparkle in her eyes. "I'm Kate's mom. Sorry to come without calling, but your line has been busy."

Tully pictured the phone by her mother's bed off the hook. "Oh."

"I brought you and your mom a tuna casserole for dinner. I imagine she doesn't feel much like cooking. My sister had cancer a few years ago, so I know the drill." She smiled and stood there. Finally, her smile faded. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Cloud lay on the sofa, sort of spread-eagled; she had a pile of marijuana on her stomach. Smiling blearily, she tried to sit up and failed. The failure made her shoot out a few swear words and then laugh. The whole house reeked of pot.

Tully froze. This is going to be bad, she thought. "Um… sure."

"Thank you." Mrs. Mularkey moved past her and went into the house.

"I'm Cloud," Tully's mother said, trying again to sit up. "It's cool to meet you."

Mrs. Mularkey came to a stop. Confusion pleated her forehead. "I'm Margie from next door," she said.

Mrs. Mularkey turned to look at Tully, who wanted to curl up and die.

For a terrible, awkward moment, they just stared at each other. Tully had no doubt at all that Mrs. Mularkey's sharp eyes saw everything -- the bong under the end table, the bag of Maui-wowie on the floor, the overturned, empty wineglass, and the pizza boxes on the table. "Also, I wanted to let you know that I'm home most days, and I'd be happy to drive you to the doctor's office or run errands. I know how chemo can make you feel."

Cloud frowned blearily. "Who's got cancer?"

"And you."

Tully practically ran for the kitchen. In that pink hell, junk food wrappers covered the table, dirty dishes clogged the sink, and overflowing ashtrays were everywhere; more evidence of her pathetic life for her best friend's mother to see.

"Tully, show our cool neighbor with the food where the kitchen is."

"She's been praying for your mother to recover from her cancer. She even has a little altar set up in her room."

Here it comes. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Mularkey walked past her, bent over the oven, put the casserole onto the rack, then shut the door with her hip and then turned to study Tully. "My Katie is a good girl," she said at last.

"Do you think lying to your friends is okay?"

Tully looked at the floor, too ashamed to answer. How could she explain why she'd lied? No answer would be good enough, not for a mother like Mrs. Mularkey, who loved her kids. At that, a wave of jealousy joined the shame running through her. Maybe if Tully had had a mother who loved her she wouldn't find it so easy -- so necessary -- to lie in the first place. And now she'd lose the one thing that mattered to her: Katie.

"No, ma'am." So intently was she staring at the floor that she was startled by a gentle touch on her chin that forced her to look up.

"Are you going to be a good friend to Kate? Or the kind that leads her to trouble?"

"You do it, don't you?" Mrs. Mularkey said quietly, as if she worried that Cloud might be eavesdropping. "Pay the bills, grocery-shop, clean the house. Who pays for everything?"

"I'd never hurt Katie." Tully wanted to say more, maybe fall to her knees and swear to be a good person, but she was so close to tears she didn't dare move. She stared into Mrs. Mularkey's dark eyes and saw something she never expected: understanding.

Tully swallowed hard. No one had ever seen through her life so clearly before. "My grandmother sends a check every week."

In the living room, Cloud stumbled over to the television and changed the channel. Tully could see the screen through the rubble of the messy room: Jean Enersen was reporting on the day's top story.

"My dad was a fall-down drunk and the whole town knew it," Mrs. Mularkey said in a soft voice that matched the look in her eyes. "He was mean, too. Friday and Saturday nights, my sister, Georgia, would have to go to the tavern and drag him home. All the way out of the bar he'd be smacking her and calling her names. She was like one of those rodeo clowns, always stepping between the bull and the cowboy. By the end of my junior year I figured out why she ran with the fast crowd and drank too much."

"How do I know what I want?"

"She didn't want people to look at her like she was pitiful."

Mrs. Mularkey nodded. "She hated that look. What matters, though, isn't other people. That's what I learned. Who your mom is and how she lives her life isn't a reflection of you. You can make your own choices. And there's nothing for you to be ashamed of. But you'll have to dream big, Tully." She glanced through the open door to the living room. "Like that Jean Enersen on the TV there. A woman who gets to a place like that in her life knows how to go after what she wants."

"You keep your eyes open and do the right thing. Go to college. And trust your friends."

"I do trust Kate."

Tully took a deep breath and released it. Though telling the truth went against every instinct she had, she had no choice, really. She wanted Mrs. Mularkey to be proud of her. "Okay."

"So you'll tell her the truth?"

"What if I just promise --"

"One of us is going to tell her, Tully. It should be you."

"Good. So I'll see you for dinner tomorrow night. Five o'clock. It'll be your chance to start over."

The next night, Tully changed her clothes at least four times, trying to find exactly the right outfit. By the time she was actually ready, she was so late that she had to run all the way across the street and up the hill.

Kate's mom opened the door. She wore a pair of purple gabardine bell-bottoms and a striped V-neck sweater with angel sleeves. Smiling, she said, "I warn you, it's loud and crazy in here."

"I love loud and crazy," Tully said.

"Bud?" Mrs. Mularkey said to the beefy, dark-haired man sitting in the recliner. "This is Tully Hart from next door."

"Then you'll fit right in." Mrs. Mularkey put an arm around Tully's shoulder and led her toward the beige-walled living room with its moss-green shag carpeting, bright red sofa, and black recliner. A small gold-framed photo of Jesus and another of Elvis were the only decorations on the walls, but dozens of family pictures cluttered the top of the console TV. Tully couldn't help thinking of the TV in her house; its top was covered with overflowing ashtrays and empty cigarette packs, but no family photos.

Mrs. Mularkey patted her shoulder. "Dinner's not till six. Katie's upstairs in her room. It's the one at the very top of the stairs. I'm sure you girls have plenty to talk about."

"It's nice to be here."

"Good. Now go." With a last smile, Mrs. Mularkey walked into the living room.

Tully got the message and nodded, unable to rouse her voice. Now that she was here, in this warm house that smelled of home-cooked meals, standing shoulder to shoulder with the world's most perfect mom, she couldn't imagine losing it all, becoming unwelcome. "I'll never lie to her again," she promised.

Mr. Mularkey smiled at her and put down his drink. "Well, well. So you're the one we've been hearin' about. It's nice to have you here, Tully."

Mr. Mularkey put an arm around his wife and drew her into the La-Z-Boy with him. Immediately they bent their heads together.

Tully felt a longing so sharp and unexpected, she couldn't move. Everything would have been different for her if she'd had a family like this. She didn't want to turn away from it just yet. "Are you watching the news?"

Mr. Mularkey looked up. "We never miss it."

"I'm going to be a reporter," Tully said suddenly.

Mrs. Mularkey smiled. "Jean Enersen is changing the world. She's one of the first women to anchor a nightly news program."

"There you are," Kate said suddenly, coming up beside her. "Nice of everyone to tell me you were here," she said loudly.

"That's wonderful," Mr. Mularkey said.

Mrs. Mularkey beamed at that. In her smile, Tully saw everything that had been missing in her life. "Isn't that a grand dream, Katie?"

Kate looked confused for a moment. Then she hooked her arm through Tully's and pulled her away from the living room and up the stairs. In her small attic bedroom, Kate went to the record player and flipped through a small stack of records. By the time she'd chosen one -- Carole King's Tapestry -- and put it on, Tully was at the window, staring out at the lavender evening.

"I was just telling your mom and dad that I'm going to be a news reporter," Tully said.

The surge of adrenaline she'd gotten from her announcement faded, leaving a quiet kind of sadness behind. She knew what she had to do now, but the thought of it made her sick.

"I got the new Seventeen and Tiger Beat," Kate said, stretching out on the blue shag carpeting. "You want to read 'em? We can take the 'Can You Be Tony DeFranco's Girlfriend?' quiz."

Tell her the truth.

Kate laughed. "That's true. Okay. I'll be a reporter, too."

"I heard he lied to his girlfriend," Tully said, daring a sideways glance.

"I don't know --"

If you don't, Mrs. Mularkey will.

"When we get famous, we'll tell Mike Wallace we couldn't have done it without each other."

"I hate liars." Kate turned the page. "Are you really going to be a news reporter? You never told me that."

"Me?"

"We'll be a team like Woodward and Bernstein, only with better clothes. And prettier."

"Jan-Michael Vincent is so foxy," Kate said, flipping to a picture of the actor.

Tully bumped her. "Yes, you do. Mrs. Ramsdale told the whole class that you're an excellent writer."

Tully lay down beside her. "Sure."

"Yeah," Tully said, really imagining it for the first time. Maybe she could be famous. Then everyone would admire her. "You'll have to be one, too, though. 'Cause we do everything together."

"Hey, Mom," Kate said, putting away the last white CorningWare plate, "Tully and me are going to ride our bikes down to the park, okay?"

"Aww, Mom --"

After that, they fell silent, flipping through the magazines. Tully tried twice to bring up the subject of her mother, but both times Kate interrupted her, and then someone was yelling, "Dinner," and her chance for coming clean had slipped away.

"Tully and I," her mother answered, reaching down into the magazine pouch of the La-Z-Boy's arm for the TV guide. "And be back by eight."

"Eight," her father said from the living room.

All through the best meal of her life, she felt the weight of her lie. By the time they'd cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes, she was stretched to the breaking point. Even dreaming about fame on television couldn't ease her nerves.

They rode at a breakneck speed down the bumpy county road, laughing all the way. At Summer Hill, Tully flung her arms out and Kate followed.

Kate looked at Tully. "They treat me like I'm a baby."

"You don't know how lucky you are. Come on, let's get our bikes."

When they got to the river park, they ditched their bikes in the trees and lay on the grass, side by side, staring up at the sky, listening to the river gurgling against the rocks.

"My mom doesn't have cancer. She's a pothead."

"Your mom smokes dope. Yeah, right."

"It's true. She's always high."

"No," Tully said. "You don't know."

Kate turned to her. "Really?"

"Really."

"Are you kidding? You should have seen what my mom wore out to dinner last --"

Tully could barely maintain eye contact, she was so ashamed. "I didn't mean to."

"You don't know how it feels to be embarrassed by your mom."

Tully knew what Kate was asking of her; she wanted the truth that had spawned the lie, but Tully didn't know if she could do it, turn all her pain into words and pass them out like cards. All her life she'd kept these secrets close. If she told Kate the reality and then lost her as a friend, it would be unbearable.

"I have something to tell you," Tully said in a rush.

"People don't lie accidentally. It's not like tripping over a crack in the sidewalk."

"Tell me."

"What?"

"You lied to me?"

Tully finally looked at her. "I wanted you to like me."

Then again, if she didn't tell the truth, she'd lose the friendship for sure.

"I don't understand."

"How can a mother do that?"

"I was two years old," she finally said, "when my mom first dumped me at my grandparents' house. She went to town for milk and came back when I was four. When I was ten, she showed up again and I thought it meant she loved me. That time she let go of me in a crowd. The next time I saw her I was fourteen. My gran's letting us live in this house and sending us money every week. That'll last until my mom bails again -- which she will do."

"Of course you don't. My mom isn't like yours. This is the longest amount of time I've ever spent with her. Sooner or later she'll get bored and move on without me."

Tully shrugged. "I think there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you. She's the loser. But I still don't get why you lied to me."

"You were worried about me?" Kate burst out laughing. Tully was just about to ask her what was so funny when she sobered and said, "No more lies, right?"

Tully felt an emotion open up inside her like some exotic flower. She could practically smell its honeyed scent in the air. For the first time in her life, she felt totally safe with someone. "Forever," she promised. "No matter what."

"You mean you'll always be there for me?"

"Absolutely."

"We'll be best friends forever," Kate said earnestly. "Okay?"

"Always," Kate answered. "No matter what."

She and Tully rode their bikes all over the valley and spent hours inner-tubing down the Pilchuck River. In the late afternoons, they stretched out on tiny towels, wearing neon-colored crocheted bikinis, their skin slick with a mixture of baby oil and iodine, listening to Top 40 music on the transistor radio they never left behind. They talked about everything: fashion, music, boys, the war and what was still going on over there, what it would be like to be a reporting duo, movies. Nothing was off-limits; no question couldn't be volleyed over the net. Now it was late August and they were in Kate's bedroom, packing makeup for their trip to the fair. As usual, Kate had to change clothes and put on makeup after she left the house. If she wanted to look cool, anyway. Her mom still thought she was too young for everything. "You got your tube top?" Tully asked.

Kate would always remember the summer after eighth grade as one of the best times of her life. Every weekday, she rushed through her morning chores without complaint and babysat her brother until three o'clock, when her mom came home from running errands and volunteering on the 4-H council. After that, Kate was free. Weekends were, for the most part, her own.

Grinning at their own brilliant plan, they headed downstairs, where Dad was sitting on the sofa, watching television.

It was what he always said now, ever since girls had started disappearing in Seattle. The news was calling the killer "Ted" these days because some girl at Lake Sammamish State Park had actually gotten away and given a description and his first name to the police. Girls all across the state were terrified. You couldn't see a yellow VW bug without worrying that it was Ted's car.

"Got it."

"We're going to the fair now," Kate said, thankful that her mother wasn't here. Mom would notice the bag that was too big for the county fair. Her X-ray vision would probably see through the macramé exterior to the clothes, shoes, and makeup within.

"We'll be super careful," Tully said, smiling. She loved it when Kate's parents worried about them.

"Be careful, you two," he said without looking up.

Kate crossed the room to kiss her dad goodbye. He curled an arm around her and handed her a ten-dollar bill. "Have fun."

"Thanks, Daddy."

"You worry too much about boys."

A policeman was waiting for them in the living room.

Suddenly Tully stopped.

When he saw them, his fleshy face pleated into clownlike folds. "Hello, girls. I'm Officer Dan Myers."

"Big whoop. I'm taller."

"What's the matter?"

She and Tully headed down the driveway, swinging their bags beside them.

Tully grabbed Kate's hand and practically dragged her down the driveway, across the street, and to the front door, which stood open.

Then she noticed the police car parked in Tully's driveway.

"Oh, no," Tully whispered.

Kate bumped her friend, hip to hip. "He has a crush on you."

"Jeez, Tully, be a spaz, why don'tcha? I almost fell over --"

"There was a spotted owl protest up by Lake Quinault that got out of hand yesterday. Your mother and several others staged a sit-in that cost Weyerhaeuser a full day's work. Worse, someone dropped a cigarette in the woods." He paused. "They just got the fire under control."

"What did she do this time?" Tully asked.

"Do you think Kenny Markson will be at the fair?" Kate asked.

"Her lawyer is seeking voluntary treatment for drug addiction. If she's lucky, she'll be in the hospital for a while. If not…" He let the sentence trail off.

"Let me guess: she's going to jail."

Kate ran after her. "You can't go!"

Kate didn't understand what was happening. She turned to her friend. "Tully?"

The officer nodded. "She's expecting you. Do you need help packing?"

"Has someone called my grandmother?"

There was a terrible blankness in Tully's brown eyes, and Kate knew that this was big, whatever it was. "I have to go back to my grandma's," Tully said, then she walked past Kate and went into her bedroom.

Tully pulled a suitcase out of the closet and flipped it open. "I don't have any choice."

Tully paused in her packing and looked at Kate. "You can't fix this," she said softly, sounding like a grown-up, tired and broken. For the first time, Kate understood the stories about Tully's loser mom. They'd laughed about Cloud, made jokes about her drug use and her fashion sense and her various stories, but it wasn't funny. And Tully had known this would happen.

"I'll make your mother come back. I'll tell her --"

"Always," was all Kate could say.

Tully finished packing and locked up her suitcase. Saying nothing, she headed back to the living room. On the radio "American Pie" was playing, and Kate wondered if she'd ever be able to listen to that song again without remembering this moment. The day the music died. She followed Tully out to the driveway. There, they clung to each other until Officer Dan gently pulled Tully away.

"Promise me," Tully said, her voice cracking, "that we'll always be best friends."

Kate couldn't even wave goodbye. She just stood there in the driveway, numb, with tears streaming down her cheeks, watching her best friend leave.