"How much do any of us really know about Pamela, anyway?" Lila wondered out loud. "I mean, has anybody actually talked to her, tried to get to know her? Or have we all just assumed that her 'reputation' tells us everything we need to know?"

  "I haven't said a single word to her," Amy confessed remorsefully. "So much for the sensitivity I've supposedly learned being a Project Youth volunteer!" She bit her lip. "What do you think, Li? Is it too late to try to make it up to her, maybe even get her and Bruce back together?"

  Lila narrowed her eyes, gazing at Pamela. She thought about Gil Harding in the courtroom, coming forward at the last minute to accept the blame for the car crash and Sam's death; she thought about her mother, flying halfway around the world to be with her, after sixteen years of silence. "No," Lila said at last. "It's not too late. It's never too late."

  "These are the children you'll be working with, Pamela," said Carla, the coordinator of Project Youth's after-school program for kids whose parents worked. "Danny Lee, Rosita DeAngelis, Billy Barstow, Jane Piper, and Amanda Horowitz." Carla smiled at the five children. "And this is Pamela Robertson," she told them. "She's a junior at Sweet Valley High, and she'll be with you on Tuesdays and Fridays, starting tomorrow."

  "We're eight years old," Billy told Pamela. "How old is a junior?"

  Pamela smiled. "Sixteen. That makes me twice as old as you!"

  Rosita wrinkled her freckled nose. "Wow, that's old. Are you sure you can keep up with us if we go to the park to play games?"

  Pamela laughed. "I'll sure try. I'll wear my track shoes!"

  "I think you'll all get along famously," Carla predicted, winking at Pamela. "OK, don't forget, all the arts and crafts supplies need to be put back in the cupboard before you go home. Pamela will help you."

  This is going to be fun, Pamela mused as she helped stow away boxes of crayons, colored paper, and Popsicle sticks. Too bad it's only two days a week! It was better than nothing, though, and if she was lucky, maybe it would lead to other volunteer responsibilities at Project Youth. At least I'll keep a little busier, feel a little more involved, Pamela thought. She had to do something with her spare time, and her experience trying out for the tennis team—or more accurately, her run-in with Bruce in the parking lot afterward—had been so demoralizing, she knew it would be quite a while before she got up the nerve to go out for any other Sweet Valley High extracurricular activities.

  Speaking of Sweet Valley High . . . As she put away the last pair of child-sized scissors, Pamela darted a glance into the hallway. She really hoped those two girls from school weren't still around. . . .

  Pamela said good-bye to the little kids and stepped back out into the reception area. And there they were, pushpinning a chart of some sort to the Project Youth bulletin board. Amy what's-her-name, the cheerleader, Pamela recognized, and that rich girl—the one whose father owns the computer chip company. Fowler—Lila Fowler.

  The girls caught sight of Pamela at the same moment that she caught sight of them. They stared across the lobby at her, and then, putting their heads close together, started whispering furiously.

  Pamela turned away, desperately looking for an escape route, someplace to hide. A childish voice provided a welcome distraction. "Mommy, here she is," Pamela heard Jane Piper chirp. "Here's my new after-school teacher!"

  Holding Jane by one hand, Mrs. Piper extended the other hand to Pamela. "It's nice to meet you," she said warmly. "I know you only just started, but Jane tells me she likes you already."

  Squatting down, Pamela gave Jane a big smile. "I like you, too, Jane."

  "See you tomorrow," the little girl called as she tagged after her mother toward the door.

  "You bet!" Pamela called back.

  Still smiling, she straightened up, pivoting on her heel . . . to find Amy and Lila standing right behind her.

  Pamela's smile faded and she blushed profusely. "Excuse me," she muttered, hurrying to get out of their path.

  "Pamela, wait," Amy said. "Lila and I were just wondering . . ." Now it was Amy's turn to blush. "Well, we were just wondering—if you're done here, if you'd like to get a soda with us."

  Pamela gaped at them, speechless. Where on earth was this coming from? Lila and Amy were two of the most popular girls at Sweet Valley High. Why would they bother with her, knowing what they did about her?

  They must have an ulterior motive, Pamela suspected. They're going to set me up—make fun of me, pull some kind of prank. So far, only one other person from Sweet Valley High had made a friendly overture toward her, and Pamela had blown him off; she knew Roger Barrett Patman was Bruce's cousin, and with the way Bruce was treating her these days, she hadn't trusted Roger's motives, either.

  But maybe she'd been mistaken, Pamela acknowledged now. Maybe Roger was just trying to be nice. As for Lila and Amy, what did she have to lose? She might as well give them the benefit of the doubt. If they turned out to be catty and mean, well, she could handle it. And if not . . . maybe she'd finally have a friend or two in Sweet Valley.

  Lila had picked up on her hesitation—it would have been hard not to. "We were thinking about the Box Tree Café," she elaborated, flashing Pamela a brilliant, magnanimous smile. "My treat."

  "You should really accept the offer," Amy advised a still tongue-tied Pamela. "Take it from someone who knows—it'll probably never happen again!"

  Lila pouted; Pamela couldn't help laughing. "Well. . . OK," she said shyly.

  "Great!" Amy took Pamela's arm. "C'mon, we're parked right out front."

  Jessica pushed the food around on her plate, feeling sick to her stomach. She hadn't eaten a bite, and she didn't plan to. Salmon with dill sauce—yuck, she thought sourly. Mom knows I hate salmon, but she made it anyway because Elizabeth loves it, and this is Elizabeth's celebration dinner.

  No one else at the table seemed to be aware of Jessica's less than congenial mood. Her mother, her father, Steven, Elizabeth . . . they were all giddy, laughing at the least little thing, bubbling over with happiness.

  "I still can't believe it," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "In just a few minutes, my whole life turned around. I'm still dizzy!"

  "Me, too," said Mrs. Wakefield. She gazed at her daughter, her eyes shining. "I feel like a butterfly that's just come out of its chrysalis. I feel alive again, after all these weeks of hiding out and being afraid because there was nothing I could do to protect you from what was happening to you."

  Tears filling her eyes, Elizabeth bent forward to kiss her mother's cheek.

  Mr. Wakefield reached out to squeeze Mrs. Wakefield's hand. "Welcome back," he murmured, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "You did help me, though, Mom," she insisted. "You all helped me so much, just by being there." Jessica couldn't help noticing that Elizabeth looked around the table at everyone but her. "I couldn't have made it without you." Elizabeth sniffled. "I'm just so lucky to be part of this family!"

  "That's what families are for," Steven declared, his own eyes damp. "When everything else is falling apart, your family will always be there for you. We would never have let you face something like this on your own."

  "Let's remember this moment, this closeness," Mr. Wakefield proposed, raising his water glass in a toast. "Let's remember this feeling and never let go of it."

  Elizabeth, Steven, and Mrs. Wakefield all lifted their glasses. Suddenly, Jessica couldn't bear it—she couldn't sit there for one second more. "Let's remember this feeling, and never let go of it. . ." Is he kidding? Doesn't anyone know how I'm feeling? Doesn't anyone care that my torment hasn't lessened one bit? Jessica couldn't stop thinking that, despite the fact that somebody else had caused the car crash, it was she who had spiked the drinks. If it weren't for her, Sam and Elizabeth would never have taken off like that, thoughtlessly putting themselves in the path of harm—of death.

  Jessica shoved back her chair, jumping to her feet. "I don't want to remember this moment," she burst out. "It's not happy—it's horrible! How can you sit there and act like just because Liz was found innocent, everything's perfect, everything's fixed?"

  "Jessica," Ned Wakefield began gently. "We know—"

  "No, you don't know," Jessica cried. "You don't care. All you care about is Elizabeth. Well, maybe the stupid trial is over—" Her voice broke on a sob; she was blinded by tears of fury, and sorrow, and bewilderment. "But Sam is still dead!"

  Whirling, Jessica ran from the room, her family staring after her in silence.

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth and Enid paused for a moment on Tuesday outside the door to the cafeteria. All at once, Elizabeth's courage deserted her. Going to classes that morning had been one thing, but entering the lunchroom and facing the entire Sweet Valley High student body. . . . "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.

  Enid slipped an arm around Elizabeth's waist, giving her friend a quick, hard hug. "Yes, you can," she declared. "I'm right here beside you. And remember, everyone's happy for you, and happy to have you back in school. You're not on trial anymore, Liz."

  Enid's right, Elizabeth told herself. It's time to put all that behind me and move on. I've been given a second chance, and I have to go for it—I have to make a new start.

  She took a deep breath, smiling weakly at Enid. "OK, I'm ready."

  As usual, the noise level in the Sweet Valley High cafeteria was deafening. Did it drop a decibel or two as she walked in? Elizabeth wasn't sure. But so what if people are talking about me, she thought. After everything she'd been through, after being hounded by the press for weeks, a few more stares and a little more gossip wasn't going to hurt her!

  They made their way to a table in the far corner where Olivia, Penny, and DeeDee were already seated.

  "Liz, it's so good to see you!" Olivia exclaimed, reaching out to squeeze Elizabeth's arm.

  "It's fantastic," DeeDee asserted. "It just wasn't the same around here without you."

  "Tell me about it." Penny flashed Elizabeth a wry, affectionate smile. "We weren't able to put together a single decent issue of The Oracle while you were gone!"

  Elizabeth laughed, the welcoming words and smiles bringing her perilously close to tears. "I've missed you guys, too." She pulled out a chair and sank into it gratefully. "This hasn't been the easiest day, but I'm getting through it, thanks to all of you."

  "Well, you can relax now," Olivia assured her. "You're among friends. So just sit back and eat your lunch!"

  Among friends . . . Elizabeth ducked her head to hide her tear-bright eyes. What a difference it made, having friends!

  As the other girls began discussing the likelihood that Ms. Dalton would postpone the French exam, Elizabeth thought about how her friends had stood by her during her troubles, checking in with her by telephone, showing their support by sitting in on the trial . . . .

  Elizabeth's eyes flickered to another table not far away. Todd was watching her, as she was aware he had been ever since she entered the lunchroom.

  Elizabeth shifted her chair, turning her back to him. I can't look at him, she thought, hunching her shoulders protectively. I can't think about him. It's just too much.

  She focused on eating her sandwich, basking in the comfort of her friends' idle conversation. It was all she wanted right now—all she felt capable of dealing with. If she thought about Todd, if she opened that door, she knew all her guilty feelings would tumble out and crush her. And she wasn't strong enough to confront them—not yet.

  Elizabeth shivered at the thought of Todd sitting in court day in and day out, hearing over and over again the incomplete but still repulsive story of her drunkenness, her recklessness, of how she ditched her own boyfriend to take off with her sister's, driving away with him, delivering him to his death even if she didn't cause it directly.

  He must think I'm a monster, Elizabeth supposed. And I was a monster that night. I don't deserve him. It's right that he should stay away from me, that he should forget all about me and find someone new, someone worthy of him.

  For a moment, Elizabeth had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut. Thinking about Todd with another girl—maybe even with Jessica—made her want to cry, to tear out her hair and sob. She missed him so much it hurt. But it's over between us, Elizabeth reminded herself. Todd loved me in another life. That was then, before; this is now, after. I—we—can never go back. . . .

  "Liz, are you OK?"

  Elizabeth blinked. Enid, Penny, Olivia, and DeeDee were staring at her, concerned.

  Elizabeth nodded, forcing a halfhearted smile. "Sorry, I just spaced out for a minute there. What were you guys talking about?"

  "The newspaper," Penny replied. "I was just about to ask you if you think you'd have time to write an article about the art history field trip this week as well as your usual column."

  "Sure, I'd be happy to," Elizabeth said eagerly.

  This was exactly what she wanted: to fill every waking hour with school and homework and writing. It was the only way she was going to survive. Because Elizabeth knew that if she really wanted to make a fresh start, she had to cut her losses. And maybe if she threw herself back into her work, it would ease the pain of knowing that her twin sister hated her . . . maybe it would even help her forget the only boy she'd ever loved.

  Late Tuesday afternoon, Bruce slammed his gym locker shut and grabbed his sport bag. I won't bump into her today, he guessed, whistling tunelessly through his teeth as he headed for the door. It looked as if Pamela had given up on the idea of trying out for the tennis team. In fact, Bruce got the impression she'd given up on a lot of things; he hardly saw her around at all anymore. She got the message—she's avoiding me, he speculated, not sure whether he felt relief or disappointment . . . not sure whether he'd even sent the right message in the first place.

  He emerged from the men's locker room—and practically stepped on a girl waiting right outside the door. Amy flashed him a bright smile. "Hi, Bruce!"

  "What are you doing here?" Bruce grumbled, running a hand through his damp hair.

  "I just finished cheerleading practice," Amy explained. "And try to contain your enthusiasm, Bruce," she added dryly. "I know you're thrilled to see me."

  Bruce shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. It's nothing personal—I've just been in a lousy mood lately."

  Amy smiled. "I'll say!" They started walking down the sidewalk together. "Listen, can I bum a ride home from you?" she asked. "Barry borrowed my car to run an errand."

  Bruce cocked one eyebrow. Any one of the cheerleaders could give Amy a ride, and didn't Barry have his own car? It sounded a little contrived. What does she want from me? Bruce wondered, and then realized he didn't care. Besides, he could use the company. He shrugged again. "Sure. No problem."

  "How's the tennis team these days?" Amy asked as they climbed into the Porsche. She chattered on without waiting for an answer. "Cheerleading's going really well—we have all new cheers for the next pep rally. Of course, Jessica's in a foul mood these days—even worse than yours—so Robin's pretty much running everything, which makes some of us think that maybe it's time for Jess to step down as co-captain and let someone else have a shot at it for a while. I mean, it would be only fair, right?"

  Amy paused to take a breath. Bruce shot a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Does Barry ever get a word in edgewise? he wondered, suppressing a smile.

  "I'm seriously considering advising Jess to go to Project Youth for counseling," Amy went on. "First I have to think of the right way to bring up the subject, though—I don't want to offend her or make her mad or scare her off or anything. And speaking of Project Youth, you'll never guess who's volunteering there now. Pamela Robertson!"

  Surprised by the introduction of Pamela's name, Bruce hit the gas, and then just as abruptly slammed on the brake when he saw the traffic light at the upcoming intersection turn yellow.

  "Yep," said Amy, "Pam Robertson. She's working with little kids in an after-school program. And that's really why I'm here, Bruce—I just wanted to apologize for gossiping about her. I did her a disfavor . . . I did a lot of people a disfavor."

  Bruce drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, you didn't really say anything that wasn't true," he mumbled.

  "But I did," Amy insisted, twisting in her seat and fixing him with a pair of incredibly sincere slate-gray eyes. "I didn't know her at all when I said those things. Now I've spent some time with her, and she's a great person—really caring, and fun, and smart. I mean, you can't judge a book by its cover, you know? Take me, for example."

  The light changed and Bruce sped forward. "Yeah, what about you?"

  "You might not believe this, but some people think I'm just an airhead," said Amy.

  Bruce laughed. "No way! Why would they think that?"

  Amy punched him in the arm. "The point is, I'm not an airhead, and anyone who actually knows me knows that. The same goes for you."

  Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "Me?"

  "Yeah. If I didn't know you, if I just went on the basis of your reputation, I'd assume you were a cocky, selfish, spoiled, arrogant heartbreaker."

  "But I'm not, right?"

  "Well, there's another side to you, anyway," Amy teased.

  They both burst out laughing.

  "Seriously, though," she continued, "I've learned a lot answering the hotline at Project Youth. I've learned how much you miss if you don't listen to people, if you forget that everybody has his or her own story, and the only way to find out what it is is to let them tell it."

  Amy was being unbelievably nosy and presumptuous; Bruce really couldn't believe he had let her get away with bringing up the subject of Pamela. But he couldn't help smiling at this goody-good, do-unto-others rhetoric, especially coming from Amy. "What an inspirational speech," he kidded. "Next thing we know, you'll be handing out pamphlets at the airport."

  "Well, I meant every word."

  They'd reached Amy's street. Bruce coasted to a stop in front of her house. "So long," he said.

  Amy put her hand on the door handle. Before getting out, though, she turned back toward him. "One more thing you should know, Bruce," she said quietly. "Pamela's still in love with you."