“Would you like a glass of milk?” Gran asked when she put the toast down.

  Alicia wrinkled her nose. “You got coffee?”

  Gran hesitated. “Well … yes.” But she got a small mug and poured coffee into it. “A little milk, Alicia?”

  “I guess.”

  Gran put some in. “There’s sugar on the table.” She put the mug down beside Alicia’s plate of toast. She hesitated, waiting maybe for a thank-you. There wasn’t one.

  Birdie’s mouth was half open to the prompt: Say thank you. Hadn’t her parents said that like a million times until it just became automatic? They had already started saying it to Billy, and he couldn’t even talk.

  But Alicia’s head was already bent over the mug slurping the hot coffee. Then she jammed the toast into her mouth without putting down the cup. Maybe she hadn’t even had a Pop-Tart. She looked like she was starving. The toast disappeared in a couple of bites.

  Without asking, Gran put another piece of toast in front of Alicia. This one was slathered with peanut butter and a little grape jelly. Alicia didn’t even grunt an acknowledgment. She just gobbled it down and handed the mug up to Gran with her mouth too full to speak.

  Birdie noticed that this time there was more milk in the mug than actual coffee. She looked up at Gran across Alicia’s bent head. Gran sent Birdie a quick eyebrow lift, as though to signal they both knew that Alicia had not already eaten earlier. “Okay.” Alicia jumped up from the table. “We don’t want to be late.”

  There was a lunch bag on the counter, so Gran had gotten up early enough to pack her a lunch, but Birdie pretended not to see it. “Don’t worry about fixing me lunch today, Gran. I got the money you gave me yesterday. I’ll just buy today.”

  Gran looked puzzled, but, thankfully, she let it go.

  When Birdie was pulling on her jacket and boots, Gran reappeared at the door. “You’ve been so kind to Birdie, Alicia. I’d love for you to join us at supper tonight.”

  “Um. Okay. If you want.”

  “Would you like for me to call your mother?”

  “No!” Alicia’s voice quickly returned to her mumble. “No, you don’t need to call her. She won’t mind. She’s busy tonight anyway.”

  “Good. Then we’ll look for you after school. We’ll eat early. That way you can get home before it’s completely dark.”

  “Okay.” It wasn’t okay with Birdie, but it couldn’t be helped.

  They missed the eight-thirty bell, but to Birdie’s surprise, Alicia did not complain. They jostled in with the nine o’clock “losers.” Several of the boys poked Birdie on their way past.

  “Sorry,” Wayne said. “Didn’t mean to bump our little Tweeter.”

  All the boys laughed. She hated them all. Boys were horrible. Daddy was the only good boy in the world, and he … She mustn’t even think about it.

  No one brushed too close to Alicia. Maybe they’d learned better.

  It wasn’t a totally bad day. Birdie didn’t feel too far behind in any of the subjects, and since she bought lunch, Alicia couldn’t complain about that. She did mention that Birdie was once again wearing the green sweater. Hadn’t she been reminded more than once that it made her look pasty? Now, Alicia, on the other hand, looked great in any color, but particularly in green. If Birdie ever wised up and got rid of that sweater, she should let Alicia try it on first—just to show Birdie how good it would look on someone with Alicia’s complexion. But why, then, was Alicia’s “flawless” complexion covered up with makeup? Birdie didn’t ask.

  In the middle of Mr. Goldberg’s read-aloud time, Birdie suddenly sat up straight. What was the matter with her? Daddy might be dying right this minute and she’d hardly thought of him all day long. She began to breathe funny. Maybe that’s how you felt when someone close to you stopped breathing. Oh, God, if you’re there …

  Mr. Goldberg asked her to stay a minute after the dismissal bell. She sat in her seat while almost every boy in the class—even boys at tables across the room—somehow wound their way past her chair and, checking to make sure Mr. Goldberg wasn’t looking, hit one of her arms on their way toward the door. Alicia, too, stopped at her table on the way out and gave her that look that meant she’d be waiting outside, and Birdie’d better not be late again.

  “Thank you for waiting, Birdie.” Oh, God, he was using her nickname. It had to be bad news.

  “My daddy!” She couldn’t help blurting it out.

  “No, no,” he said. He pulled up a chair close to hers. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry to alarm you. It’s not your father. It’s Alice—uh—Alicia.”

  “Alicia?” What about Alicia?

  “Well, you seem to be spending a lot of time with her.”

  What of it? She’s the only one who wants to my friend.

  “You must have noticed that when she came to school this morning, she was wearing a lot of makeup. And not for the first time. You see …”

  He hesitated before he continued. “I’m worried about her. I’ve tried to contact her parents. I’ve left a number of messages on the phone, but neither parent calls back.”

  “Her dad’s in the service?” She heard her own voice rise into a question mark.

  “You got that from Alice, I take it.” He pressed his lips together. “What about her mother? Have you ever met her mother?”

  Did that scene on the staircase count as meeting Alicia’s mom?

  He was tracing his index finger in the grooves in the tabletop that spelled out WAYNE. “I can’t,” Mr. Goldberg said at last, “I can’t discuss any matters like this with a student, but you could tell your grandmother if—” He stopped abruptly. “Maybe both of us should talk with your grandmother.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Now you’d better go on. I’m sure Alice is waiting for you.” The strange smile was twisting his nice full lips into a thin line. “She doesn’t need to know what we’ve discussed.”

  At her cubby, she began to understand what it was that Mr. Goldberg was not saying. He thought Alicia’s mother was hurting her. There were all those yells and the strange sounds. But as much as Mrs. Suggs scared her, Birdie had never actually seen her hit Alicia. She stuffed her backpack with too many books and hurried to the door.

  Mr. Goldberg was holding it open for her.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to his very worried face. “I won’t say anything to Alicia.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Wake up!” The bonk on her head brought her wide awake. “Good God. I been waiting out here for hours. Do you think I got nothing better to do than stand here in the freezing cold until you decide to mosey out?”

  “Sorry.”

  “What did Goldberg want, anyway?”

  Mr. Goldberg. Mr. Goldberg. “Oh, you know, he wanted to say he was thinking about me.”

  “About you? What for?”

  “My dad. Didn’t I tell you he …”

  “He’s only a corporal. Not like he was a full colonel in the regular air force where it’s actually dangerous.”

  Birdie could feel the prickle rising in her body. Daddy might be actually dying, and … but she pinched her lips together. It was none of Alicia’s business. She’d only take the fact that Birdie’s daddy was probably dying and squash it into nothing.

  “When we get to your house, the first thing you should do is take off that sweater. I know you got a pink one that doesn’t look too bad. Then, like you said, I should try on the green one. You need to see how much better it looks on someone with the right complexion.”

  Yeah. Someone wearing so much freaking makeup you can’t see her face at all.

  Sometimes Birdie wondered how she put up with Alicia. And then she felt ashamed. Even if she didn’t believe in God hardly at all, Bible verses kept popping into her head. “Be ye kind, one to another,” for one. It was good to be kind. And even if God wasn’t telling her what to do anymore, Daddy was so kind. He’d want her to be kind. And besides, she didn’t have anybody else to hang around with. She would be totally alone if it weren’t for Alicia. Mr. Goldberg had said she should talk to Gran about Alicia. But if she did, if she told Gran about all the pounding and yelling and moaning and Mrs. Suggs meeting her on the stairs, what would happen to Alicia? They’d probably send her away to a terrible foster home or reform school or orphanage or wherever they sent kids whose parents beat up on them. As mad as she was at Alicia, she couldn’t do that to her.

  A jab on her arm. “Oww.”

  “Well, pay attention, then. I’m discussing whether I should order the silver strap sandals from the internet or get Mom to take me shopping in Burlington for them. They probably have a half-decent shoe store in Burlington, not that you’d know.”

  Birdie didn’t want Alicia to come home with her even though Gran had invited her. She didn’t want to walk into the house and have Alicia standing there when Birdie heard news about Daddy, but Alicia was practically hanging on her arm as they went up the steps. Could she say, Go away, Alicia? If she’d even wanted to, there wasn’t a teeny-weeny hole in Alicia’s endless wall of sentences to poke a word through.

  “I’m home!” Birdie was yelling, she knew she was, but she was trying to warn Gran not to say anything with Alicia there. Gran must have leaped from her chair, because she was already standing in the hall facing the door when the girls pushed through. She shook her head slightly when she realized Alicia was right behind Birdie.

  “Oh, Alicia,” she said. “I’m afraid I totally forgot you were coming. This is not a good time. I’ll have to renege on my supper invitation.”

  Alicia looked up, confused. “What?”

  “I can’t ask you to stay for supper tonight. It’s a family concern. I’m so sorry, dear.”

  A chill went through Birdie’s body. Alicia hadn’t moved. It seemed to Birdie that she’d never move. How could Birdie get rid of her? She could think of only one way. She ripped off her jacket and her green sweater.

  “Here,” she said, holding the sweater out toward Alicia. “Try it on at your house. You’ve got the best mirror.”

  “Okay.” Alicia snatched the sweater. She looked like some homeless person grabbing a burger. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  “You may join us for breakfast if you like,” Gran said. Oh cripes. Gran was kinder than the Bible.

  “Okay. If you want.” Alicia was practically hugging Birdie’s sweater to her heart.

  Gran waited without speaking, but as soon as the door slammed closed, Birdie blurted out, “He’s dead.”

  “No, no, sweetheart.” Gran put her arm around Birdie and pulled her close. She wasn’t crying, so maybe …

  “He’s not awake yet, but your mom has seen him again, and she feels better. Some of the shrapnel hit his face”—Birdie felt a chill before Gran went on—“but the—the doctors have removed it, and they don’t believe his brain has been injured. Which is a mercy. But …” She took a breath. “He may lose one or perhaps both of his legs.”

  “His legs?”

  “Yes,” said Gran. “His legs.” Here her breath turned into a sigh. “We’ll just have to wait and see what they decide.”

  But he wouldn’t be able to walk or run or really play sports ever again.

  “Oh, sweetheart, they’re doing wonderful things with artificial limbs these days.” Gran was reading her mind again. “We can’t give up hope at this point.” She hugged Birdie tighter. “He’s alive. He’ll still have his bright, wonderful mind …”

  “It’s all my fault.”

  “What? None of this is your fault, Elizabeth! How in the world—?”

  “I didn’t pray right. I—”

  “Oh, baby, there’s no wrong way to pray. And right now, I think the best way to pray is just to cry. I know God is crying.”

  It was a crazy idea. God crying. But still, as they held each other, it felt so good to be held tightly and to cry. She put her own arms around Gran’s small waist and laid her head against Gran’s thin bosom and cried and cried some more. So even if there wasn’t a God who cared, much less cried, Gran was the next best thing.

  Birdie had decided not to get up, maybe ever again, so she was still lying in bed when the doorbell began to ring. She rolled over onto her back, listening to the quiet mumble of Gran’s voice as she tried to poke Billy’s breakfast into him, now rudely punctuated by the repeated br-iiing of the bell.

  “Could you get that for me, Elizabeth?”

  God! Not more bad news, please! But she got up, threw on her bathrobe, and pattered to the door in her bare feet.

  Alicia! It wasn’t even daylight yet, and there she stood, demanding to be let in. “Jesus! Do you know how long I been out here in the cold waiting for you to open the freaking door? You’re the one who said I had to come for breakfast like I was your some kinda nursemaid.” She pitched her pink jacket in the corner of the hall, revealing the green sweater underneath, and marched her wet blue boots into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Alicia. You’re here bright and early.”

  Alicia ducked her head and mumbled. “I didn’t want us to be late. For school.”

  “No,” said Gran. “Of course not.” She had turned her full attention from Billy’s locked-up mouth to Alicia. “Have a seat, dear. As soon as I finish feeding the baby, I’ll get you girls some breakfast.” She turned back toward Billy and opened her own mouth to try to encourage Billy to open his. After a semisuccessful spoonful, she wiped his face with his bib and without turning around said in a mild tone of voice, “I see you’re wearing Elizabeth’s sweater today.”

  “She wants me to.” It was the mumbly voice Alicia seemed to take with Gran.

  “I see. Well, I guess that’s between you girls. Anyhow, I know Elizabeth won’t be wearing it today. Ah, we should have called you. Elizabeth isn’t going to school today.”

  I’m not? It wasn’t as if she wanted to, but she was surprised Gran hadn’t given her a choice.

  “She don’t look sick to me,” Alicia mumbled.

  “She’s not. I need her here today. I’ll call the school and explain.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  The breakfast, when it came, was lavish. Scrambled eggs with cheese mixed in, sausage, buttered toast with a choice of jams and jellies. Orange juice for each of them. A tall glass of milk for Birdie and a mug of hot milk for Alicia, colored tan with coffee.

  Alicia didn’t even nod a thank-you, just dived in and attacked her plate like a starving hyena.

  Birdie would have sworn that she couldn’t eat, but she realized suddenly that she had already taken several bites of egg and chewed and swallowed them without tasting. She forced herself to slow down. She didn’t want Gran to see her eating like Alicia. And, oh, despite everything, it tasted good. Birdie chose the strawberry jam because she and Daddy had picked strawberries together last June. Was it before or after Billy was born? It must have been before, but she couldn’t remember. She did remember the warm early-summer sun and all the laughter, not about anything, really, just laughing because they had so much fun being together, just the two of them.

  Birdie was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she hardly noticed when Alicia left for school. Had she said goodbye? Well she sure hadn’t said thank you. No matter how zonked out Birdie was, she certainly would have heard if Alicia had said that. And neither Birdie nor Gran had said anything about Alicia’s caked-on makeup, not aloud, anyway.

  Breakfast was over, and she couldn’t just sit at the kitchen table forever. She supposed she ought to put some clothes on. She wandered back into her room. It didn’t matter what she put on. Alicia had her green sweater, which was the only thing she really liked. Her Jesus shirt was hanging on one of her clothes hooks. She didn’t sleep in it or wear it under things now that she’d pretty much stopped believing. It seemed like a lie. But how could you know what was true and what was real? She put it on, just in case … and pulled an old sweater on top. It was the “not too bad” pink one that was worn to the point where there were little pink pills all over it, but she wasn’t going anywhere. No one would make fun of it.

  When the phone rang, she jumped off her bed and ran into the sitting room. Gran was already there, nodding into the phone. She turned toward Birdie and mouthed okay. “Your mom wants to speak with you,” she said, handing the phone to Birdie.

  “Mom?”

  “I don’t want you to worry, sweetie—” How could she not worry? “They’re taking Dad into surgery this afternoon.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to get upset, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “What do you mean all right?”

  “They are going to amputate—”

  “Amputate!”

  “Shh, sweetie. It’s all right. I mean, it’s going to be all right. I promise. He’s a trouper. He’s alive. We need to be thankful—”

  But Birdie could hear the tears wrapped around every word. Who needed to be thankful? She certainly wasn’t. What kind of God would play such a cruel trick on somebody as good as her daddy?

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t even try to hide the anger in her own voice. “What did Daddy say?”

  “Well, he’s not really awake right now.”

  “They’re going to chop off his leg without even telling him?”

  “The surgeon explained and—”

  “They are, aren’t they? You gotta stop them!”

  “Oh, Birdie, I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard to understand—”

  “You’re on their side!”

  “Birdie—”

  “Here!” She jammed the phone into Gran’s stomach and went back to her room. She slammed the door, and, because it didn’t make quite enough noise, she opened and slammed it again to make sure Mom could hear it through the phone wires.

  But it wasn’t enough. She had to do something or go somewhere or her insides would explode. What if your insides really did explode? That would kill you, all right. Then you wouldn’t have to live in a terrible world where good people went to war and parts of them really got exploded like Daddy’s had. Dead people didn’t have to even think about horrible things like that.