At the corner of Gone with the Wind and The Munsters, the front gate was open. She closed it behind her, unlocked the door with the shiny new key that she’d found on her dresser that morning, and slammed the door behind her.

There was a shadow standing at the end of the hallway. A tall, broad shadow in a grungy yellow T-shirt and low-slung, faded jeans frayed at the bottom. A shadow in bare feet.

Shane.

He just looked at her for a few seconds, then said, “Eve put your crap up in your room.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff for dinner.”

He cocked his head slightly, still staring at her. “For a smart girl, you do some stupid things. You know that?”

“I know.” She walked toward him. He didn’t move.

“Eve says you never saw Monica.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know what? I’m not buying it.”

“You know what?” she shot back. “I don’t care. Excuse me.” She ducked past him, into the kitchen, and set her bags down. Her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists and started setting out things on the counter. Ground beef. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Onions. Refried beans. Hot sauce, the kind she liked, anyway. Cheese. Sour cream. Taco shells.

“Let me guess,” Shane said from the doorway. “You’re making Chinese.”

She didn’t answer. She was still too pissed and—all of a sudden—too scared. Scared of what, she didn’t know. Everything. Nothing. Herself.

“Anything I can do?” His voice sounded different. Quieter, gentler, almost kind.

“Chop onions,” she said, although she knew that wasn’t exactly what he meant. Still, he came over, picked up the onions, and grabbed a huge scary-looking knife from a drawer. “You have to peel it first.”

He shot her a dirty look, just like he would have Eve, and got to work.

“Um—I should probably call my mom,” Claire said. “Can I use the phone?”

“You pay for long distance.”

“Sure.”

He shrugged, reached over, and grabbed the cordless phone, then pitched it underhanded to her. She nearly dropped it, but was kind of proud she didn’t. She got out a big iron skillet from under the cabinet and put it on the counter, heated up the burner, and found some oil. As it was warming, she read over the thin little recipe book she’d bought at the store one more time, then dialed the phone.

Her mom answered on the second ring. “Yes?” It was never hello with her mother.

“Mom, it’s Claire.”

“Claire! Baby, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for days!”

“Classes,” she said. “Sorry. I’m not home that much.”

“Are you sleeping enough? If you don’t get enough rest, you’ll get sick—you know how you are—”

“Mom, I’m fine.” Claire frowned down at the recipe on the counter in front of her. What did sauté mean, exactly? Was it like frying? Diced, she understood. That was just cutting things into cubes, and Shane was doing that already. “Really. It’s all okay now.”

“Claire, I know it’s hard. We really didn’t want you to go even just the few hundred miles to TPU, honey. If you want to come back home, your dad and I would be so glad to have you back!”

“Honestly, Mom, I don’t—I’m fine. It’s okay. Classes are really good”—that was stretching the truth—“and I’ve made friends here. They’re looking out for me.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Because I worry. I know you’re very mature for your age but—”

Shane opened his mouth to say something. Claire made frantic NO NO NO motions at him, pointing at the phone. Mom! she mouthed. Shane held up both hands in surrender and kept chopping. Mom was still talking. Claire had missed some of it, but she didn’t think it really mattered exactly. “—boys, right?”

Wow. Mom radar worked even at this distance. “What, Mom?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow boys to come up to the rooms, does it? There’s someone on duty at the desk to make sure?”

“Yes, Mom. Howard Hall has somebody on duty twenty-four/seven to keep the nasty evil boys out of our rooms.” She hadn’t actually lied, Claire decided. That was completely true. The fact that she wasn’t actually living in Howard Hall…well, that wasn’t really something she needed to throw in, right?

“It’s not a laughing matter. You’ve been very sheltered, Claire, and I don’t want you to—”

“Mom, I have to go. I need to eat dinner and I have a ton of studying to do. How’s Dad?”

“Dad’s just fine, honey. He says hello. Oh, come on, Les, get up and say hello to your very smart daughter. It won’t break your back.”

Shane handed her a bowl full of diced onions. Claire cradled the phone against her ear and dropped a handful of them into the pan. They started sizzling immediately, much to her panic; she lifted the pan off the burner and almost dropped the phone.

“Hi, kiddo. How are classes?” That was Dad. Not How was your day? or Have you made any friends? No, his philosophy had always been, Eyes on the prize; the other stuff just gets in your way.

And she loved him anyway. “Classes are great, Daddy.”

“Are you frying something? Do they let you have hot plates in the dorm? Didn’t in my day, I can tell you….”

“Um…no, I just opened a Coke.” Okay, that was a straight-up lie. She hastily put the pan down, walked to the fridge, and pulled out a cold Coke so she could open it. There. Retroactively truthful. “How are you feeling?”

“Feel fine. Wish everybody would stop worrying about me, not like I’m the first man in history to have a little surgery.”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Doctors say I’m fine.”

“That’s great.”

“Gonna have to go, Claire, the game’s on. You’re okay down there, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m just fine. Daddy—”

“What is it, honey?”

Claire bit her lip and sipped Coke, indecisive. “Um…do you know anything about Morganville? History, that kind of thing?”

“Doing research, eh? Some kind of report? No, I don’t know much. The university’s been there for nearly a hundred years—that’s all I know about it. I know you’re on fire to get to the bigger schools, but I think you need to spend a couple of years close to home. We talked about all that.”

“I know. I was just wondering…. It’s an interesting town, that’s all.”

“Okay, then. You let us know what you find out. Your mother wants to say good-bye.” Dad never did. By the time Claire got out “Bye, Dad!” he was already gone, and Mom was back on the line. “Honey, you call us if you get worried about anything, okay? Oh, call us whatever happens. We love you!”

“Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”

She put the phone down and stared at the sizzling onions, then the recipe. When the onions turned transparent, she dumped in the ground beef.

“So, finished lying to the folks?” Shane asked, and reached around Claire to snag a bite of grated cheese from the bowl on the counter. “Tacos. Brilliant. Damn, I’m glad I voted somebody in with skills.”

“I heard that, Shane!” Eve yelled from the living room, just as the door slammed. Shane winced. “Do your own bathroom cleaning this weekend!”

Shane winced. “Truce!”

“Thought so.”

Eve came in, still flushed from the heat outside. She’d sweated off most of her makeup, and underneath it, she looked surprisingly young and sweet. “Oh my God, that looks like real food!”

“Tacos,” Shane said proudly, as if it were his idea. Claire elbowed him in the ribs, or tried to. His ribs were a lot more solid than her elbow. “Ow,” he said. Not as if it hurt.

Claire glanced out the window. Night was falling fast, the way it did in Texas at the end of the day—furious burning sun all of a sudden giving way to a warm, sticky twilight. “Is Michael here?” she asked.

“Guess so.” Shane shrugged. “He’s always here for dinner.”

The three of them got everything ready, and sometime midway through the assembly-line process they’d developed—Claire putting meat in taco shells, Eve adding toppings, Shane spooning beans onto the plates—a fourth pair of hands added itself to the line. Michael looked as if he’d just gotten up and showered—wet hair, sleepy eyes, beads of water still sliding down to soak the collar of his black knit shirt. Like Shane, he was wearing jeans, but he’d gone formal, with actual shoes.