"Are you coming or not?" another yelled.

"Keep your pants on! This is business."

"He's waiting for his boyfriend," one girl announced.

"You want to go? Go," I said. "Go on, shoo, there's no teasing in my shop."

"Doesn't matter," the boy said. "They were only playing."

"So who are you waiting for?" I asked, leaning on the counter.

"Lucas, duh," he said. "They're just jealous. He's really cool. Have you seen him?"

"Not today, but he ought to be here soon if he's coming at all," I answered. The boy's face brightened. "Have you started your tutoring with him?"

"Twice a week. Done two already. He said he'd meet me here today."

"Enjoying it?"

He gave me an oddly mature look – one I've wondered about many times since – and said, "Well...some of it's confusing."

"Such as?"

"History." He set his bag down and leaned against my counter, hands shoved in his pockets. "See, Mr. Blake – he's my history teacher – "

"I know," I said. "He likes model trains. He buys books on electrical engineering sometimes."

"Yeah, him. He says you have to learn the dates and the names and things, and then you know History."

It wasn't an unusual sentiment in preadolescent history classes, especially out in the country. I didn't like Blake, but it wasn't good to meddle in the boy's opinion of him. He still had to learn from him, after all.

"And Lucas disagrees?" I asked.

"He says History is always happening," the boy complained. "And you can't really know anything about an Event until you know why it happened, which is a bunch of other Events. It makes my head hurt."

"Good," said a new voice. Lucas, who must have passed the rest of the boy's classmates on his way up the walk, was standing in the doorway. Now he stepped inside and shut the glass door behind him. "Shows you're using it."

"Hi," the boy said.

"Not giving away my secrets, are you?" Lucas asked. The boy shook his head. "Hi, Christopher."

"Hi, Lucas," I said. "We were just talking about your tutoring. How's the roof?"

"Sealed and holding," he replied, eyes straying over the displays before he moved to his favorite defensive position, behind the cookbooks. From there he could see the doorway and out through the window, but nobody in the shop could see him unless they sat in the chairs at the front. I resumed my conversation with the boy, who had settled in a chair and was watching Lucas while trying to pretend like he wasn't.

"Which theory do you like?" I asked the boy.

"Theory?" he asked.

"Of history."

"Um." His eyes darted to Lucas. "I dunno. Memorizing a bunch of names seems a lot easier."

"Not according to your grades, I bet," I said. He grinned.

"It's not as much fun," he said.

"Admitting history is fun? Lucas, what have you done to him?" I called. He put his head around a shelf, smiled at me, and went back to his browsing.

"I guess..." the boy said slowly, "I mean. I've got to learn the names and dates for school. So I might as well do that. But I can remember them if I know other stuff about them, you know? They're more real."

"They're stories," I agreed.

"Yeah."

"Does Lucas like history?" I asked mischievously.

"I think so," the boy answered.

"What kind?"

"I can hear you, you know," Lucas called from the back, where he was adventuring into Horror and True Crime.

"Well, you won't talk," I answered. That earned me a soft laugh as he emerged into an aisle, still keeping the edge of a shelf between himself and the open space around the counter.

"I like stories," he said. "I don't mind if the books aren't completely true. A little truth in a lot of lies makes for the best stories, I've found."

"Try telling Mr. Blake that," the boy muttered.

"Which reminds me that we should go," Lucas said, tipping his head at the doorway. "Come on."

"Man," the boy whined, but stood and shouldered his bag, following Lucas like a puppy. "Where're we going?"

"Out to the river."

"What for?"

"What do you think?"

"Biology class," the boy said.