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this room is three stories up. Don't ever lean out the window like that."
    He's still holding my arm, even though I'm standing up straight now. I shake myself free. Turn deliberately until the back of my waist is pressed flat against the sill and my shoulders arch into emptiness.
    "Don't worry about me," I say. "I won't fall."
    "Mandy, you get away from that window. You're as stubborn as ... Mandy, we're going to take care of you whether you like it or not."
    "As stubborn as who?"
    "Whether you like it or not."
    "Who?"
    But Gabriel pulls me in, shuts the window hard.
    "Emma's made an early lunch for you, Mandy," he says. "Better fix your hair before you go down. She'll think you've been in a wind."

Chapter 6

    W HEN H ANNAH COMES for me I try to just leave, but no way. Aunt Emma is so excited about me going to the football game that Hannah must realize this is the first time I've gone out, except shopping and to school.
    And Uncle Gabriel wants us to sit down while he reads a newspaper story about the two teams. "You should know who the players are," he says.
    "Hannah probably already knows," I tell him.
    "That's OK," Hannah says. "Does it say our school's expected to win?"
    When we're out in the car, I tell her she didn't have to do that, pretend she was interested.
    "I
was
interested. And besides, it's touching how much they care about what you're doing. You're lucky, Mandy."
    Me, lucky? How can she say something so dumb? "Want to trade places?" I ask.
    I expect to her to say, "Shut up. That's sick." Instead she says, "Maybe. Families, anyway."
    Then she lightens up. "Want to meet mine? Mom said I could ask you over for dinner and to spend the night."

    I don't know until we get to the game that we're meeting anyone else. The football field is behind the high school, on the far side of the parking lot. As we walk over from the car, Hannah's saying, "Mandy, this is Charla," and, "Mandy, Rosa," and "Blakney, Mandy."
    I try to hear how their individual voices sound, but they don't say enough words for me to get down which is which. Within minutes the talk is a jumble and the only person I can pick out is Hannah.
    I'm moving along OK, using my cane, one hand barely touching Hannah's arm. Then one of the other girls says, "They're lining up for kickoff. Let's hurry."
    I walk faster, stumble. Someone says, "Hannah, why don't we meet you in the stands?"
    I can feel my face flaming red. I want to tell Hannah she doesn't have to wait for me, but I can't. Where would I go if she left me?
    Someone else has stayed back, too, and I hear Hannah call her Charla.
    This girl, Charla, she wants to talk about a dance that's coming up, a girl-ask-guy holiday thing. "You're taking Ryan, Hannah?" she asks.
    "I guess."
    Then Charla says, "Mandy, are you going to ask someone?"
    Is she joking? I replay her words, listen for the emphasis on
you
that would give her away. It's not there. What's wrong with her?
    "No," I say. "No one to ask."
    "How about Ted?" she asks. "Don't you two hang around some?"
    Now I get it. I open my mouth to say,
"Pair up the misfits?" but before I get a word out, Hannah pinches me.
    "Shut up," she whispers. "Just don't say it."

    After the game, which is more loud than anything and I'm glad when it's over, Hannah and I go to my house for my stuff. Aunt Emma acts like I'm going on a world cruise, instead of just to spend the night, and I'm embarrassed that she lets Hannah know she thinks this is such a big thing.
    Hannah lives in town. We have to go back almost to the school to get to her place.
    "Tell me what your house is like," I ask when we drive up.
    "It's brick, one floor. Looks like all the other houses around here."
    I stand inside the front door for a moment and listen to how far, Hannah shouts when she calls, "We're here." Listen for echoes. Notice cold coming up from the tile under my feet. Do not smell dust or mold. It's a clean-feeling, hollow-seeming house.
    "Hello, Mandy."
    Hannah's mother has a voice that is