"You did? When?"

"Well, he came to talk to me. He felt pretty bad about not sitting with us at lunch."

"What'd he say?"

Wally rubs the back of his neck. "Baker went over to his house on Sunday night and told him she didn't want to be around you anymore."

Hannah's heart stops. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Did she tell him why?"

"No, she just said something had happened and she needed her s.p.a.ce. Clay felt really torn up about it, but he said Baker was more upset than he'd ever seen her, so he thought he should support her for a few days, until this whole thing blows over."

"Until it 'blows over'? And what if it doesn't?"

"You really think it won't?"

"I-" The question nearly suffocates her. "I'm not sure."

"Well," Wally says slowly, setting his hands on his knees, "if it doesn't...then we'll adapt. All of us will."

"I just don't know if-Wally, I wish I could talk to you about what happened, but I don't know how...."

"You don't have to, Han," he says, nudging her with his shoulder. "Everything will be okay. And hey, it's not all bad. I think it's been good for Clay and Baker. Clay said they've started to talk more about their feelings for each other and everything. He's actually taking her out on a date this weekend-"

The words knock all the breath out of Hannah. "What?"

"Yeah, they're going out to dinner tomorrow night. He's actually way nervous about it, which is funny, you know, because we've never really seen him get nervous about anything before. But it's good for him." Wally hops down off the trunk and starts to stretch his calves. Hannah watches him as if he's not really there; she feels dazed and exhausted, and has the strongest urge to curl up in her bed and hide away from the world.

"I think they're both excited about it," Wally continues.

"Good," Hannah says, trying to infuse some heartiness into her voice.

"Hey," Wally says tenderly, stepping up to the trunk again. "It's gonna be okay. You'll work it out. That's what friends do."

"Yeah," Hannah rasps.

"I have to go-I'm gonna be late for practice."

"Yeah. Sure thing. Bye."

Wally starts to walk away, but then he glances at her and doubles back to the car. He wraps his arms around her in a st.u.r.dy, secure hold, and Hannah gives in to the embrace, drawing comfort from the warmth of his skin and the musky smell of his neck.

"It's gonna be okay," Wally says into her ear.

She hugs him hard and doesn't let herself think about anything else.

Hannah stays in bed until one in the afternoon on Sat.u.r.day, her mind drifting in and out of sleep, her dreams splintered into fragments of memories. She wakes up to fogginess and slips back into darker fogginess. The memories ebb and flow, as real and powerful as the ocean.

Hey, come here, Baker says. I want to show you this piece I've been learning.

And Hannah watches, in the theater of her subconscious, as 14-year-old Baker, with braces and an overlarge sweater vest, plays the piano for her.

Tell me your favorite thing about nature, 16-year-old Hannah says.

Trees, Baker says. Really old, beautiful trees.

Hannah wakes again to the sound of the television playing downstairs. She hears her dad pacing around his first-floor study. That responsible voice inside of her berates her to get up and do her homework, do something productive, but she turns over on her stomach and slips back into the memories instead.

On Sat.u.r.day night, she lies on her back on her bedroom floor and stares at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars Baker helped her tape up there back in freshman year. She imagines everything Baker and Clay are doing right now.

The dress Baker wears. Is it the beige one with the brown belt? The lilac one with the lace sleeves?

Tell me if this looks good, Baker says as she stares at the mirror in the dressing room.

Of course it looks good, Hannah says. Everything looks good on you.

Does Clay wear a Polo shirt and khakis? Does he wear the cologne his mom gave him for Christmas? Does Baker like it?

You smell good, Baker says on the back porch at her house. Are you wearing perfume?

No, Hannah laughs.

I think it's just your shampoo, Baker says, shifting her head on Hannah's shoulder. It smells like you.

Hannah pictures them at a fancy restaurant, strolling in hand-in-hand, Baker in the dress and Clay in the khakis, pleasing the world with their complementarity. Clay must pull her chair out for her, and Baker must smile shyly and thank him.

Does she laugh at his jokes? Does he think about how pretty she is? Does he reach across the table for her hand? Does she let him take it? Do the older people sitting at the tables around them nudge each other and say Look how cute?

Hannah plays music through her iPod speakers. Eventually she starts to talk to G.o.d. Small phrases, monosyllabic words. Why does this hurt. Can you hear me. Can you make this go away. Her eyes fixate on a patch of green stars on the ceiling. I love this pattern, Baker says as she lies on Hannah's bed. I wish I could sleep here all the time.

You can, Hannah says.

Her back starts to hurt from the fibers in the carpet, but she doesn't move from her spot.

She folds her hands over her stomach and blinks at the ceiling and imagines what it would be like if she was the one out to dinner with Baker. She pictures Baker's smile and her dark chicory eyes and how she tucks her hair behind her ear. She sees her study the menu like it's a textbook chapter she's going to be quizzed on. She sees her order a sweet tea with two lemons, please, and she sees her fold her napkin over her lap.

What are you looking at? Baker asks.

Nothing, Hannah smiles.

She stands up and walks into her bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror. Her bloodshot eyes stare back at her. She turns around and lifts her shirt up, searching for the rug burn she knows will be there. Her upper back has scratchy pink marks all over it. She presses her fingers against her raw skin and watches the flesh shine white.

"So what do you want to do about prom pictures?" Wally asks her during Monday's una.s.signed period.

"What about them?"

"Do you still want to go to the picture party at Clay's house?"

"Oh. I didn't think about that."

"I think we should still go. I'd like to be with Clay and Baker. And I know Clay would want you to come."

"Is Luke still going?"

Wally frowns. "Luke's not going to prom."

"He's not?" "No. Now that he and Joanie aren't going together, he doesn't want to go at all. Haven't you talked to him?"

Guilt sweeps over Hannah. She breaks eye contact from Wally, feeling embarra.s.sed, and admits, "No, I haven't."

"Have you tried apologizing to Joanie again?"

"No," Hannah mumbles.

Wally sets down his pencil. "Really?"

"She won't talk to me."

Wally stares hard at her. Then he picks up his pencil and starts filling in his Calculus homework again. Hannah watches him, feeling both stubborn and shamed. "I don't know how to say sorry for what I did," she tells him. "I mean, I basically ruined their relationship. I broke Joanie's trust. I really hurt them both. How do you say sorry for that?"

"I can't tell you how to apologize, Han."

"But it's like the wrong is too big to be forgiven, you know?"

"No," Wally says, looking up from his textbook. "You just have to keep trying. You might have to work at it, especially when it comes to Joanie-I mean, you might have to sit down and really talk to her, you know, not like she's your little sister but like she's your friend. Like she's Baker."

"Joanie could never be Baker."

"See, there you go," Wally says, throwing his hand up to prove the point. "You're not trying, Han. You're not. They can forgive you if you try. Anyone can forgive you if you try. Christ, I'd probably even forgive my own father if he-" Wally stops abruptly, bites his lips into his mouth, takes a long breath. "Anyway, you need to keep trying."

He looks back down to his Calculus textbook. Hannah pulls at the pleats on her skirt while the silence fills up around them. Finally she says, "Thanks."

"No problem," Wally says, his voice much lighter now.

"Wally-I'm really lucky I have you. I'm really lucky you haven't left, too."

Wally raises his head again, his eyebrows knit together in seriousness, his jaw firm. "I'd never leave you," he says, and then, after checking her grateful expression, he goes back to his homework.

That afternoon, when Hannah and Joanie get home from school, Hannah follows Joanie into the kitchen. She leans against the counter and presses random applications on her phone while Joanie stands in front of the fridge, scanning her snack options.

"We could heat up that leftover meatloaf," Hannah offers.

Joanie ignores her.

"Joanie," Hannah says exasperatedly, "I'm sorry."

Still Joanie ignores her, moving the egg carton aside to see what's behind it. Hannah waits for about 15 seconds before she tries again.

"I know I was an a.s.shole. I didn't mean to screw things up for you and Luke."

Finally Joanie turns around. Her eyes blaze with anger. "Are you kidding me?" she says bitterly. "You 'didn't mean to'? Is that a joke?"

"I wasn't thinking-"

"Luke hasn't spoken to me in six days," Joanie says. "Not a single word. He won't return my calls or my texts. He won't even look at me. And this is the guy who was my best friend. The only person in our group who ever made me feel like he absolutely wanted me to be there, even though I didn't always get that vibe from everyone else, and especially not from you, who always made me feel like I was stupid and a nuisance. But I tried so hard to be your friend anyway because I-" her voice starts to break-"I thought maybe if I was just a little bit funnier, or a little bit less annoying, then you'd let me in. And I trusted you because you're my sister. But I guess that was really f.u.c.king stupid of me, wasn't it? The only friend I truly had was Luke. He made me feel special and wanted and included, and now he can't even look at me. And you know whose fault that is, Hannah? It's yours."

She slams the refrigerator door shut and storms out of the kitchen. Hannah stands frozen in place. She hears Joanie pound up the stairs to her bedroom and slam the door. Then the house is absolutely silent but for the tick of the grandfather clock in the family room.

Hannah slides down the counter, her back bruising against the wood. She slides until she's sitting on the cold white tile of the kitchen floor, her elbows digging into her thighs and her sinuses pounding beneath her skin. And for the first time in months, she lets herself cry.

On Friday, the day before prom, Hannah trudges to her locker just before the first warning bell rings. She trades her French workbook for her Calculus binder and ignores the flurry of students around her, who are all buzzing with excitement and stored up energy as they talk about their plans for tomorrow night. Hannah hears words like "limo" and "pictures" and "afterparty," but she tries to block it all out.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she catches a burst of bright color. She turns to her left and sees Baker and Clay, just a few yards down at Baker's locker, trading smiles as they look down at the bouquet of flowers in Baker's hands.

Roses. Clay has brought Baker a dozen roses. And they are a brilliant, cheerful, perfect yellow.

Chapter Nine: The Prom Queen.

Wally looks handsome, in a cla.s.sic all-American boy way, as he stands there in a tuxedo in Hannah's front hallway. Hannah watches him fidget with the corsage box in his hands while they wait for Hannah's mom to stop fussing over her dress and hair.

"Let's get some pictures here before we leave for the party," Hannah's mom says. "How about one with Wally giving Hannah the corsage?"

"Where's Joanie?" Hannah's dad asks. "Shouldn't she be in some of these?"

"Shhh," Hannah's mom says, swatting at his arm. "She's in her room. She wants to be left alone."

Hannah's mom snaps several photos on an outdated disposable Kodak while Hannah's dad stands quietly off to the side, a gentle smile playing on his face. Hannah smiles hard when Wally wraps his arm around her.

"You two look great together," Hannah's mom says, and when they all walk out to the cars to drive to Clay's house, she whispers, "He's the perfect boy for you, Han," right into Hannah's ear.

Hannah's sweating when she and Wally walk up the Landry's driveway. Her mom and dad walk behind them, hand in hand, two proud parents ready to see their daughter off to the dance. Wally leads them around to the backyard, from which they can already hear chatter and laughter, and Hannah's heart pounds hard when she sees the prom party and dozens of parents gathered on the back porch.

She spots Baker right away. She stands in the middle of the group, clutching Clay's arm, a big smile on her face as she talks to Mrs. Landry. She wears a long midnight blue halter dress that makes her shoulders look even more slender than they already are. She wears her hair in a fancy updo, thick strands of it weaving back past her ears like delicate rivulets. When she turns around to say something to Dr. Landry, the sun shines on the bare skin of her neck and her upper back, and Hannah is suddenly awash in the tactile memory of kissing her there.

When Wally pulls Hannah over to the porch, Baker meets her eyes for the quickest of seconds-almost like she did it by accident-but then tears her gaze away. Hannah's heart pounds faster. She greets several of the people around her, both cla.s.smates and parents, until Clay comes over to say hi.

"Hey," Clay says, sounding genuinely happy to see her. "I'm so pumped you came."