"Who's the judge?"

"I am judge."

"Can I make it against the law that you're the judge?"

"I veto your law."

"What do you mean, 'veto'?"

"Veto is like if you make big sandwich-careful and nice you make it-and I come over and eat sandwich. No question asked. This is how veto works."

She offered him a bite.

"No, no-is okay, darlink," he said. "You eat, and I teach you Western civilization."

"Can I veto?"

"I do not advise." He cleared his throat. "All Western civilization begins with-"

Footsteps came up the stairs. "You nut," Venn said, smiling.

"h.e.l.lo," Tooly said brightly, standing.

"I've talked to Sarah," he said. "She's meeting with your dad right now." Venn glanced above her at Humphrey. Tooly turned and found Humphrey returning the look. It was the first time she had noticed such a communication between them-an exchange at an alt.i.tude that excluded her. Had they done this before? Had they done it always?

To draw their attention back to her height, she said, "I washed all the dishes."

But the men had matters to discuss and went downstairs. She remained on the upper floor, sliding along the walls, playing at being stuck to them, then jumped into her tent and browsed Humphrey's books.

That evening, Venn looked in on her. "How old are you, twelve?"

"Ten," she answered, delighted at his mistake.

"You want to work with me?"

She nodded.

"Okay. So the people coming and going here-your job is to start paying attention, hear what they say. Who they're friends with, who they don't like, any other details. We'll discuss it later. You're somebody, little duck, who notices everything, just like I notice everything. Almost n.o.body else does. People have got no idea who's walking behind them on the street, no idea where anybody's hands are, no idea where anybody's head is. But we pay attention. Which is tiring. But that's how we are." He cupped his hand against the side of her face and left her to think.

She attempted a little reconnaissance at the party that night, although he had left before they had a chance to discuss it. She took refuge in her tent, trying to read a book on Western civilization, but stared emptily at the page, sifting through observations she planned to make to Venn. Tooly heard her name only on its third utterance. She scrambled from her sleeping bag, undid the padlock on the tent zipper, and raised it, the orange nylon parting on a woman's midriff, then a face.

"Darling dumpling," Sarah said, reaching to stroke Tooly's cheek with the back of her hand. "May I come for a visit?"

Tooly shifted to make s.p.a.ce, and Sarah lay down with a puff of deep fatigue, hugging Tooly from behind, stroking her hair.

"You were away for ages."

"Don't scold me," Sarah said. "I've been looking after your future."

"Sorry."

"And now," Sarah resumed, "you're free. From now on-from this second-you can invent yourself. Make up anything you want, Matilda. Be someone who laughs at jokes or someone who never smiles. Someone who sleeps all day or who's up at dawn. You can be a liar. You can be honest. Be a kind person or a horrid one. Whatever you like, my lovely. But you must be brave to live like we do, to know there's n.o.body else in the world but us. We're a team. Better than a normal family, where you have to stick together. With us, it's because we want to. In a normal family, everything needs explanations and apologies, and you end up shackled to people you have nothing more in common with than any name in the phone book." Sarah fumbled about in her handbag. "Where are my cigarettes?" She sparked her lighter, took a drag, exhaled through the flap, her shoulders bare in an open-backed blouse, the naked curl of her spine. After a few minutes, she flicked the b.u.t.t out, zipped the tent, closing them snugly inside. They lay there, drifting off to sleep, mindless of the noise of the party downstairs, her perfume mingling with tobacco scent.

Hours later, Tooly stirred. Sarah had stepped out. The girl looked between the tent flaps, peering into darkness. The festivities had ended, the music silenced, the chatter gone. Only two voices remained-Venn and Sarah, arguing downstairs.

"She doesn't have her pa.s.sport with her. How would you propose taking her anywhere without a pa.s.sport? And the father's not giving it up."

"I could put her on my Kenyan pa.s.sport."

"It'd take months."

"Have one of your friends make us a fake."

"You don't actually want this girl, Sarah."

"Why do you say cruel things like that?"

"Don't pretend to be so sensitive now. You're the one who ditched her these past weeks, and vanished to wherever you went."

"Didn't vanish. I just couldn't handle it, okay? Don't say things to hurt me. Please?" she said. "Look, if he doesn't give me that pa.s.sport, I'll turn him in."

"If he's locked up, you get nothing."

"Can't you go to his place and just take it?"

"No."

Shortly afterward, Sarah raised the tent flap, whispering, "Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?"

"Are you staying, Sarah?"

"Wherever you are is where I am. From now on."

The next morning, Sarah was gone. Only Humphrey remained in the house. "Humph," Tooly asked him, "did you ever play in your school band?"

"I was world-cla.s.s violin genius. But jealous rival hits me in knees with trombone. Did I tell you this story?"

"Why would a jealous rival hit you in the knees? You don't play a violin with your knees."

"You ever try playing violin without knees?"

"I only played the ukulele."

She sat, right there on the floor, sudden sadness deflating her. "Humphrey?" she said. "Humphrey Ostropoler?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"I just like saying your name."

"You can say it."

"I know things about birds."

"Tell me."

"Birds used to be dinosaurs."

"I cannot believe. It is lie."

"It's true. They're the only dinosaurs left. Or, they came from dinosaurs or something. Do you know how birds fly?"

"Flapping of wings."

"I mean how they can fly and we can't."

"Also flapping of wings."

"They have hollow bones, so it makes them light. And there's this thing called lift, which I've heard about a million times. Let me remember. Okay, so, lift ..." She drummed her lower lip. "Okay, so what happens is birds have curved wings. And the wind, when it goes past, blows faster over the top bit. Wait, I'm getting this wrong. Okay, what happens is the air pushes up on the bottom of the wing and makes them go up."

Chin in hand, he nodded in fascination. "Please, continue."

She found herself feigning expertise, trying to field his queries, Humphrey addressing her as if she were the absolute authority on matters avian.

"You open up whole new world for me," he proclaimed, leading her to the backyard, where he stood, hands in the pockets of his shorts, gazing in wonderment at the sky. "Up there is such life going on! I never think of this before."

A distant jet appeared, gliding slowly across the blue. Pa.s.sengers were looking out through the portholes, down at this city, at the roof of this house, unaware of these two staring back. The people up there were thinking of destinations, of faces awaiting them at the airport, of faces they'd just left, just as she had on so many flights, before turning from her window to Paul, his face in a bird book.

Instead of a bird, a raindrop landed, then more, plump ones splatting against her face. Humphrey went back inside, calling her to follow. She resisted, tongue out to catch drops. When she joined him, her hair dripped a trail through the house. Humphrey had a towel ready for her. "What is your address?" he asked.

"My old one? It was Gupta Mansions in Sukhumvit."

He took her hand, fetched her book bag from the tent, walked her to the front door. "Come," he said. "Time to go."

2000.

EMERSON OPENED the living-room window to shout at Tooly, who sat on the fire escape. "Put that cigarette out when I'm talking to you," he said. "The smoke is blowing inside, you d.i.c.k."

"You're the one who opened the window."

"Excuse me, do you pay rent here? Put that out and get inside."

She was not in the habit of obeying Emerson, so finished at her leisure, and even contemplated climbing down the fire escape to the sidewalk, going back into the building, and entering the apartment by the front door, just to defy his command. But it was freezing, so she climbed in.

Presumably, his complaint pertained to a recycling infraction. Or did he have a suspect in the plunder of his peach Snapple? She stood before him, struggling to take seriously the remonstrations of a shirtless man in flip-flops. Until she grasped the subject.

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" she said, to delay matters. "What are you even talking about?"

But she knew. This had come from Noeline.

"You never grew up in this apartment at all," he said. "You're trying to rip off Duncan. He's been talking about getting his parents to invest in your little scam. You're a fraud, and I'm telling him. You're lucky I don't call the cops."

"This is crazy. Can I talk to Noeline, please?"

"So you admit it!"

"I didn't admit anything. I'd just like to speak with her."

"Are you telling Duncan," he demanded, "or am I?"

Tooly had a.s.sumed that indiscretions on both sides during that lunch had canceled each other out. If anything, it was Noeline who'd made the most d.a.m.ning statements.

"Can you ask her to come in here, please?" Tooly said. "I'd like to talk to her alone."

He marched off. After a minute, Noeline entered the kitchen, avoiding Tooly's gaze.

"Your boyfriend just threatened to call the cops on me."

"You lied to Duncan, to Xavi, to me. You've been living here for weeks without paying, eating their food. You falsely represented yourself."

"Are you serious? What if I told him a few of your comments? How you wrote half his thesis?"

"I find it sick that you're trying to harm my relationship with Emerson. I actually love him, an emotion you don't have, according to what you told me. If you're suggesting-if you're even considering claiming-that I helped him inappropriately, I will aggressively deny that. If I said anything that was exaggerated-and I don't recall doing so-it's because my relationship was in a difficult position, and I was upset. If you want to take advantage of that, then you're way more sick than I thought."

"I'm not telling anyone what you said, Noeline. I'm not a snitch. I'm just saying that I thought we were-"

"A snitch? What is this, jailhouse lingo? The stuff you told me wasn't blurted out in a state of distress. You were totally calm-just another day for you. You don't have an ounce of feeling for any of us. Willing to mess with Duncan's family for some scam you've got going with this older boyfriend of yours."

Tooly shook her head. These accusations were an offense to her self-perception, and she retaliated with an offense of her own: "Just-go screw yourself, okay?"

"Duncan is an 'opportunity' for you, right? This hobby of slithering into people's homes for 'opportunities'? It's parasitic, okay? We're telling Duncan if you don't."

"What I said isn't what you're making it out to be. I really, really like Duncan. I'm friends with Xavi and, I thought, friends with you. I don't know Emerson that well, but if you think he's great now, maybe there's more to him."

"What's that supposed to mean, that I 'think he's great now'? See, this is why you need to leave."

"I was never going to tell anyone what you said."

"What, exactly, did I supposedly say?"

"You remember what. But who cares?"

"Just leave. You know? Just say goodbye to Duncan, if you have to, then leave. You're here to mess with people. For some of us, this is our actual life."

Emerson appeared again. "Is she telling Duncan, or do I get to?"

"Since when are you concerned with Duncan's welfare?"

"Hey," he shot back, "I don't appreciate some high-school dropout like you questioning my intelligence behind my back."