Last month, we went over to the Taylor’s house with a bunch of other women to tie quilts for a homeless shelter in Seattle. I had pointed out to my mother that the homeless people would be just as happy with a quilt we bought at a department store, but she made me go anyway. For my mother, these projects were as much about socializing with the neighbors as they were about getting anything done.

This might not have been so bad if Samantha and I were still friends, but we weren’t. Mrs. Taylor either didn’t know or didn’t want to accept this fact. She was always directing me to where Samantha and her friends were, as though they would be glad to see me. It was awkward.

On Wednesday after dinner, Mrs. Taylor, my mom, and a dozen other women were going over to a caterer’s to use their kitchen to make and freeze fifteen-hundred cookies for the homecoming dance. This way the school could keep the price of the dance down. Baking probably would have been fun, but I wasn’t doing that. My mother volunteered me to babysit the kids of the women who were baking. Mrs. Taylor set up crafts for the kids at her house so they could have fun too. I wanted to point out that it was for this exact reason that God had given children two parents—so that dads could watch children while their wives were out doing things—but it wouldn’t have done any good. Mom hadn’t let me buy a quilt so I could skip out on making one from scratch. I knew she wouldn’t let me go AWOL on babysitting. I was just glad that Mrs. Taylor had invited Mrs. Benson to help make cookies, because Mrs. Benson had volunteered Elise to babysit too. Otherwise I would have been stuck all night with Samantha and her evil cheerleading twin, Chelsea.

Elise and I walked over to the Taylor’s together, slowly strolling down the street. Autumn had reached the trees, and orange leaves scattered around our feet. When I was little I loved seeing the trees like this, dressed up in fancy colors. I still liked them, but I couldn’t forget that this spurt of sunset colors meant that winter was coming. Months of cold weather, gray skies, and trees that looked like skeletal hands reaching out from the ground.

Elise had been upbeat all day—a fake kind of upbeat that meant she was refusing to let herself think about Carter and whichever of the Bellas had stolen her boyfriend. But now, Elise wasn’t even trying to sound happy. “I can’t believe my mother said I would do this. Like I don’t do enough free babysitting as it is. I swear, there must be some sign on my shirt that says ‘This girl is a professional nose-wiper.’”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “We’re babysitting so our moms can make cookies for the homecoming dance, and I bet I don’t even get asked to go.”

Elise sized me up after this statement. “You may have a point. We have to work on your guy skills.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted by that suggestion. After all, I had already been trying to improve my guy skills. Or at least I’d been trying to improve myself, which should have automatically improved my attractiveness.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She let her gaze run over me in a mournful sort of way—the way someone looks at a stained shirt that might be beyond saving. “You’re too serious,” she said. “You don’t send out a ‘fun’ vibe.”

I bristled. “Just because a person is serious, doesn’t mean they aren’t fun.” And really, I wasn’t even sure I was serious. Anjie had never accused me of being serious.

“You know what we ought to do,” Elise said, ignoring my assertion. “We ought to go up on campus and pretend to be college students. It would be so easy to pick up cute guys there.”

“I don’t think my parents would like that.”

“Why are you so concerned about what your parents think? You’re an only child. Take advantage of it. Your chances of being disowned are slim.”

“Yes, but my chances of being grounded are high.”

Elise let out a sigh. “You admit you live under an oppressive dictatorship and yet you do nothing to resist. Exercise some civil disobedience. Haven’t you ever read Thoreau?”

“Yeah, and I don’t remember a chapter on picking up college guys.”

She kicked at some leaves and they fluttered limply off the sidewalk. “Well, it’s not like we have to give the guys our real names.”

I sent her a look of disbelief.

“Oh, come on. Carter is probably making out with my ex-best friend even as we speak. I need to have something fun to look forward to this weekend.”

It was getting dark enough that the streetlights came on, glowing dully in the evening sky. “How about we do something nice and normal, like . . . bowling?”

“Bowling?” she repeated with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“Bowling would be good for you. You throw things and knock around all those pins.”

Elise considered this. “How about a compromise? We’ll play tennis. At least you don’t have to wear stupid shoes to play tennis. You said you know how to play, right?”

I nodded. “Tennis would be fun.”

“And if we play on campus, maybe we can find some cute guys to play doubles with. I’ll be Trixie. You can be Bambi.”

I gave her another incredulous look. I was getting quite good at the facial expressions. “We’re not giving guys fake bimbo names.”

“Okay. I’ll be Claudette and you can be Rowena.”

We had almost reached the Taylor’s house, a brick two-story with a big bay window in the front. I slowed a bit more. “Why don’t you join the chess club? We meet a couple of times a week after school and everybody there is really nice. And it’s mostly guys.”

“Are any of them cute?”

“Yeah.” Most were cute in the way puppies were cute, but I didn’t elaborate on that. I wanted Elise to meet nice people. Smart people. People who didn’t vandalize schools in their spare time. “Come on, Elise. I bet you’ve been playing chess since you were eight years old.”

“I was six,” she said. “Josh taught me.”

“You can try to hide the fact that you’re smart, but you’re really one of us. You’re not going to be happy with some brainless, hot guy.”

“I might be,” she said. “I’m willing to give it a try.”

“How smart were Carter and Bella?” I asked.

Her lips twitched, then pursed into an unhappy grimace.

“I rest my case,” I said.

She didn’t comment, just looked out at the houses sullenly.

“You don’t have to play dumb to have friends here,” I said. “Embrace your inner genius.”

She let out a sigh. “Okay, I’ll try the chess club a couple of times. But only until I find something better to do.”

Chelsea’s old Ford was already parked in front of Samantha’s house, looking cheap in comparison to the Taylor’s BMW. We rang the doorbell and Mrs. Taylor answered. She was securing the back of a gold loop earring in one of her ears. It was just like Mrs. Taylor to dress up to go someplace where she would have to wear a hair net.

“Hello, Cassidy,” she chimed, then finished with her earring. “And you must be Elise. Come in, come in.” She stepped aside to make room for us. “So far we’ve got eight kids, but more are coming. Let me take you downstairs.” She headed that direction, still speaking. “I’ve set up a couple different centers for the kids so they won’t get bored. There are some ceramic pumpkins for the older kids to decorate, and the younger kids can make ghosts out of marshmallows and lollipops. They’re just the cutest things. Oh, and I also have some sugar cookies for them to decorate to look like jack-o-lanterns.”

We followed her down the stairs to the large game room.

“Sam!” Mrs. Taylor called. “Your friends are here!”

That sort of comment always made me wonder if Mrs. Taylor had actually talked to Samantha in the last three years.

Chelsea and Samantha were setting up supplies at several different card tables, laying out paper plates, plastic knives, and tubs of orange frosting. A group of children hovered nearby, eyeing the food. Chelsea and Samantha barely looked up when we walked in.