Behind us, the front door of the store opened. The bell jingled above it but Marty and I continued to have our stand off. I was sure my expression matched the glaring-eyes, pointed-chin, flaring-nostrils look Marty had.

"You didn't tell her you're the one who dubbed her dear father Mr. Egghead, did you?" I said.

"No. But I told her that last year you taped up pictures of her cousin Rick on the walls of your bedroom."

"Arg! You're such a jerk." I dug my index finger into his chest. He pushed it away with the back his hand. "Go ahead and make a fool of yourself over Abby. I really don't care what you do with her. But why don't you just come home once in a while?"

He rolled his eyes. "Are we back to that again?"

"Well, yeah. That's what I'm doing here in the first place." Marty sighed and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"Come on, now," he said, and rubbed his eyes as if he were tired. "I'm too old to be living at home. It was time." I laughed at him with a kind of snort. "I'm not talking about moving back in, bonehead. Heck, I'm glad you're gone and not hogging the bathroom every morning. I'm talking about visits, calls, e-mails, or a message to let Mom and Dad know you're still alive. Sometimes Mom asks me if I heard the phone ring in the other room when the house is perfectly 47

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quiet. Now tell me, Marty. Why isn't it ringing? How hard can it be to dial seven little digits? What's so difficult about dropping by for five minutes? It's only four blocks away."

"I have a phone too," he said, "and I never hear it ring."

"Because they think you want to be left alone." I felt like kicking as well as hitting him at this point, just to pound some sense into his void of a head. "Because they think they're respecting your privacy. Quit acting so selfish and stubborn. Make the first move. And quit being such a moron." I slapped a hand over my mouth. My voice had raised a few decibels too high.

I glanced around. Abby and Mrs. Bates had stopped talking and were staring down the aisle at us.

Marty had murder in his eyes as he glared at me. His hands shook as he fisted them at his sides. "Fine," he said.

"I'll call her sometime."

I wanted to scream at him. Throw my fists. He looked mad, not sorry or remorseful. Where was the regret? How could he not care? Our parents weren't that terrible. They were strict and old fashioned, yes, but they were fair, and never once had they hidden their love and support for us. They had their faults but what parent didn't? I couldn't understand why he was being so cruel. I used to know him so well, but not anymore.

"Fine," I repeated, and spun away fully intending to stride off with my head held high. But there stood Luke Carter. He was barely inside the store, huddled next to the closed front door, looking awkward and uncomfortable at walking in during the middle of our "family scene." 48

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My heart did a little skip. He was wearing his church clothes: a pale gray, long-sleeved, button-up shirt with a blue tie that had maroon diamonds running in diagonal lines down the front. His shirt was tucked into darker gray, almost charcoal, pleated pants. I could tell he'd shaved since the day before because his jaw was smooth and naked. He looked sleek and expensive and flawless.

I wanted to run and attack him too. I wanted to beat on his chest and demand, "Why'd you hurt me yesterday? Why'd you have to ask me for that stupid walk?" But then he peered into my eyes, holding his face and his body still. And those eyes of his—those all-too-expressive eyes that crinkled softly—held sadness and compassion. I blinked away a sudden stinging, lowered my head, and began to retreat.

"You forgot your groceries," Marty called. I paused, keeping my back to him and said, "Why don't you bring them home. That way, you can tell Mom yourself, you're not coming for supper."

Then I walked toward the exit. Luke was still there, half blocking my escape. I mumbled an "Excuse me" and he hurried aside—even opened the door for me. Above us, the bell rang. The sound echoed through my heartbeat. I brushed against Luke's crisp gray sleeve and felt the crinkle of fabric on my elbow. The contact rustled up his smell of clean soap and Right Guard aftershave, a brand that Dad often used. It was familiar, yet disturbingly new and fresh.

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I inhaled as much as I could before I was outside and the door closed between us. His smell was washed away, replaced by the chilly autumn and the aroma of dead leaves burning in front yards.

I walked home empty-handed, feeling as lonely as I ever had. I wanted to strangle my brother, but I also wanted to know why I had to feel so defenseless and exposed toward Luke. I wanted to know why he came to visit me at the lot, why he wanted to walk with me in the park, but didn't want to be seen with me. I wasn't that bad of a person. I was by no means popular in school, but I wasn't a total dork. If I could've paid to get inside his head, I would've stolen money to do so. Instead, I understood nothing. I was angry, confused, lost, excited and scared. I felt all those mixed emotions band my chest, closing snug around my lungs, and I wanted to climb out of my own body so I could escape all the overwhelming sensations.

Too bad I'd left the ice cream behind and couldn't even binge away my misery.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four

Turns out Appomattox Court House wasn't a what but a where. Appomattox Court House, Virginia was the name of the town where the Civil War ended. It was where Robert E. Lee, leading the South, met up with Ulysses S. Grant, leading the North. On April 9, 1865, Lee and Grant stood face-to-face in the McLean home and reunited the country, ending the Southern attempt to secede and stopping a war that had already cost more American lives than any other war the United States had fought. What had once been a town, and only the county seat for Appomattox County in Virginia, was now a national park and a legend.

After reading about Appomattox Court House, my mind began to wander. Lying stomach down on my bed, I rested my chin on my hands, stuck my feet in the air, and absorbed the story. I had a layout to put together for the paper and should've forged ahead with that, but I was suddenly very glad Abby had mentioned Appomattox Court House to me. The mysteries behind this town were fascinating. I was curious to find out how such a huge war could end in this small place, which was basically in the middle of nothing. If I'd been alive back in the 1860s, I'm sure my investigative journalism would've taken me right to Appomattox Court House.

This was where it'd all ended, where the dramatic climax of the war came to a head. If Lee hadn't surrendered or if 51

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Grant hadn't been civil, things would've turned out differently. The country might not have been united as one any longer. If I'd been alive, I would've gone to Mr. McLean himself, and quizzed him till his throat was raw. I would've inspected every inch of his farm and the whole town. I mean, it was nothing major, not a capitol or even booming with population. It wasn't an important city at all. It was a "nowhere" just like Stillburrow. And look at what it had become. It made me think all the nowheres and even the nobodies of the world might stand a chance after all. Suddenly, I felt an uncommon connection with the town in which I lived. It was like I was Stillburrow...in a way. I barely noticed the phone ringing in the other room—