She remembered the men she had been to bed with. And what a silly way that was of putting it. Beach blankets, roadside grass and the back seats of cars, with now and then a motel mattress beaten down by the bodies of many casual lovers. Maybe a real bed that was your own, with a girl who was your own in it?

She was sure of one thing—the thing with men was overrated. The one-night stands, the office affairs that lasted a few weeks and dwindled away as both parties lost interest or the men, mostly married, began feeling more guilt than pleasure. Eaten up by aloneness, she had been afraid to say no to any promise of closeness. But even while they were holding her she felt unsatisfied and restless—and later, in her own room, she had been glad it was over.

She could no longer remember the names or even the faces of the men who had undressed her in rented rooms. Some were blurred by alcohol, some by repulsion. None of them mattered.

How would it be with a girl? There was no guide to it in the women's magazines, the movies or billboards or girls' talk at school. Nothing but these books full of hints and half-revealed details. Could there be any fulfillment for her in loving a girl?

And if it were possible, where did Erika come into the picture? Here were her books. There were the tailored shirts, the short hair, the flat boyish body. Yet Erika didn't look unfeminine. Would she be making a terrible mistake, maybe lose this friendship that had started so strangely, if she thought about Erika that way?

She put the books away and lay down on Erika's bed in a haze of thoughts that were confused but not unpleasant.

The radiator hissed comfortably. Beyond the window the day was foggy and chilly-looking. Branches rubbed back and forth in the wind. She tried to sort out what had happened in bed last night, but it was too confusing. Erika's hand on her breast, Erika's mouth on her, and then a confusion of feelings.

When the sky beyond the window began to dim she got up stiffly and made coffee, handling the unfamiliar dishes slowly. She was finishing her first cup when she heard the step on the stairs. Her heart skipped a beat and then righted itself. Her hands shook. She set down the cup and stood waiting, trembling a little.

"Well," Erika said from the doorway. She smiled a little.

"I've been here all day," Kate said. "I looked in your dresser and ate all your bread and jelly and took a nap on your bed."

"And read my books," Erika said.

"I kept my promise too."

"The one you didn't make? I knew you would."

"I don't know why I kept it."

"I do," Erika said, still smiling. "I'm not going to tell you, though. You'll have to find out for yourself.”

Kate stood looking at her.