“C’mon. You can hardly see them.” Nola fanned Jenna's hair. It was thick and golden. “You look like Mom and you’re as beautiful as she was. And you’re so inventive and fun. You make up great games. Use that great smile of yours, and in a couple of days you’ll make new friends.”

“I’ll hate them. They’ll be snotty and mean.”

“One day you’ll be a famous writer, and they’ll all come back to ask you to autograph your book. I’ll be known as ‘the sister of that great author, Jenna Sands.’ ” Nola halted. “Until then, always remind yourself that you’re the only little sister I have and I love you very, very much. Okay?”

Since Jenna wouldn’t even walk to the principal’s office, he rescinded her acceptance at the gate.

Since then, Jenna wouldn’t hear of visiting another school. She accompanied Nola everywhere, slept in her bed and, although as tall as Nola, tried to sit in her lap, even in restaurants. Distrustful of her ability to cope, Nola hired a therapist, who was to move in with them Monday. Nola believed that Jenna’s clinging would stop once she was certain she could stay. All Jenna needed was time and lots of love.

Nola tightened her arms around her knees and rested her head on them. She had been wrong in her speculation that Social Services would just move on to the next case. Her taking possession of her sister had jump-started them, and the hearing date was set. It was her celebrity status, the lawyer explained, that had made them take notice. And Jenna was a disturbed girl.

“A disturbed girl.” The words almost choked Nola, but there was no escaping the truth. It was as if Jenna carried the double burden of their orphanhood, or something more: Nola suspected that whatever had caused their mother’s ills—that had made her not leave the house for months, prompted her crying spells, and caused her inability to care for her children—had been passed on to Jenna.

Nola shook her head at the moon. No more sorrows. To shove away her fears, she should focus on her blessings. On the shelf were the dozen trophies she had accumulated from local arts and folk festivals, topped by Teens’ Choice and MTV New Artist awards. On the wall, next to her three gold albums, hung framed posters of the concerts she had headlined and copies of articles in Seventeen and People, highlighted by the Rolling Stone cover which dubbed her, “The Divine Songbird.” Good, but not a Grammy nomination. She was still very far from the top.