Her uncharacteristic plunge into self-pity was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Pooh yipped and rushed out to investigate. Phoebe heard the rustle of packages, a soft greeting to Pooh, and then the sound of footsteps going upstairs. Pushing aside her salad, she made her way to the foyer in time to look through the sidelights and see Peg Kowalski’s white Toyota pulling out of the drive.

She went upstairs and knocked on Molly’s door. When there was no answer, she pushed it open anyway.

The bed was littered with sacks from the teenagers’ dream stores: The Gap, Benetton, The Limited. Pooh, lying in the middle of the rubble, was watching as Molly pulled an assortment of clothes from the sacks.

Molly looked up at her, and for a few seconds, Phoebe thought she saw guilt reflected in her sister’s small features. Then the old sullenness came back.

“Mrs. Kowalski took me shopping for school clothes. She has a teenage granddaughter, so she knew all the best stores.”

Phoebe knew the best stores, too, but whenever she had suggested they shop, Molly had refused. “I can see that.” Swallowing her disappointment, she took a seat on the side of the bed.

Molly reached out to stroke Pooh. Phoebe had realized several weeks ago that Dan had been right about her sister’s affection for the dog, but she hadn’t commented on it “Let me see what you bought.”

For a while Molly behaved like a normal teenager. As she whipped out a denim jacket, ribbed sweaters, stonewashed jeans, and T-shirts, her eyes glowed with excitement. Phoebe couldn’t fault Peg’s taste. She’d helped Molly put together a perfect teenage girl’s wardrobe.

“Have you thought about getting your ears pierced?”

“Could I?”

“I don’t know why not. Think about it.”

“I want to,” Molly replied without hesitation.

“All right, then. We’ll go on Friday.” She refolded a pair of jeans and spoke carefully. “You haven’t said much about school. How’s it going?”

Each time Phoebe had asked the question in the past two weeks, Molly had refused to respond with anything more than monosyllables. Now her expression grew stony.

“How do you think? I hate it. Even the advanced classes are easy.”

“Your classes were easy at Crayton, too.”

“Public school is full of cretins.”

“When you registered, your counselor mentioned that the English department uses student tutors in the writing lab. Why don’t you volunteer?”

“Why should I?”

“Sometimes it feels good to help other people.” When Molly failed to respond, Phoebe continued her cautious probing. “At least you get to go to school with boys.”

Molly became very busy picking at the tag on a pair of jeans. Phoebe tried again. “What’s it like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Going to school with boys.”

“They’re big show-offs. And they’re disgusting in the lunchroom.”