But our tastes will always be different when it comes to garbage was her last sleepy thought.

And then it was another morning and all the different things that meant for Charlie. And all the different things that meant for the bear.

Donald Pettinger

ONE of the first rules Fiona made for all of them when they started school was that they could make friends but they could not bring them home.

“Too chancy,” she said. “Someone coming upstairs is bound to see the four of us set up in the only two bedrooms and wonder why there is no evidence of a guardian. And people talk. It’s bad enough we now have two grown-ups who know and Mr. Pennypacker, who is nagging Al about seeing legal proof of guardianship, which we haven’t got. I’m hoping he forgets about it but if he doesn’t, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve made it into April without anyone else finding out. I think we are going to have to lay low and as much as possible be invisible.”

Everyone had agreed that this was prudent and that they would meet friends on neutral territory or go to the friends’ homes.

Fiona thought the plan was working well until one day Charlie burst into tears the minute they were off the school bus and headed down their driveway.

Now what? thought Fiona wearily.

“Ashley won’t play with me anymore and it’s all your fault,” yelled Charlie as she slammed into the house.

“What do you mean my fault?” asked Fiona, following her inside.

“She keeps asking to play at my house. We always play at her house. And I keep saying no so now she won’t play with me at all!”

Charlie had taken to going to Ashley’s house on Saturdays. Fiona would take her there on the handlebars of the bike on her way to do the grocery shopping in town and then pick her up with the bike later in the day.

Ashley’s mother said the same thing to Fiona each time she showed up: “Have your mother stop by to say hello next time she’s around,” and Fiona would have to remind her that they didn’t have a mother, they had a guardian. And Ashley’s mother would then say, “Oh yes, dear, well, have him stop by to say hello.”

Fiona always smiled inwardly at the idea of Ashley’s mother saying hello and Al barking “WHAT!” Once she had actually snorted out loud at the thought and had to cover it with a cough. But the important thing was that Ashley’s mother never pursued it beyond that.

Now Charlie was sobbing angrily and stomping around her bedroom so Fiona went back outside and sat down on the front-porch steps, dropping her head into her hands. Suppose all the girls in Charlie’s class felt the same way Ashley did and Charlie never got invited to the sleepovers or birthday parties? Fiona was beyond such things. All Marlin seemed to care about anymore was inventing recipes, writing them down and then tweaking them, and taking photos of her meals. Fiona was the tiniest bit worried that this was becoming obsessive but worrying about that seemed a luxury compared to her other worries. And Natasha cared less about people than the natural world, birds in particular. But she had always been that way. She made friends easily at school and fit in and didn’t care if they couldn’t come to the house. She was just as happy to be alone. It was Charlie’s social life that was the issue. Charlie had always had a close friend, a best friend, wherever she lived. Otherwise she just sat in her room after school and moped. Fiona knew her mother was relieved when Charlie had picked someone upon whom to confer this honor in whatever new place they were living. Once Charlie had this best friend she seemed to relax. Fiona would have liked to tell Charlie to simply pick another friend but she knew it didn’t work this way for Charlie. Charlie spent a long time sussing out the situation and was very particular about who she chose.