I said, “Not that I know of.”

“Does he do drugs?”

“Mum!”

“Well, does he?”

I said no, but to be honest I had no idea what Rob did these days. I hardly knew him anymore.

Rob and I used to be great friends. But one morning near the end of fifth grade I suddenly woke up with different eyes. My old pal Rob wasn’t just Rob—he was a BOY. A cute boy. And the next thing I knew, I had a twelve-ton crush on him.

I could no longer breathe around him, let alone look him in the eye, talk to him, or act at all normal. I had uncontrollable giggling fits one minute and was furious at him the next. He’d say, “What’s bugging you? You’re acting weird!” And I’d be so offended, I’d burst into tears.

He’d ask me if I wanted to ride bikes and I’d drive myself batty trying to decide if that meant he liked me as a GIRL or thought of me as a BOY.

My feelings were hurt if he didn’t notice things about my looks, even though in our whole lives he had never before said a SINGLE word about hair or clothes or anything like that.

I found myself always trying to figure out what he REALLY meant, as if he was suddenly speaking in code. But deep down I knew that I was the one who’d switched languages. It felt a lot like insanity. Or the way I imagine drugs would make me feel—exaggerated and out of control.

He kept saying, “What did I do? Why’re you so mad at me all the time?” And even THAT would upset me, because I thought that if he CARED, he’d be able to figure me out.

Well, he never did. He gave up on me instead, and our friendship was destroyed.

*   *   *

But that was years ago. NOW Mum was sitting here looking worried, not drinking her tea or eating her toast, wondering why Rob would disappear so mysteriously. I could tell that she was picturing him in trouble: abandoned in a ditch with two broken legs, or clonked on the head by bad guys, or the victim of a hit-and-run accident, lying unidentified in the hospital with amnesia…

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. I just felt too sneaky and greasy not telling her. First I swore her to secrecy, then I spilled the whole story, starting with A) Sarah giggling over the phone with me about a stray Santa’s elf delivering midterm answers to her. And ending with Z) Sarah blaming me for tattling.

Mum gnawed on her knuckles while I talked. She does that when she’s stressed.

Sarah