It was Saturday morning. Nate and Naomi were up in his room, working on their poster, when his mother called up to him. “You’ve got a visitor, son,” she said.

Nate heard footsteps on the stairs. Then there was Larry standing at the door to his room. “I know you’re probably busy with your project,” he said. “But I had to talk to you.”

Nate and Naomi were stretched out on the floor with her set of Magic Markers scattered around them. “Be my guest,” Nate said. “We’re getting pretty close to finishing up this thing anyway.” He was trying to sound casual, but his heart was beating fast. From Junie’s record player, the Beatles were singing “I’m Only Sleeping.”

“Great album, huh?” said Larry. “My sister has it.”

“So how’s your project coming?” Nate asked him. Larry had still been standing just a few inches inside the doorway, but now he walked in and sat down on the bed.

“Disaster. Travis is a total screwup. He kept saying he had this uncle who was going to show us how to build the robot, but when the guy finally came, all he had was this little model kit from a toy store. Then it turned out Travis copied his whole half of our report on robotics out of the encyclopedia, and Mrs. Unger found out and gave us a zero.”

“Too bad,” Nate said. “It could have been a neat project.”

They sat in silence for a while—Naomi drawing, Nate picking fluff off the rug. “I wanted to apologize,” Larry said.

“What for?” Nate said, though of course he knew.

“I acted like a jerk. Didn’t just act like a jerk. Was one.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“My parents,” Larry said. “Everyone was saying to stay away from your family, like it was something we could catch.”

“I know,” Nate told him. “My sister invited thirty kids to her birthday party. Only one came.”

Larry didn’t say anything, just looked around the room. The old familiar stuff: the star chart, the Chicago Cubs pennant, the poster of Alfred E. Neuman. The girl lying on the floor with the crazy hair and the uncapped marker in her hand—that part was new.

“You know Naomi,” Nate said.

“Hey,” Larry said.

“You should see her artwork,” Nate told him. “She does these cartoons, as good as Mad magazine practically.”

They sat there like that. Naomi chewed her fingernail. Nate ran a hand through his hair.

“You rode over on your bike, huh?” Nate finally asked Larry.

“Yup.”

“Mine’s all messed up. I busted the chain on those jumps we were doing last fall.”

“I remember.”

“That was my sister’s bike I had at tryouts Saturday.”

“I kind of figured,” Larry said. “Your arm was looking good. I’m glad you’re on the team.”

From downstairs, they heard Nate’s mother calling. “You kids want hot chocolate or something?”