“John, definitely,” Naomi said. Nearly all the girls at school were crazy about Paul, especially after his song “Michelle” came out. “I figure John’s the most intelligent. And he has this slightly twisted way of looking at things.”

“My little sister likes Ringo because he seems so cheerful,” he told her. “She just likes people to be happy all the time.”

“That’s not really possible, is it?” Naomi told him. “I mean, you’d have to be an idiot.”

They sat on the floor in his room, listening to the record all the way through. Sometime in the middle of “Here, There, and Everywhere,” Naomi spoke.

“I just want to make one thing clear,” she said. “We’re not boyfriend-girlfriend material. I don’t want to embarrass you, but it seemed like we should get that out on the table.”

He studied her face—her large, intense eyes under the thatch of thick bangs, her mouth that seemed big for her face and never stayed still. Her tights had a run, and as usual, her dress was rumpled. He remembered when he used to think she was weird-looking, but the way she appeared to him now was nice, actually. Like someone who wouldn’t mind sitting in the barn with the cows.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for that type of deal either,” he said to her. “I’ve got enough going on.”

“But friends is good,” she said. “When you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, there’s sure to come a time when you break up, and then you’ve got a mess on your hands. Where friends don’t have to end.”

He thought of Larry and of the secret pledge they’d made when they were little: Friends forever. But mostly, she was right. Friendship might not be foolproof, but it was safer than romance.

“So we’ve got that straightened out,” she said. “That’s a relief.”

At five o’clock Mrs. Torvald’s car pulled up. Hearing her mother pulling down the drive, Naomi jumped up quickly and grabbed her book bags. Nate walked her out to the yard.

“You young scientists find a cure for cancer yet?” Mrs. Torvald asked. She had a way of talking to the two of them like they were six years old. Unlike Naomi’s father, who seemed scary to Nate, Naomi’s mother seemed gentle enough, but she was also one of those women who acted like her husband was the boss, like she would never understand anything other than cooking and doing laundry. She had never seemed to grasp what their project was about or shown any sign of caring that she didn’t.

“One of these days,” Nate told Mrs. Torvald as Naomi climbed into the car. In addition to her two home-sewn book bags, Naomi had a stack of loose papers spilling from her arms. She got into the backseat, where there was more room.