The next thing he knew, Matty had the door open. Jack straightened from behind the couch, flushing, and walked to the door. She stood no more than two feet from him. Her cheeks slapped red from the cold. On her head she wore a knit hat, and from it her hair scattered out in a flyaway mess. Her coat fell to just above her knees and was made of battered wool, a juniper green with tarnished brass buttons. It looked like some relic from World War II. These details he saw in a haze. She smelled like something warm: nutmeg or ginger.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

She took in a breath.

“I need my book,” she said. “For school today.”

Her hazel eyes watched him. Jack couldn’t think. He tried to act casual but his heart was thumping. He looked down. Her combat boots were unlaced, and in the twelve or so inches between the laces and the bottom of her coat, he could see her bare legs. He looked up. She watched him.

“Maybe she should come in,” Matty said. He stood beside Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack closed the door a little. No. Hell no. She could not come into this rathole house. “I don’t have your book.”

“Oh.” She took a step back. “Okay.”

“I left it at school,” Jack said.

She watched him for a minute. Then she looked at Matty. She nodded. “Okay.”

In the slight breeze, a strand of her hair lifted and blew across her cheek, her lips. Jack wanted to reach out. Tuck the strand behind her ear. What would that touch feel like? His hand almost lifted. He gripped the sides of his coat.

“We’re in a hurry,” he said.

Her cheeks reddened further. “Okay.”

She turned and crunched off the porch and down the narrow path, her back straight, her wild hair streaming behind her, alight in the cold morning sun. Fresh snow sparkled around her. When the path ended, she got in the car and started it and backed out of the drive and headed up the road.

They left the living room a mess. Jack helped Matty into his coat and zipped him up and got his backpack. Matty wouldn’t look at him.

“What?” Jack said.

Matty shook his head. Jack slid Matty’s backpack over his shoulders.

“You could have let her in,” Matty said.

Jack didn’t answer. He found the stocking hat and pulled it over Matty’s ears. Matty still wouldn’t look at him.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

“She told me to stay away from her.”

“When?”

“At school.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Matty stood there pondering this. He pulled his gloves from his coat pockets and worked them over his fingers. “Maybe she didn’t mean it. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”

“Maybe.”

“That’s true,” Matty said. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s true.”