“It’s a chickadee,” I tell her. She chatters and I tell her more names of things. Delaying. I don’t want to beg to hear Morgan’s news; I’m hoping she has to burst and spill any moment.

“You know how you’re always crushing on Simon?” she starts as we hit the end of the fifth block.

“C’mon. That’s just a game.” I clutch my hands together. “‘Oooh, Simon’s so hot.’ I’m just playin’ along with all the other girls. He’s way too old and tall for me.” We cross the street. “Hold the leash tighter on the road. You’re not paying enough attention.”

She tugs Diesel’s leash to reel him in closer. “You don’t like older guys?”

“They scare me. Guys in general. But anyway, no guy in high school wants to go out with someone in middle school.”

“But we’re done middle school now.”

“Does he even know me?”

“You must have made quite an impression.”

I like the idea, and I can’t help smiling. But she’s messing with me, has to be, so I ignore her and talk to Luanne about every little thing she sees. “Yes, pretty, those are sunflowers.” We continue down the block. A bus lumbers around the corner.

Smells bad! “Rouff, rouff!” Beware! The fur over Diesel’s back stands on end. Large noisemaker approaches!

Leave it! I stop Morgan and hold on to the leash with her.

Why don’t you humans attack them?

They carry us places.

“Sheesh, what is it with you? Do you have trust issues?” Morgan yanks the leash away from me. “Let me worry about the dog.”

I do find it hard to trust Morgan. It’s not even about the food chain project mess-up. Or her making fun of me. Or the fact that there’s something shifty about her. “Diesel chases buses. I just don’t want any accidents.” The truth is I don’t trust anyone. Especially with important stuff: my college fund, Dad and Mom getting back together again, or Diesel. Most of all Diesel. I feel like I’ve already lost him once.

“Walk nice,” she commands Diesel.

I can control myself. Do not worry. To both of their credit, Diesel trots along with his little bouncy dingo step right at Morgan’s heels.

Finally, I break down and ask, “How do you know Simon likes me?”

“He told me. Even back in middle school, he thought you were a fireball.” She hesitates. “Or was that a dynamo?”

She has to be lying. When would she have talked to him recently? And how can he remember me when he doesn’t even know I’m alive? “A peanut?” I suggest.

“No, that’s my nickname for you. Something else, I forget. But he likes you.”

This is what friends do, talk about their crushes and whether they like them back. I want to believe I am that kind of friend to Morgan now. But I don’t. “Simon can have any girl he wants —”

“Come on, Naomi. Imagine how popular we both would be if we started high school with boyfriends.”