The Old Willis Place

big, but at least both things were clean and neither was torn or stained. Surely Lissa wouldn't be afraid of me now. Why, even without shoes, I felt almost civilized.
    My hair was still wet, so I sat and combed it, tugging at the last of the tangles till I was sure no sticks or leaves clung to it.
    Suddenly, Georgie stepped out of the woods and stopped, clearly astonished at the sight of me. "Diana," he whispered. "Is that you?"
    "Of course it's me, silly." I laughed and tossed my hair. With no tangles to weigh it down, it flew free around my face, as clean and sweet with shampoo as Lissa's.
    Georgie came closer and touched my hair. "I forgot it was so light."
    "Yours would be the same color, too, if you'd let me wash it."
    Georgie backed away fast. "You're not touching me!"
    I spread my hands. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind—"
    "No chance of that." Georgie scrutinized me from a safe distance. "Where did you get those clothes?"
    I stood up and twirled so the long flowered skirt floated around me. "Isn't it pretty?"
    Georgie stared at me, his eyes fearful. "You didn't get that stuff from the trailer," he whispered. "Those are her things. Her clothes. Her soap. Her comb. Her brush. You went in her house, didn't you?"
    I shrugged. "We've gone in there before."
    "Not since she died," Georgie whispered. "What if you disturbed her?" Under the grime, his face looked pale. "Did you see her?" he persisted. "Or hear her?"
    "No." I fidgeted with my hair, unable to meet his eyes. Uneasily, I remembered the faint sounds behind the parlor's closed door and the terror I'd felt as I ran through the dark cellar.
    Forgetting his fear of a bath, Georgie came closer. "Something scared you. I can tell."
    I shook my head. "Mice," I said. "There was nothing there but mice." Near my foot a grasshopper clung to a tall weed, his antennae turned toward me. I nudged the weed and watched him jump away.
    "What made you go inside?" Georgie's voice rose. "You never cared about being dirty before."
    I looked at him and wrinkled my nose, deliberately insulting him. "You smell bad, you know that?You stink!"
    Georgie drew in his breath sharply. "Its because of Lissa. You still want to be her friend, don't you?"
    "No," I lied. "I just don't want to be dirty like you!"
    "I hate Lissa." Georgie's eyes filled with tears, streaking his cheeks as they ran down his face. "Nothing's been the same since she came. We never used to fight. I hate her, I hate her!"
    Instantly sorry, I reached out for him, but he was already running toward the woods. In a moment, he'd vanished and I was alone in the sunny field.
    Maybe I should have run after him and apologized, but he'd made me angry talking like that. I'd gone into the house and taken only what I needed, just a few little things. No one had stopped me. Nothing had happened. At least not yet.
    So instead of following Georgie, I sat in the sunshine and braided my hair into a long single plait, as thick and heavy as rope, and tied it with string. When I was done, I felt calmer. Georgie would get over his anger. He'd see I hadn't done anything so terrible.
    Nero sat nearby, watching me, his tail flicking. I picked him up and burrowed my face in his soft black fur. "Now I'm as clean as you. And I smell good, too."
    The cat twisted out of my arms. In a flash he was gone, bounding through the weeds in pursuit of whatever small animal might cross his path. Maybe he preferred my old familiar smell. Well, let him play with Georgie, then. Persnickety old thing—what did I care? Soon I'd have a new friend, a real friend, a girl to talk to and laugh with.
    I squinted at the sun. It was past noon. Had Lissa found her diary? Read what I'd written? Did she plan to meet me at the terrace? Would she really and truly be my friend?
    I ran across the field and into the woods, eager to see what she was doing. Near the trailer, I heard Mr. Morrison's voice. I dropped to my knees and crawled noiselessly through the underbrush until I was close enough to see and hear. Lissa sat at the picnic table, surrounded by books, her diary among them. Her father sat across from her, drilling her with math problems. MacDuff lay at his feet, dozing peacefully in the sunlight.
    "Come on, Liss," Mr. Morrison said patiently. "You're not concentrating."
    Lissa frowned at the page in front of her. "I don't care whether car A or car B gets to Chicago first. Its a boring problem."
    Mr. Morrison sighed and pulled a pipe out of his shirt pocket. I