The Old Willis Place

mothers with strollers, people walking their dogs, joggers, some boys riding bikes. I wished Dad and I lived there. I noticed a house for sale, which I plan to tell him about.
But I didn't see Diana or Georgie. After a while I went up to a group of kids sitting on a little dock. They looked friendly, so I asked them if they knew a girl named Diana or her little brother, Georgie.
They said no, they'd never heard of them. I talked to them a long time, but they were absolutely positive Diana and Georgie didn't live in their neighborhood. They said they knew everybody with kids. No one was homeschooled. Everybody went to public school—except one boy named John, who went to St. Mary of the Mills.
What do you make of that, Dee Dee? It's very odd, isn't it? Now I have more questions than ever for Diana, the mystery girl. Or is she just a compulsive liar? I read a book once about a girl like that—she made up stories all the time to impress people. Take Miss Willis,for instance. Diana must be lying about her. Like I said, how can somebody hate you if they died while you were still a baby????? Nothing about that girl makes sense!
Love, Lissa

Chapter 13
    A few days later, Georgie and I were perched on a branch in our favorite tree. Without Lassie to read, I'd fallen back on Clematis. I had a feeling he wasn't listening to anything but the sound of my voice, a comforting background noise as meaningless as a cicada's song.
    Annoyed, I gave him a sharp poke in the side. "You haven't heard a word I've said."
    Startled from his thoughts, Georgie looked at me. "Do you ever get tired of being twelve, Diana?"
    I closed Clematis, keeping my place with my finger. Oddly enough, it was a subject I'd given some thought to lately. I supposed it had something to do with meeting Lissa. She'd be thirteen next year, then fourteen, fifteen, and so on. Someday she'd probably get married and have children. But I'd remain twelve. Year after year after year. Just as Georgie would remain eight.
    I reached up to stroke Nero, who was now entering his fifteenth year. He was showing a few signs of age, a white hair here and there in his coat, a certain stiffness in his gait. He was one of a long line of cats we'd owned, each growing old and dying, leaving us to find a new one.
    "Sometimes," I admitted.
    "I was trying to figure it out," Georgie said. "In real life, I'd be almost seventy now. It's hard to be sure when you never have a proper birthday."
    "I'd be seventy-two." I laughed. "That's old enough to be Lissa's grandmother. Isn't that funny?"
    Georgie didn't laugh. His face solemn, he gazed past me, across the brown fields to the bare trees beyond. "I get so bored doing the same old things over and over and over again. Fish. Catch tadpoles. Climb trees. Swim in the pond. Wade in the creek. We've explored every inch of the farm. There's nothing new to see, nothing new to do."
    I tried to think of a good answer, but I couldn't. I was bored, too. "That's one reason I wanted to be friends with Lissa," I told him. "She was new and different."
    Georgie frowned at the mention of Lissa, but he didn't say anything about her. Instead, he busied himself peeling loose bark from the tree. "Read some more," he said. "I like to hear your voice."
    I hadn't read more than two pages when I heard a twig snap. In the woods, branches swayed, and dry weeds rustled. Georgie grabbed my arm. "She's coming," he whispered. "It's her. Miss Lilian."
    We froze, terrified. Should we run? Or stay still and hope she wouldn't see us?
    Before we'd decided what to do, Lissa stepped out from the bushes. MacDuff followed her. He fixed his attention on Nero, who lay draped over a branch, tail twitching, eyes on the dog.
    "What do you want?" I asked. It was a rude way to greet her, but I was still mad about what she'd done.
    Georgie scowled down at her. "Go away!"
    Lissa ignored him. She seemed close to tears. "Please don't hate me, Diana." She held up Lassie Come-Home. "I brought this back. I thought maybe—"
    "It's a dumb story." Georgie folded his arms across his chest and frowned at the sky. "I hate Lassie."
    "Come on, Georgie," I said softly. "Let me finish reading it to you. You're bored stiff with Clematis."
    He didn't say yes and he didn't say no, so I leaned out of the tree and Lissa handed me the book.
    "He can have the bear, too." Lissa held up Alfie. I could tell it was hard for her to give him up.
    Georgie refused to look at Lissa, but I sensed he wasn't quite as mad as