The Old Willis Place

have friends." I shredded the leaf as I spoke. "I don't know them, either."
    Lissa inched closer, till her face was inches from mine. "Want to hear what I think?"
    I slid out on the limb until it dipped beneath my weight. My mouth felt dry. Had Lissa guessed the truth?
    "I think you live right here on the farm," she said. "Like squatters. Maybe your parents are hippies or survivalists or even fugitives. Maybe they belong to a weird cult. I don't know and I don't care. You're my friend. That means your secrets are my secrets, too. I'll never tell anyone the truth about you—or your parents. Especially not Dad."
    I shifted my position and the limb swayed. If only everything were as simple as Lissa thought.
    "The thing is—" I cut myself off and stared past Lissa at the brown field and the house beyond. With most of the trees' leaves gone, I could see the roof and tall chimneys. How could I explain myself to an ordinary girl like Lissa?
    "What's the matter, Diana?" She reached out to touch my hand. "I can keep a secret. Do you live in one of the old barns? Or—"
    "It doesn't matter where we live," I said slowly. "We won't be here much longer." As soon as I spoke, I knew it was true.
    Lissa's eyebrows rose, giving her face a tense, worried look. "Is it because of me? Did your parents find out we're friends?"
    I shook my head and felt the heavy weight of my braid shift. "No, it's not because of you. Or your dad. It's time to go, that's all."
    "Do you want to leave?" she asked softly.
    "Sort of." I fingered my braid. It was beginning to loosen, and I supposed I needed to redo it. "We've been here for ages.
    "Lucky you." Lissa sighed. "Dad and I never stay anywhere long."
    "Lucky," I echoed softly. If only she knew.
    "But where will you go? If it's not too far, maybe we could still see each other." Lissa's face brightened.
    I watched a long loose line of geese zigzag across the sky. Their loud cries rang out like the barking of dogs. They were leaving, too. "I think it will be much too far for us to see each other."
    Lissa looked at me sadly. "Well, we can always write. And then maybe someday—"
    I shook my head. "No. We won't be allowed to tell you where we are."
    Lissa looked down at her feet. "More rules, I guess."
    "Yes."
    Lissa sighed. "Can you at least tell me when you're leaving? Tomorrow? Next week, next month?"
    "I'm not sure." I listened to the thoughts in my head and tried to put them into words. "Georgie and I have to do something first."
    "What do you mean—do something?"
    "You ask too many questions, Lissa." I didn't know the answer myself. Not yet, at least. Exasperated, I tossed the books out of the tree. Grabbing a branch, I swung after them and landed on my feet as lightly as Nero.
    Lissa looked down at me. "I'm scared to jump from here," she said. "It's too high. I could break my leg."
    "Then climb down," I said impatiently.
    I watched her make her way from branch to branch until she was low enough to drop to the ground. "You and Georgie must have rubber bones or something," she said. "I'd never have the nerve to jump that far."
    "We've been jumping out of trees since before you were born."
    Lissa laughed as if I were joking. "Oh," she said suddenly, "we forgot the bear." She pointed at Alfie, still perched on his branch.
    "Don't worry," I said. "Georgie will come back for him and the books."
    Lissa shook her head, still puzzled by my brother 's behavior. "I hope you don't leave for a long time," she said. "I'll really miss you, Diana."
    Maybe I'd miss her. Maybe not. She might fade like a forgotten dream after Georgie and I left. Who knew what we'd remember?
    We crossed the field to the trailer. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney and the smell of soup met us at the door. Mr. Morrison looked up from the pot he was stirring and smiled. "Well, well, look what the wind blew in," he said cheerfully. "You're just in time for a big hot bowl of chicken soup with noodles, made from scratch, the best you ever tasted."
    "Yum." Lissa sat at the table and patted the chair beside her. "Sit here, Diana. Dad is the world's greatest soup chef."
    Before I could protest, Mr. Morrison set down two bowls and fixed a third for himself. The fragrance reminded me of my mother's soup. She'd made it from Miss Lilian's leftovers, thick and hearty, a treat for all of us, served with chunks of homemade brown bread and cheese.
    I pushed the chair back and stood up. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. I have to go home. I promised