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  I can't really think of anything else to say. He turns on the radio, and we listen to the DJ on 107.7 yammer about the summer concert we can't afford to miss.

  "Make a left here," I say when we get to Aunt Mindy's street.

  I can tell right off she's not home—the blinds are closed, and her car's not in the driveway—but I get out anyway.

  "Thanks," I say. "See you around."

  He drives off without a word.

  I stand on Aunt Mindy's front porch, trying to peek through the blinds. I was looking forward to telling her about Tina and Cory and Dave and maybe having her make me a cup of coffee, nice and strong. I knock just in case, but of course there's no answer. I could use my key, but what's the point of going in? I tell myself I'm being stupid, that if I spent more than five minutes with her I'd go nuts. But when I see Mom's plant standing full and leafy in her flowerbed, the clusters of blue flowers just starting to fade from the autumn chill, I have to fight away the tears.

  When the bus gets me home forty-five minutes later, Mom's not in her bedroom. She's not in the bathroom, either. Dave's in the kitchen chopping garlic, but when I ask him if he's seen her, he shakes his head. I could kick myself for being out so long.

  She probably walked down to the store for cigarettes, or maybe she went to McDonald's for a burger. I spread my drawing stuff out on the living room floor and take deep breaths to calm myself, but I can't concentrate. It's like the ants from the kitchen are crawling all over my legs, making me run to the window every few minutes.

  Finally I give up trying to work on my drawing. I count the seconds in my head to make them go by faster; every one seems a million years long. I stare at the door as if wishing hard enough could make Mom walk through it. That's when I notice the blinking red light on Tina's caller ID.

  I tell myself it's probably for Tina or Dave. But of course I have to look. I push the little button and the name comes up, the one I've been dreading: Uttley, Drake.

  I grab the caller ID box and slam it against the wall with a loud crack. Chips of paint fall to the floor, leaving a ragged scar. I try to stick the paint chips back onto the wall, but they fall off again. Nice, Stevie. Tina gives us a place to stay, and you go and wreck her stuff.

  When Mom finally strolls through the door twenty minutes later, I rush to meet her. "Where were you?"

  "I went to get some cigs." She takes one look at my face. "Jesus, baby, what's eating you?"

  "I've been waiting half an hour. It doesn't take that long to get cigarettes." Of course I know she's been gone longer than that, but I'm not about to bring up the time I spent getting to and from Aunt Mindy's.

  She looks at me like I've gone insane. "It's a nice day. I went for a walk. Is there a problem?"

  "He called you, didn't he?"

  "Who called me ?" She glances at the phone, then her gaze travels to the dent in the wall. "What happened here ?"

  "Drake. You can't lie to me. I saw his name on the caller ID."

  She gets close to the dent and runs her finger across it. Then she picks up the busted caller ID and shoves it in my face. "I hope you've got the money to pay for this, 'cause I sure as hell don't."

  "Why won't you answer me ?"

  She holds up her hands. "Okay, okay. You want to know what happened? Drake heard I was in town, so he called me. He asked if I wanted to meet for a beer. I said no, I was done with him and his crap."

  I search her face, trying to figure out if she's telling the truth.

  "Then I went to the store to buy myself a pack of cigarettes. End of story. You satisfied?"

  My legs feel so weak, I have to lean against the wall. "Sorry. It's just—"

  "I know, honey pie. Believe me, I know. But you got to trust me this time. Give me a chance to show you I've changed."

  I can't stop the tears that are welling in my eyes. I'm the one who can't be trusted, running off to Aunt Mindy's like that.

  "Of course I trust you," I say.

  She puts her arms around me, and the world feels whole again.

  Then she laughs and gives me a little shake. "Get yourself a life, would you?"

  She smiles at me to let me know she's joking.

  I smile back.

  CHAPTER 18

  Mom's right: I can't keep hanging around, watching over her every second. Besides, my world feels like it's shrinking; the water-stained walls of Tina's house are all I ever see. And even though it's great to be with Mom, I keep going back in my mind to the day Alan kissed me in the aviary. Okay, the day we kissed each other. The more I think about it, the more I know I can't leave things weird and unfinished between us. The more I think about it, the more I know I want to kiss him again.

  The next afternoon, once Mom goes to bed, I squeeze myself into a pair of jeans, throw on a shirt and a fringed vest, and bus over to On the Wing. I take a deep breath, then let myself in the cage-room door.

  The rustle of wings greets me. I wander from cage to cage, peeking to see who's inside. I look around for the crow with the broken wing but don't see it anywhere. It must have graduated to the aviary by now.

  Thinking Alan might be in the other part of the house, I tiptoe through the kitchen, into the living room. I can smell Valerie's perfume, and Alan's jacket hangs on the back of a chair, but no one seems to be around.

  Then I hear running water in the bathroom, and over that the sound of someone singing the Sesame Street theme song. The voice is high and squeaky, but there's no doubt in my mind it's Alan's. I just about lose it. Alan Parker, Mr. I'm-Too-Cool-to-Crack-a-Smile, is singing in the shower.

  I creep right up to the bathroom door and listen. Once he finishes the Sesame Street song, he moves on to opera. "Fee-ga-ro. Feegaro feegaro feegaro feegaro FEE-ga-ro," he belts in a booming voice.

  I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. One thing you can say about Alan, at least he's never boring. When he turns off the water, I hurry to the backyard so he won't know I was listening.

  As soon as I get near to the aviaries, the birds inside start to chirp and caw. "Feegaro, feegaro," I sing back at them. I spend a few minutes at the first aviary, checking out some new sparrows and a baby jay.

  Then I draw close to the wire mesh of the second aviary and peer inside. A robin perches on a branch near the roof. Its feathers are gray and its chest is covered with dark spots. It gives a shrill chirp, then swoops toward the food dish on the ground. It's Tweety Bird. I watch as she lifts her yellow beak to ease an earthworm down her throat. I used to hate it that she didn't need me anymore; now I feel proud.

  "Hi, Tweety."

  "Still calling it by a cute little name, I see."

  I whip around, and there's Alan, standing behind me with a feeding tray. Sunglasses hide his eyes, and his wet hair lies slick against his head. I imagine him shampooing it and singing away. I have to choke back a laugh.

  "Where'd you come from?" I say, trying to look surprised. "You scared the heck out of me."

  It's true; my heart is pounding, but not because I'm scared. His T-shirt hugs his chest, and his face looks so smooth and clean it's all I can do not to reach out and touch it.

  He sets the tray on the ground. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to show up, either."

  Tweety Bird flits from the food dish back to her branch.

  "We're going to release that robin soon," he says. "Couple of weeks, probably. Give it a chance to find a flock before the weather starts getting cold."

  "Want me to help feed?" I ask.

  He grabs the water pitcher and hands me the container of dry food. We let ourselves into the first aviary and refill the dishes. For a minute it's quiet except for the sound of birds swooping down to eat.

  "There is no other guy, is there ?" he finally asks.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That day in the car. You said you took off because of some other guy, but I think you lied. I think you took off because I'm a complete loser, and because of how I treated you."

  I kn
eel and pretend to watch the birds peck at the food. Something tells me I'll be better off not saying anything.

  "I can't help it sometimes. I just get out of control and end up saying stupid stuff, even when I don't mean it."

  I think about some of the lousy things I've said to Aunt Mindy. "Hey, you're not the only one."

  "No, I'm serious. Whenever things start going halfway decent, I screw them up. Since they're going to dump me anyway, I figure I might as well give them a reason."

  I stand and brush off my jeans. "Wait a second; you lost me. Who's 'they'?"

  He gives a sarcastic laugh. "My loving foster families. I've been in eight homes since I was six, and kicked out of every one."

  I remember the adoption lady saying he'd moved around a lot, but I can't even imagine living with eight different families. "What happened to your mom and dad?"

  "Apparently Mom had a drinking problem. Not that I remember or anything. I never met my dad. The only one who's still around is my caseworker, and I'm surprised she hasn't given up on me. Everybody else does."

  I put down the food container and look him in the eye. "Not Valerie. She told me about adopting you."

  "Yeah, I don't get it. I'm seventeen; I don't need anyone to take care of me."

  "Maybe you're just scared Valerie's going to give up on you, too."

  He shrugs and turns away. "Maybe."

  "I bet you a million bucks she won't." I touch his shoulder and say in a real serious voice, "And by the way, I'm not about to give up on you either." Then I grin and give him a swat. "Even though you're like the world's lamest opera singer."

  "You...!" he shouts.

  I dash away. He chases after me and swats me back. We're both laughing and breathing hard.

  Then we stop and face each other, and I grin and start to give him a pretend shove in the chest, but he grabs my hand. He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. I find myself staring into his eyes.

  "If I kissed you, would you run away again?"

  My heart is pounding so hard I can't answer. He lets go of my hand and puts his big old arms around me. My cheek squashes against his chest, and we stand there like that for a minute. I breathe in his clean shower smell as he walks me backward until I press against the aviary fence; the wire mesh digs into my back. Then I slowly lift my chin while his lips come toward mine.

  A car honks and we force ourselves apart. It's Valerie, pulling her little silver Honda into the driveway.

  "Hey!" she calls out her window. "I could use some strong arms!"

  I look into Alan's eyes and squeeze his hand.

  "Got it!" he shouts back. We both go out to help her.

  She has at least five bags of stuff in the trunk.

  "I stocked up on supplies. Ferret chow was on sale, so I snagged twenty pounds. Got a good deal on mealworms, too."

  The three of us lug the stuff into the cage room. Valerie crouches and opens a cupboard underneath the counter. "Let's stick them in here."

  It takes a few minutes to figure out how to get everything into the already jammed cupboard. Finally Valerie straightens up, brushes her beige knit pants, and says, "There. We should be fine as long as we don't ever have to open it again." She laughs and puts her hands on her hips and smiles at me. "We don't see you for weeks, then you show up just when I need you most. Where have you been keeping yourself ?"

  I tell her about Mom coming back and about us staying at Tina's. "I really missed you guys," I say. "And Tweety Bird. And I've been wondering how that crow's doing."

  She and Alan exchange a look, and he heads for the other part of the house.

  "Oh, sweetheart," she says once he's gone, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the crow didn't make it."

  "It died?"

  "I had to euthanize it."

  "You killed it ?"

  "It's a very humane process." She puts her hand on my arm. "I'm sure it didn't feel a thing."

  I jerk away. "You could have at least given it another week."

  "A week wouldn't have made any difference. I knew the day you brought it in, that crow never had a chance."

  I can't believe what I'm hearing. I always thought you were supposed to keep trying, keep hoping, no matter what. Anger surges through me. "How could you just give up?"

  "I did what I could."

  "You help all the other birds. Why didn't you save that one ?"

  "Honey, I wish you'd understand. Some birds can't be saved."

  Her words rip into the very center of me. "No!" I flap and flail, sending trays and syringes clattering to the floor. "No! No!"

  Then her arms surround me. I jerk and twist, but she doesn't let go. I'm surprised how strong she is. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're safe."

  I struggle again, but she's holding me tight.

  "Shhhh."

  One last flutter and I give in. I put my arms around her and lay my head on her chest. It feels good to stop trying so hard. It feels good to finally let go.

  CHAPTER 19

  At first it's little things. Mom starts sleeping late; I tell myself she's tired. Every once in a while she sniffles and swipes at her nose; I figure she must be catching a cold. When she gets up in the afternoon all cranky and mean, I decide it's because she's still adjusting to being home.

  Aunt Mindy keeps leaving me messages about registering for Ballard High, but I delete them all. I can't think about school right now. In fact, the only thing I really want to think about is Alan.

  We've been spending a lot of time together the last couple of weeks, and not just feeding birds. One afternoon when we were done at On the Wing, we grabbed some burgers at Dick's and had a picnic at the Overlook. Another night he took me to this all-ages club to see his friend's band. We've kissed a few times too, but never like that one time in the aviaries. I always get the feeling he's holding something back.

  One Friday night in the middle of August, Valerie invites me over for dinner, and afterward the three of us watch a movie. Alan sits close to me on the couch, and I'm so zeroed in on the spot where our legs touch that I can hardly keep track of the plot. Valerie's car is in the shop, so when the movie's over, Alan walks me to the bus stop. It's starting to rain, and it's around ten when I get off the bus at Northgate Way and head down Aurora toward Tina's. I've gone a couple of blocks when I notice a faded red pickup going in the opposite direction. When it stops at the light a few feet ahead of me, I freeze. I'd know that truck anywhere.

  I shouldn't look inside, but I do. Sitting in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other running across his buzzcut, is Drake. And sitting beside him, talking and waving a cigarette, is Mom.

  I try to look away, but I can't. Before I can decide what to do, the light changes. He guns the engine, and they're gone.

  I run the rest of the way to Tina's, my heart fluttering in my chest like a bird's wings, and burst through the front door. I dash down to Mom's room and pull my heart-shaped box from under her bed.

  The money Aunt Mindy gave me is still there.

  I sink onto the bed, shaking. What's wrong with me ? I promised I was going to trust her.

  But how can I trust her when she's hanging out with Drake? I slam the box onto the floor and kick it under the bed. I'm the one who begged her to come home, who dragged her out of rehab. If she's back on meth, I've got no one but myself to blame.

  But maybe there's a perfectly good reason she was in that truck. Maybe Tina's car broke down and she needed a ride to work and he was the only one she could call. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure that's what happened and she'll tell me all about it when she gets home.

  I decide to wait up for her. To kill time, I clean the kitchen. Rain taps against the windows as I wash every dish, including Dave's greasy black wok. I take out the stinky garbage and scrape at the globs of hardened spaghetti sauce on the stovetop. I even get down on my hands and knees, grit my teeth, and scrub the grime off the floor. It takes hours, but at least it keeps me awake.

  Not
that that's a problem. The later it gets, the more wired I feel. At two in the morning I move on to the living room, where I use Tina's straggly broom to whack cobwebs off the ceiling.

  I'm about to start in on the bathroom when I hear a car pull up outside. Car door slamming, laughter, key in the lock.

  Mom.

  She's wearing her work clothes: backless top, tight skirt, six-inch heels. Droplets of rain glitter in her hair. "Hey, baby," she says. "You still up?"

  I let the broom clatter to the floor and throw my arms around her. I bury my face against her neck and breathe in her jasmine-and-cigarette smell.

  She unwinds my arms, looks at me through bloodshot eyes, her pupils huge and dark, and laughs that big, husky laugh. "Well, hello to you too."

  "I cleaned the place up." I take her hand. "Come see the kitchen."

  "Look, sweetie, I don't have time right now. I'm going out."

  "What? With who?"

  She heads for the basement stairs. I follow.

  "With who ?" I ask again.

  "Hang on a minute, okay?" She goes into her room and shuts the door.

  "You needed a ride to work, right? That's why you called him."

  There's a muffled sound of movement from behind the door.

  "Mom?"

  No answer.

  "Mom! That's why you called him, right?"

  The door opens. She's wearing the outfit Aunt Mindy bought me; her red bra strap peeks through the cut-out triangle. The way she fills out the top, it looks even better on her than it does on me.

  "Huh?" she says.

  "Drake. I saw you in his truck."

  She brushes past me and hurries up the stairs.

  I'm right behind her. "What were you doing in Drake's truck?"

  "I wasn't in his damn truck, okay?"

  "I just want to know, that's all."

  "Would you give it a rest ?"

  "But I saw you. Stopped at a red light."

  "I thought you were going to trust me." She swipes at her nose with the back of her hand and heads for the front door.

  For a second I feel bad for letting her down; then I shake it off. I block her way. "You're going out with him right now, aren't you?"