Erik stopped pacing and pretended he'd been standing still for ages as soon as Antoinette came into view, but she could tell from the way his fingers were twitching that something was bothering him. But she didn't say anything; if Erik didn't want to tell her, there'd be no teasing it out of him.

"I brought food," she said, holding up a basket.

He nodded briskly. "My thanks, as always, Antoinette."

Antoinette rolled her eyes metaphorically. Erik was developing more and more of a flair for drama and undue formality. In part she was relieved, because he was getting older now: he recently had his 15th birthday, and she was glad he wasn't rowdy like most boys his age.

"My pleasure as always, Erik," she said, matching his elegant distance.

He reached a hand forward, to take the basket, but Antoinette drew back.

"Feeling hasty? It's Sunday, remember? We always spend Sunday together! What's going on?"

"I'm busy," Erik said elusively.

"Is that so?" Antoinette raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "May I inquire as to what you're busy with?"

Erik shook his head, reaching more forcefully for the basket. Antoinette pulled it back again.

"Come on. Don't be rude, Erik. I went through a lot of trouble to get this. Besides, what have you got to hide from me?"

Erik's eyes darkened, but he didn't speak. Instead, he growled and stomped over to the boat, and Antoinette could imagine the surly expression on his young face as he waited impatiently for her. She climbed onto the boat with a serene expression, ignoring his irritated demeanor. He pulled them over at his lair and jumped out without waiting for her and began to rearrange his possessions in a clipped, anxious manner. Antoinette was beginning to really be worried that something was up. She could only pray to the good Lord above it didn't involve a girl. That was more trouble than she could handle. She set the basket down and started to unload it; she was well versed in this ritual. Erik, despite his foul mood, was also routinized and came over to eat as Antoinette sat down.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, nibbling on the croissant she allowed herself. She never ate much at these meetings; Erik was the one who really needed to put on some weight.

"I'm fine," Erik insisted through gritted teeth, stabbing a bit of fish.

Antoinette set her croissant down. "No, you're not fine," she said. "I know you better than that, Erik! Something's wrong and you're not telling me? Why? Aren't I your friend? Haven't I been here for you? Why are you hiding things from me? Maybe I could help!"

Erik stood up. "There's nothing you can do!" he cried. "I don't have to tell you anything if I don't want-" Erik broke off on 'want', looking stricken. Antoinette had to bite her lip to stop the laughter from bursting out. Because on that treacherous word 'want', Erik's voice had jumped up about three octaves.

"It's not funny!" Erik shouted, not fooled by Antoinette's attempt to stop herself from cracking up.

But his case was ruined because his voice cracked again. Antoinette couldn't help it now. She exploded laughing, partly because it was so funny, and partly because of the outraged, affronted posture Erik had assumed and partly from relief that this was all he'd been hiding from her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped. "No, it's not funny."

She reached out a hand to put it on Erik's shoulder, but he drew away from her, disgusted.

"Erik!" she wheezed, "Come back!"

She jumped up and followed him into one of the dark rooms leading off from the main room. She spotted his yellow eyes over in the corner. Of course he'd withdrawn to sulk. Well, it also explained his reluctance to speak earlier.

"Erik, look, I'm sorry okay? It's just, I was imagining all these terrible things you could be keeping secret down here and now I find out this is all? It was pretty funny."

Erik tried to scowl, but his face broke off into a apprehensive expression, chewing on his lip.

"What do you mean, that's all?" he wailed. "My voice, my beautiful voice! I'm losing it Antoinette! What if this doesn't go away? I can't sing anymore if it keeps doing this! And it sound so…stupid!"

He was clearly beside himself with worry over his voice, and once more Antoinette was reminded how dreadfully ignorant he remained of the simplest things in the world. Reflectively, she realized this was her oversight. She had taken him in, and it was her job to explain things to him. Erik had buried his face in his arms, which were resting on his drawn up knees. It was as though he thought he could make himself disappear. Antoinette walked over and sat next to him. In every movement she was now showing the grace that all ballerinas carry with them, every day. She put an arm around his shoulder.

"Erik, you're not losing your voice, so don't worry about that," she said, pushing the last of the amusement out of her tone. "It's totally normal, okay? All boys your age get it. Frankly, I was beginning to wonder why it hadn't happened yet."

Erik looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes, which, in a rare open moment, shone with naïveté. "Really?"

Antoinette smiled. "Of course! The same thing happened to my brother, and he hated it to. It's because you're growing, and your voice has to change accordingly. It means you're probably going to shoot up like a weed soon, and be eating up all my money."

Erik frowned. "Will your voice change too?"

"No. Girl's voices don't change the same way."

"Why?"

Antoinette sighed in false exasperation. "I don't know, Erik. They just don't. Maybe that's something for you to contemplate until next Sunday."

"But you're sure I'm not going to lose my voice? What if it changes and sounds awful?" Fresh anxiety dripped from his voice.

"With a voice like yours? I doubt it. I'm sure you'll still have that beautiful tenor. You just won't be able to hit all the girl's high notes anymore!"

A slight smile edged its way onto Erik's sickeningly pale face. "I'll still be able to sing!" he said, mostly to himself.

"Yes, chérie, you'll still be able to sing," Antoinette confirmed.

Swiftly rising to his feet, Erik offered Antoinette a hand. "Mademoiselle, I believe we still have a meal to finish," he said elegantly.

Antoinette, chuckling to herself about Erik's overdramatic demeanor, but all the same enjoying it, took the proffered hand and he led her back down to the dinning room.