The Geller house was quiet as Paris and Tristan worked on their biology. They were paired up for an assignment this week, and she'd suggested they work at her house. They were responsible for teaching one cycle of mitosis to the rest of the class, in their case, metaphase.

From her seat next to him, Paris ordered, "Tell me all the parts of a cell."

His hand resting on the table, he turned it up slightly in protest. "We already had a test over that."

"What did you get on it?"

"B+."

"B+ isn't good enough. We aren't going to get a B+. I need to make sure you know what's in a cell if I expect you to help me explain how it splits."

Tristan understood why people didn't like Paris, she was blunt and honest at all times. But she could be nice, too. She was always nice to him. He liked having her for a partner, mostly. He knew they were going to get an A, because Paris settled for nothing less. She took charge and all he had to do was whatever she told him to do. As long as he didn't screw it up, she'd be happy with him. It was like when his sister had an idea. She did all the visualizing and planning. He just had to follow her directions to carry things out.

He sighed. "Fine." He took a sheet she handed over, it was a picture of an unlabeled cell. He started pointing at the parts. "Ribosomes, mitochondria." And so on.

When he finished, she said, "Now tell me what prophase is."

"We only have to do metaphase," he protested. "Someone else will teach us about prophase."

"Is that how you're going through life, only doing what you have to do for class? This will probably pop up on the SATs. And I'm sure I'll need to know it for AP Biology next year."

He sighed again. Paris reminded him of his mom. They both had a deeply ingrained ruthless desire to get ahead. Neither could be confused as easy going.

She went on, "Madeline and her partner got prophase. She is smart, but I'm not depending on her to teach me about the first stage of the cell cycle. We're going to understand everything, not just our part."

Paris Geller and Caroline Dugray, kindred spirits.

One thing was for sure, he was going to ace the test on mitosis.

They worked for two hours on the cell cycle, Paris allowing him one bathroom break. He was grateful when her nanny came in with a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. Recognizing him as one of Paris's elementary school classmates, Nanny greeted Tristan warmly.

"Thank you," he said as he took a cookie from the plate. He swallowed a bite and commented, "I miss my nanny."

Paris glanced up from her work. "You have your grandpa though."

"Yeah," he agreed. "He's cool to have around. But he doesn't bake cookies."

"Nanny could make you some, if you wanted," Paris offered, quite kindly and almost shyly.

Tristan was about to answer when there was a sudden noise coming from another room in the big house. It was Mrs. Geller, and she didn't sound happy. A second voice responded back-Mr. Geller. Their tit-for-tat was not friendly. They weren't just annoyed with each other, they were down right angry with each other.

Paris's head lifted when she heard them. She froze, her eyes widened and pink rose to her cheeks.

Mr. and Mrs. Geller moved from one room to another, never stopping their argument. They didn't even seem to notice Paris and Tristan sitting in the dining room when they paused at the entrance for a moment.

With determination, Paris looked back down at her work and pretended she was far too deep in concentration to hear her parents. Tristan kept his mouth sealed shut, glancing from the Gellers to their daughter and then down to his own work, as though there was nothing disturbing going on. He hadn't been here in awhile. He didn't know when this had started between her parents. They were often gone, leaving Paris alone in the house with her nanny. For all he knew, this was always there, under the surface, and they were just now letting it explode all over.

Casually, Tristan asked, "Do you want to go to my house? My grandpa could come get us."

Without making eye contact, Paris quietly asked, "Your parents won't mind?"

He shook his head. "They aren't there. They're staying in New York this week for work. They might be back over the weekend. I'm not sure." Privately, he hoped they didn't argue like that behind closed doors.

She started to quickly gather her things together before reaching for her backpack. "I'll ask Nanny to wrap up the cookies."

"Paris Geller," Janlen greeted with a smile when the climbed into his station wagon. "It's been too long."

She grinned modestly. "It's nice to see you too, sir."

They set up in the den to resume their work, Paris asking that Tristan recite the parts of the cell again, as though he might have forgotten everything on the short trip over. Pleased with the ease at which he listed everything this time, but not finished pushing him, she had him explain each phase in the cell cycle. Only then did she give the okay for them to resume planning their lesson on metaphase.

Apparently content with their progress for the day, Paris suggested they switch gears to work on their math homework. Tristan refrained from calling her out on it, but he suspected she was stalling so she wouldn't have to return to her own house. He wasn't surprised when she accepted Janlen's invitation to stay for supper.

As expected, she finished the geometry assignment first. She checked all her answers and not so subtly leaned over to check his, as well. She made him redo two problems. It was like they were in the second grade again.

"I got the same answer for this one," he said with a frown, pointing to the bottom of his work where he circled a number.

"It wasn't wrong. I just wanted to make sure you could arrive at the correct answer twice," she said simply. "And you did. Of course you did, you're smart."

He stared at her, then shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "Not as smart as you."

"That's not true. If you tried just a little harder, I'm sure you'd be giving me a run for my money."

If only he tried harder. He already had a little voice inside his head telling him he wasn't doing a good enough job. He didn't really need Paris Geller vocalizing it.

She spied the stack of newspapers in the corner of the room and asked, "Does your sister know where she's working after graduation?"

"No. But she'll take anything, anywhere."

"I hope she's gotten over sports and turned to something more important."

He shook his head. "Nope. Never. Editor for Sports Illustrated or producing for ESPN is the goal."

Paris tsked and took out her history notes. She may not have any intention of leaving tonight. He finished his geometry, wondering if she checked the rest of his answers, and sighed as he pulled out his own history book. He opened to the chapter they were on, but didn't read. "Hey Paris?"

"Yeah?" she said, looking up after she finished highlighting a sentence.

"What would you do if you wanted to go out with someone, but their parents won't let them?

She blinked, then blushed. Did Paris like someone? He couldn't think of a single guy in their class that could come close to whatever ridiculously high standards she surely had. Interesting. Suspicious, she asked, "Why?"

"Just, hypothetically, okay?"

"My parents shouldn't allow me to date. I'll have time for boys after Harvard. I shouldn't focus on anything else until then."

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He deeply inhaled and let it out.

Seeing his frustration, she relented, "If it wasn't my parents, then it wouldn't be up to me."

"It wouldn't?"

She shook her head. "No. It would be the responsibility of the other person."

He frowned. "There's nothing I can do?"

She shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to make a good impression." He was barely listening when she added, "Not that you have anything to worry about there."

It was up to Francie to convince her parents to change their minds. He should probably run it by her. He'd call her tonight, just as soon as Paris left. He glanced over at the blond girl, hoping that she would indeed leave at some point.

XXX

Caroline carefully balanced a tray of cups on her right arm and held a coffee pot in the other hand as she went from one cubicle to the next. She poured two cups at a time, leaving one for the worker on his desk and put the other on the tray to carry to the next person. She gave the cup a withering look, daring it to fall off the tray. Unfortunately, the person at the next cubicle blocked her path before she had time to react. Alexander's coffee cup slid off the tray when she ran into him, spilling down his front.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. Alexander inhaled sharply at the hot liquid on his clean shirt, no doubt hot on his skin. She could see his jaw clench tightly, willing himself not to scold her. But she saw the anger in his brown eyes.

"Caroline," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. Then another thought sickened her. "Your meeting is in five minutes."

"I know, I have to present a project."

"It's all right," said an older man standing near Alex's desk. Caroline just now noticed him. Though his dark hair was greying, she could see the resemblance between the two. He took off his blazer and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. "It's a bit big, but no one will notice when you put on your jacket," he said, handing it over.

Alex took off his own shirt and accepted the clean one.

"There, good as new," the older man said genially, as though Caroline hadn't just ruined Alex's day. Sticking his hand out, he politely said, "I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself. Janlen Dugray. I'm afraid this was my fault. I distracted Alex with my chatter."

Alex didn't say anything as he tucked his shirt in and put his belt and jacket back on, pretending that he wasn't upset.

She accepted the handshake. "Caroline Huntzberger." Looking at Janlen in his white t-shirt, she pointed away. "I'll just go buy you a new shirt."

"It's no problem," Janlen said earnestly.

"No, really, I'll get you one." She timidly eyed Alex on her way out, guilty, though relieved to escape. She would have felt better if he had yelled at her like he clearly wanted to.

Caroline returned to the office a half hour later to find Janlen lounging in his son's chair, reading the paper. He smiled kindly when he saw her. "Thank you," he said, taking the new shirt she offered. "But you didn't have to."

"I did. This one is for Alexander," she said, placing the second shirt on the desk.

"I hope there wasn't anything more important you had to do."

"No," she said, a bit glum. "Passing out packets at the morning meeting isn't all that important. I was hoping to learn how to run a business."'

His brow quirked in curiosity. "Ambitious for a summer intern," Janlen said, now dressed.

She shrugged. "I have to learn sometime. I want to be ready."

XXX

Alex had ten minutes left in his work day when Caroline made another appearance. His dad had returned after a two hour lunch with her. She looked uncharacteristically timid as she approached him quietly. "I wanted to apologize again, for ruining your shirt. I know you don't believe me, but it really was an accident."

"It's fine," he said in monotone.

"Did your presentation go well?"

"It went fine."

"That's good," she said. She was still hovering in his cubicle, apparently not finished.

He glowered up at her. He was gloomy today, and he didn't even know why. It wasn't just the spilled coffee. "Did you need something else?"

"No. I'm sorry I stole lunch with your dad out from under you. I didn't know we'd take such a long lunch."

"It's fine," he said again. "We would have just talked about our last squash game."

"Oh, okay," she said with a frown. "He offered me an internship at his investment house next summer, since this one isn't doing me any good."

"Great."

"This way I can learn how a business is run, and I'll learn about finance." She sounded like she was containing some excitement.

He asked, "Why do you want to learn about investment banking? You're a newspaper woman."

"Yes," she said with a small smile. "But this could be what I write about-finance. It's perfect. I'll write about business, which will prove that I can write and also that I know about business. I don't know why I never thought of it before."

The corner of his mouth stretched up, just slightly, though earnestly. "Good."

Caroline's smile stretched and her eyes sparkled, very prettily. He stared at her an extra second, this being the happiest he'd seen her all summer. "I don't know anything about finance, but that's alright, I can learn. Your dad said he'd teach me."

"Did he?" Alex asked flatly, raising a brow. "How nice of him." Janlen never sat down to advise any of his own kids.

When she seemed to hesitate rather than leave, he sighed heavily. "Caroline, what?"

She blinked rapidly, startled. "Nothing, it's just, I'm really glad I got to talk to your dad. He seems like a very good man."

"The next Andrew Carnegie. Everybody likes him."

"He talked about your brothers-Ben and Joe and Emery."

Alex rubbed the bridge of his nose. There it was. He knew there was some reason his father's visit annoyed him. "Mm-hmm. Did you lecture him about shortening all our names?"

"I didn't lecture him, really. But he explained that he needed a way for you all to know when you're in trouble," she said, at least mildly amused by the explanation. "Anyway, didn't you say you have four brothers?"

He froze and his heart thumped harder. Why did she remember that? She didn't even like him. "Yes. Five in all."

"That's too many," she muttered. "Why do you think he only mentioned four of you?"

Alex clenched his jaw for a moment. He looked down to unnecessarily straighten the papers in front of him. "It would have made you uncomfortable to bring up Ike."

"Ike. As in Eisenhower?"

He nodded.

"So he's younger than you."

He shook his head. "A year and a half older. He's named after the commander, not president." Then, stalling, he said, "Joe was born before Dad went to World War II, then Ike and me when he came back. He got called back to Korea, so the youngest two were after that."

"Ah. So, what would have made me uncomfortable?" she asked gently.

He didn't say anything at first, but she didn't move. She just kept looking at him. Is this what she did when she wanted information from people? Stare her prey down until they talked? She kept her attention on him as though the only thing that mattered right now was his answer and she wasn't going to leave him alone until she heard it. He was unnerved, not just by her waiting on him to speak, but because this is what he thought he wanted. He wasn't supposed to talk about this, which was absurd. It was the biggest, worst thing to happen in his life, and he had to pretend he was fine. He'd grown to hate the repression. It was stifling, while his insides were twisted uncomfortably.

Now Caroline was standing in front of him, not caring about unspoken rules and inviting him to talk about it, and he couldn't form words. "Alex?" she prompted.

He was going to have to say it outloud. He cleared his throat. "Ike's number came up his junior year of college. So he went-to Vietnam," Alex said. "He wouldn't have deferred. He was called on to do something, so he did it. And he . . . "

She filled in the blank, "Didn't make it back?"

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. "Euphemisms are middle-class, Caroline. He's dead. It was a napalm bomb." He looked away, not wanting her to see his pain.

"When?"

"December-this past December."

"I'm sorry, that's awful."

"We don't talk about it, in my family," he said. He glanced up at her. "My dad-he's not a bad guy. It's just . . . how he was raised."

"You too," she said quietly, knowingly. "Were you and Eisen-Ike-were you two close?"

Alex took a deep breath. He didn't want his voice to waver. "Yeah. He left all his stuff to me," he said. "I've been driving his car, trying to . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know. I just keep driving it around."

"I'm sorry about the things I've said—to you, and about the war. I didn't know you took it personally."

"Everybody's entitled to their opinion."

"Yes, but I don't have to bring mine up so often."

The corner of his lips tugged slightly, without humor. "I figure you can't help it."

"Well it's never too late to give self-restraint a try." It seemed like the natural place for her to leave, to let him alone with his painful thoughts. But she lingered still. She opened her mouth and seemed to be determined to speak, but chickened out.

Alex didn't know what her problem was. "What?"

"Uh, nothing." She didn't move. Finally, she asked, "Do you want to know why I got kicked out of all those prep schools?"

"You said, you stopped showing up to everything."

"That was just Ethel Walker, there were two others."

Of course, he still had to uncover what she did at those schools. He focused back on whatever it was she felt like telling him. "You said why. You didn't see the point in any of it."

She exhaled impatiently. "Yes, but why, don't you ever wonder why people do things? You have to dig deeper to understand," she said insistently.

Alex's brows creased. "No, you have to dig deeper. I have to discreetly leave it alone." She cast her eyes upward and when she turned to go, he quickly rolled out his chair to grab her wrist. "But it can drive a person crazy. Why did you get kicked out of school, Caroline? I'm dying to know."

She stopped and slowly slid her wrist out of his firm grasp. "My mom died."

"Oh," he said, sitting up in his chair. "I'm sorry."

"When I was six-that's when she died." When he frowned at the time discrepancy, she went on, "The official story is that it was an accident-at the Cape. That's closest to the real answer without getting too honest." Caroline paused here. "But some people said she was sick-our nanny before she got fired, and my mom's sister." She looked back at Alex. "We visit her farm in Iowa sometimes in the summer. She's so mad at my dad, she blames him for what happened."

Alex felt uneasy, and although it was unnatural for him to pry, he asked, "What happened?"

"That's what Mitchum and I decided to find out. We were in high school, and wanted to know why there were conflicting stories. We went to her doctor's office to look at her medical records."

"They let you see them?"

Caroline glanced at him and shook her head. "No. I distracted the receptionist and Mitchum found the file. She always thought she was sick. She was always going to the doctor. But he never found anything wrong with her. She went there all the time to check for ailments she thought she had—a tumor, cancer, pneumonia, heart palpitations, German measles, cancer again. She always believed she was sick. Doctors ran tests, but they never found anything wrong with her." She sighed. "So we went to the police department at the Cape to read the incident report." Caroline stared at nothing in particular. "She drowned. She left a note for my dad-he was asleep when she snuck out."

"She . . ." Alex started, but didn't want to finish.

Caroline looked down at her hands. "She drowned herself. I don't know what the note said, I haven't found it yet, but she went down to the water. She couldn't take it, or didn't want-she just . . . left us," Caroline said, her sentences broken. Her eyes were filling with tears. She looked like a sad, broken little girl.

Don't you ever wonder why people do things? You have to dig deeper to understand. She hadn't found the note yet, as in, she was looking for it? What a terrible thing to be looking for, a terrible desire to live with, to want to know why things happen. Has she been looking for that note for the last three or four years? What did she think it was going to say? Did she go through the whole cycle again when she found the truth? The denial, the anger. The depression.

She kept getting kicked out of school. There was his answer. Of course she went through it all over.

Alex had spent the last few months wondering when this feeling would go away. Like the world just kept moving without knowing one of its parts was missing. Now he knew, he saw the answer in Caroline's eyes. It wasn't going to feel better. There would always be something missing. He was always going to notice.

He swallowed hard and stood up quietly to close the distance between them to wrap his arms around her. He was barely aware of what he was doing. He wasn't sure if he was compelled to embrace her because she looked like she needed it, or because he was the one reaching out and finally had someone to cling to.

She silently turned her face to his chest and hugged him back. She and Alex were both quiet for a couple minutes. "Caroline?" he asked. "Are you trying to steal my dead relative thunder?"

She stifled laughter that came out as a sob. She swallowed hard and in a small voice, said, "No, I'm sorry."

He handed her a handkerchief and busied himself with getting his belongings together to give her some privacy to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

Finally, someone who could express what he felt. It broke his heart, and yet he was comforted to know he wasn't alone in his misery. "Are you ready to call it a day?" he asked. "We can share an elevator."

She nodded. "Okay."