Tom turned to his dad helplessly. "Um…"

"Sorry, kiddo, that's it."

"No more food?"

"No! Just that we're done with this particular-" Jake's dad nodded towards the table.

"Mush…"

Cassie's mom turned to Ax sympathetically. "Do you by chance know your country's GDP?"

He looked at her quizzically.

"Take that as a no," Cassie laughed.

I scarfed down my food quickly and self-consciously, aware of Tom watching me, all of us with our food still left. Dropping off my plate in the kitchen, I didn't even volunteer to do the dishes or anything. Just tried to get out of there. (No, not the house.)

Sara approached me. "Will you do my hair?"

I stiffened, thinking about the state mine must have been in. "Have you washed it since you got here?"

"No."

"Well, it'll be difficult. Let's wait until we get out."

"Okay." She toddled off for a few seconds before returning. "Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Will we ever get out?"

"Of course!" I blurted.

"When?"

"Soon."

She looked up at me warily. "I want to go home."

"Me too." I ran my fingers through her broken hair.

"But at least you have all your friends here."

Not all of them. "I feel sorry for you. I want you to go home and be happy."

"Rachel, is Tom right?"

I twitched. "About what?"

"Can we leave now?"

"No, not yet."

Forlornly, she trooped off. Cassie intercepted her. "D'you want to play Parcheesi?"

She shook her head and walked over to Tom, where she stretched to whisper something to him. He sat down next to her and they conversed.

I clenched my fist. "The-"

"Rachel?" Marco placed a warning hand on my shoulder. "This isn't worth it."

"Oh, isn't it?"

I must have said it too loud because all of a sudden everyone was looking at me. "Oookay Rachel. Want to control the decimals or whatever?"

No…not really…

"The decimals? What decimals? Mul-zuh," Ax wanted to know.

"Whatever they're called. Those things that tell how loud something is."

"Decibels," Cassie's dad contributed.

At least the attention was not on me. I tried to find somewhere quiet where I could relax, and half-listen to the ensuing conversation. The minutes on the digital clock switched from :59 to :00.

"Somewhere Christmas just started," Cassie's mom remarked.

"Oh, and you'd care?" challenged Marco's dad.

"I would, and I do."

"Why?"

"It's nice to think about the entire world being-"

"Christmas. Why would a-you don't celebrate it, do you?"

"I do. I'm a Christian."

He turned his head to stare. "You're serious."

"Indeed."

"What was with that rip on the Bible?"

"What rip?"

"Your Revelation thing."

"I was trying to explain that there are multiple views, and that the widely "commercialized" view of Revelation is-"

"Talk straight, or not at all."

She was coming up with a reply when Marco once again cautioned, "This isn't worth it."

"Marco? You okay?" Jake adopted an expression of mock concern. "Or did I actually see you trying to keep the peace? Twice?"

"Both." There was no humor on his face. Whether he was tired, mature, or just beyond my comprehension at that point I didn't try to guess. None of us had much to say after that. We were all feeling the strain: we'd rubbed each other raw. We dispersed sometime later, going up to bed.

It was not until sometime later that I was able to pinpoint that word as the turning point in my perception of Marco.