Dr Grant threw the notebook across the room, and it landed in my lap with a small thud.

"Heads up." He said, too late. I gave him a look, then reach down to turn the notebook so the cover was facing me. It was a composition notebook; stitched bindings, black and white cover. Old school.

On the cover was FAWN, in Dr Grant's version of neat handwriting, all capital letters and funny angles.

I looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Phase Two, my friend." The remnants of Phase One were currently residing in the top drawer of my bedside table. There had been two more after those others: Love yourself, and you'll love the world, and Add "in accordance to the prophecy" at the end of every sentence everyone says for the next two days. Just for fun.

"It consists of a couple challenges, all for your eyes only, and all for you to do in your spare time."

I was made of spare time. That wouldn't be difficult.

"Have a pen?" I brandished mine with over-the-top flair. He grinned. Nodded in approval.

"Okay. Page one. Assignment. Write down all the things around you that you love. Things you do, things other people do, things you see, things you eat. Whatever. Write them down."

I watched him, waiting for the other part of the assignment. It seemed so simplistic.

"And...that's it. I promise it's good for you, Price."

He shooed me out the door and into the humidity.

Humidity was not going to make it on my list.

I had always thought that Mansfield was beautiful, from the first minute I'd seen the rolling lawns and clusters of trees. Now, though, after seeing Sotherton, Mansfield seemed smaller, less palatial in nature. Looking at it, I could see the choices made during building, could break down what I liked and what I didn't. Where the house had been one solid, unchangeable entity, now it was a sum of small parts, and there I was, architecture critic, surveying from on high.

Mary's casual comment about my being an architect had stuck like a burr. I couldn't get rid of it, not matter how I tried. I was trying to, not just for the perceived derision in her tone, but because she had put a name to it, a vocation, a profile. I knew, painfully, that an architect was suddenly exactly what I wanted to be. I just would never be one.

Mary had gone out to get lunch in town hours ago, alone, and had come back not long before, alone. Before Sotherton Ned would have gone too, but now he was, if I was not very much mistaken, sitting with his mother and Aunt Nola in the front parlor, the way he had done before Mary had come. I tried to imagine that he was happy there, but I knew the truth. I could go up and comfort him. Spend time with him. Keep him company. Something about that prospect terrified me, which was ridiculous, because this was Ned, the one person who never scared me. I tried to reason with myself, but I found myself largely unresponsive to reason, so I gave up.

I found a likely spot to sit down underneath a tree; secluded, cool, hidden. I settled down, knees to my chest, and tried to think of positive things.

Things I love
by Flannery Price

The kitchen
pretty buildings
my room in the main house
my bike
my brother and sister
old Buicks
when I wake up in the morning and the house is empty and I can run through the hallwa-

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive made me look up. A sleek black Benz came to a smooth stop in front of the house, and even from a distance I recognized the figure stepping out of the passenger side. Tom. The other man, tall and thin with a shock of red-gold hair, smoothed his suit down before turning and loping up the front steps. I didn't recognize him.

My instinct, my first instinct, was to turn back to my book and avoid the main house for as long as possible. Tom coming back early- coming back without his father- was going to cause something of a riot in the family, a riot I knew better than to be anywhere near when it happened. If arguing with Tom didn't put Aunt Nola and Mireille in a bad mood, my being there while they argued would definitely do the trick. I was better off going for a bike ride. Better off missing dinner altogether, when it came to that.

But then I thought of Ned. Ned would want me there, especially if there was a confrontation. Ned would need someone to talk to about everything, after Tom belittled him again. I thought of Ned, and I thought of Tom, who was walking into the lion's den, on purpose, and daring people not to react. I'd seen his face that night in the kitchen, I'd seen the way he'd looked at me, looked at him shoes. He would need a sympathetic face in the crowd, too. I could be that, even if Ned couldn't.

My spot on the ground seemed cozy compared to what was just inside, but I got up anyway, closing my book firmly and tucking it under my arm.

I knew, one way or another, that I would pay for this.

As I slipped through the kitchen door, I could already hear them at it in the first-floor sitting room. I fought against the urge to tiptoe down the hall, or slink back into the kitchen and up the stairs to my bedroom. Instead I stepped up to the door and opened it quietly, slipping in and shutting it noiselessly behind me.

"...But what about Dad?" Julia was saying, hands on her hips. "Where is he?"

"He's good, he's fine," Tom waved his hand airily, "he's still there. He'll be back next week like he said he would." He was smiling, but his face looked rougher than it had the last time I'd seen him, and there were circles under his eyes.

"I wish you'd called us," Mireille put in, "let us know you were coming."

"Miri, darling, when have I ever called for permission to come to my own house?" His smile was all indulgent kindness. I could almost hear Mireille's teeth grinding together from my place by the door.

A quick glance around the room showed almost the entire family; a pastoral tableau of various states of anger, in various states of repose. Ned stood by the window, his arms crossed in front of him, his body turned toward the view of the front lawn. Julia stood nearby, brow furrowed. On the couch were Rush, Mireille, and Henry, and Tom took up the entire loveseat himself, his arms stretched out over his domain. I frowned to see Henry there, with Mary sitting in one of the armchairs, perfectly relaxed. It wasn't my place to judge, but it seemed inappropriate for them to be here. It wasn't their family. It's not your family, either. There was the red-haired man, leaning by the fireplace, behind Tom's shoulder. His fingers were playing with the lid of a crystal candy dish.

"Fawn! My darling! My joy!" Tom opened his arms wide enough to embrace the whole room, but it was just me he beckoned to come sit down. I hesitated, glancing around the room, before making my way over to where he sat. He didn't move over to make room for me, and so we were pressed uncomfortably close together, our thighs touching. I perched, shooting a glance at Ned, who met my gaze, expressionless.

"Long time no see, my love," Tom said, throwing an arm around my shoulder and bringing me close to his side. "How's life been around here with these people? Were you dying of boredom without me?" I sent a nervous smile up to him, then glanced around again at the rest of the room. Though I knew I wasn't blushing, my face felt hot as I saw that everyone else was staring at me.

I had seen families talking to each other through their pets-a married couple who only fought passive aggressively through speaking to their dachshund, four siblings who insulted their gerbils in sweet voices. I had wanted to be there for Tom; I hadn't realized what that might mean. I couldn't stand up and walk away, not now that I'd insinuated myself on the company. There was only one thing I could do now, to get out of this with any kind of dignity.

Phase One: No one is better than you. Breathe.

"Hello, Tom," I said. It came out small, barely more than a breath of air, an idea carried in on the wind, but it came out. For a moment, before I managed to look up at the shock and surprise on Tom's face, my heart felt like it had jumped up into my throat and lodged itself there. Then I looked at him, at all the faces around the room. Variations on a theme, again. My heart began to beat again, much faster, and I was filled with a wild excitement that was nothing at all like the harsh anxiety I was used to feeling, the mortification. I had spoken.

I bet you your dachshund can't do that.

I glanced again at Ned, who I thought must be grinning, the way he normally did when I managed to get a word out in public. But, no, there he was, his face unreadable still, glancing from Tom to me and back. A small frown line had appeared on his brow.

Tom found his voice first. "My God. Things sure have changed around here." He withdrew his arm from around my shoulders, then sent a look around the room. "I mean, I go away for a few weeks, and..." he turned around suddenly, sending me reeling in toward him on the cramped loveseat. "Hey Yates, what was that idea we had last night? The really good one?"

Yates's mouth hitched in a little smirk, "You mean the one about the adult film company or the one about the pyramid scheme?"

Tom waved his hand dismissively, "No, no the actual good idea I came up with."

"Kind of hard to tell once we get you going, Bertram. Get a couple drinks in you, and-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but there was that one...Oh yeah!" He turned back to the rest of us, and I ricocheted against him before I righted myself, inching myself further away from him. He went on, "So I had this idea, right, for something to entertain us. Well, me, I guess, but who's counting." He sent his genial smile around to his siblings. Mireille rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, and Tom fixed her with a glance that spoke of a weary patience.

"Well fine,darling, if you don't want to partake. We all know you're allergic to fun. You can sit this out and chill with your boyfriend. Or your fiance. Take your pick."

I glanced at Ned, who opened his mouth, frowning, only to close it again. Before the silence could get too awkward, and before Mireille could formulate an insult scathing enough to shoot back, Mary put in, "So what's the idea?"

I turned to look at her, so pretty, so vibrant, even just sitting in an armchair in the parlor of a stuffy old house. She looked perfectly comfortable, and, now that I was looking at her, I thought she looked at Tom as though she was sharing a secret with him. I peeked at Tom, expecting to find him as impressed as Ned had been, but he only raised his eyebrows, considering, before shrugging wide and smiling for the whole room again. "Nope. I'll tell later, after all these kids have calmed down a little and admitted that they're glad to see me. Right, Fawn-my-love?" He nudged me a little with his elbow, and I couldn't help smiling at him, my own eyebrows raised. He shook his head. "Amazing. Just amazing."

I shrugged self-consciously, aware again that all the eyes in the room were on me. I sat back on the couch, trying to imagine I was Mary, and I was queen of all I surveyed.

I looked again at Ned. His eyes were on me now, and he didn't look happy. I turned away, smoothing the knee on my right leg with two fingers. Queen of all I surveyed.

Dinner had dissolved into several disparate plans, each person going his or her own way. Tom and his friend Yates had headed out in Yates's shiny car to sample the pleasures of downtown, leaving Ned and me to fend for ourselves.

I watched Ned flipping over our grilled cheese sandwiches. He had cut up an avocado and added that in as well, and the smell was tantalizing. My stomach growled, sensing that food was near.

The lights were low in the kitchen. It was late, and dark outside. The sizzle of the griddle and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds in the room, until Ned turned off the burner and cut the sandwiches in half with the spatula, serving them up on two plates.

As he turned around, I found myself saying, "I thought you'd be happy."

He slid one of the plates in front of me and handed me a napkin before replying. "Happy?"

"That Tom's back? You missed him."

"No I didn't."

I sat back at that. Ned wasn't one for lying. "Yeah, you did. You always do, every time he leaves."
He stared down at his plate, then picked up one of the halves of his sandwich. "I just didn't like the way he was talking today, that's all."

"Isn't that just the way he always is? Big and loud and all?"

"Yes, but...I don't know if I can describe it to you." He broke his half into two halves, and ate one with deliberate attention.

I blinked. "You can try to. I'll try to understand."

He looked up at me then, and gave me a look that I'd never seen before, something that was almost exasperation, and almost pity, and almost regret. I had to look away from it. "It's not that I don't think you can understand it. I just don't know if I can say it right."

I watched him eat the second little square before I realized my own grilled cheese was getting cold. I turned my attention to eating it, letting silence take over the kitchen once more. It didn't feel as comfortable as it had before.

"The way he was using you to get attention off him." I looked up from the last bite of my sandwich to find Ned pushing the crumbs around his plate with his index finger. "He does stuff like that when he's uncomfortable. The way he was talking to Mireille, too. I think something's up with him."

I watched him, his head down, his eyes trained on something far away from his plate. Worry lines tightened the corners of his eyes. I thought briefly, madly, of what he would look like when he was older, if he would have more wrinkles that came from anxiety than from laughter. I wondered what my face would show, or if it would show anything. I shook the thought away.

"Something's always been up with him," I murmured.

He looked up at me then, and I met his eyes, unblinking. "It's true. When I first got here, about a week after I'd moved in, Tom got grounded for sneaking out of the house and not telling anyone where he was going. You remember?"

Ned blinked quickly, three times in a row. "Yeah."

"When he came back, he had a backpack and a tent-"

"-He told everyone he'd just wanted to go camping-"

"-and he was in the backyard the whole time. Your dad didn't listen to him. He sent Tom up to his room and told him to come down when he was ready to apologize."

"A week later. He didn't apologize."

"I'll always remember that. I thought your father was going to rip his head off."

"Weird," Ned was looking at me as if he'd just seen my eyes change color. "I'd completely forgotten."

"Maybe we should try being nicer to him. Maybe that would get somewhere."

Then we both fell silent. Neither of us had ever been mean.

when I wake up and the sun is shining and I just lay in bed
when people laugh so hard they can't breathe and it makes you laugh just looking at them
babies in sweaters
stick figures
Civil War documentaries
The Lion King
Peach ice cream
Ned

I stared down at the last word, suddenly terribly embarrassed. An urge rose up to look around me and check to see if anyone had seen, though of course no one had. The tree could keep my secret.

I took my pen, poised to cross Ned's name out, but balked. I did love him, and it shouldn't have been embarrassing. He was my only real family, beside Billy (and Susie, who I hadn't seen in years). We'd grown up together, supported each other, believed in each was no reason Dr Grant or anyone else couldn't know about how I felt about Ned. Tom certainly knew, he'd mentioned it that time in the kitchen. I loved Ned like family. No reason to be ashamed.
We were practically brother and sister. That particular thought made me cringe.

I didn't want to think of him as my brother.

I thought about him in the parlor, trying to take his mind off Mary by taking care of his mother. He took care of everyone, especially me. Especially Tom. I thought of that morning when we'd carried Tom in, how Ned had looked before I'd woken him up, how gentle he'd been carrying Tom up the stairs, how he'd taken Tom's shoes and jacket off and tried to make him comfortable. The thought hurt, though I didn't know why. I thought of his sincerity, his goodness, the way he cut sandwiches in half diagonally with a spatula. The way he wore t-shirts without logos on them, the way he kept his hair out of his face. I admired Ned. He was the best person I knew, how could I not admire him? How could I not love him? Why shouldn't he be on my list?

This was not the point of the exercise. I was supposed to find the good in things, not find more things to panic over. This was supposed to be easy. A normal person wouldn't have had a problem with it.

A normal person also wouldn't be in love with a surrogate brother, either. The thought stopped me in my tracks. I was not, was notin love with Ned.

Except that I clearly was.

I dropped my head into my hands, sighing in frustration, sighing in fear, sighing in pain, just sighing. There was no way Ned would ever think of me like that, no way that I could ever expect him to want to...this was stupid. I was stupid.

I lifted my head back up, looking at the first, crisp page of the notebook, the one I had ruined already, in the first minute of the first exercise, and, with a solid determination, crossed off Ned's name so no one would ever know it was there.

Except for me, and I was good at keeping secrets.