I did concentrate my best that night on homework. There was another test coming up at the first of the week in anatomy. I knew I absolutely had to do well on that.

I would, I promised myself, study all of Sunday afternoon for it. The next couple of days I kept trying to remain focused, but as the week wore on, and it got closer

to Saturday's dance, it was harder. Thursday night after supper time, just as I was due to be settling in to homework, Lori called me on the phone. I was able to reach the

bottom step with the really long cord that we have, and I sat there, curled up with my legs tucked up to my chest, talking to her. The rest of the family went about

their routines, talking, and sitting in the living room. Nancy and Evan were over, too, and they'd eaten supper with us. Evan sat down with Guthrie to watch

something on television, while Nancy was looking thru old photos with Clare.

Lori was telling me about the two dresses she was trying to choose from to wear on Saturday night. She was asking my advice about it, and I was telling her

about Clare offering to do my hair for me.

"I can't decide whether to have her French braid it or not-" I was saying. The western movie that the boys were watching was a traditional 'shoot 'em up' and

it was loud. At least from where I was sitting it was loud.

Lori said she had to tell me something private, and she lowered her voice, due to the fact that her mother was nearby.

The western movie that the boys were watching was a typical 'shoot em up' and it was too loud, and I could only make out a few

bits of what Lori was saying.

I told Lori to hang on a minute, and I said, to Evan and Guthrie, "That's too loud."

Neither one of the boys showed any indication of hearing me. They stayed where they were slumped at on the couch, looking comfortable,

and staring at the television.

"Guthrie," I said, and when he still didn't move his focus, I said it louder. "Guth!"

"What?" he asked me, still watching t.v.

"That's too loud. I can't hardly hear what Lori's saying."

"Tell her to talk louder," Guthrie said, not taking his eyes from the screen.

"Turn it down, okay," I said.

"Then me and Evan won't be able to hear," Guthrie said.

I don't get all that irritated with Guthrie generally. I mean, we don't scrap with each other too much. He's one of my favorite people in the

world. Still-he can get under my skin at times, and this was one of those times.

"Turn it down!" I said, a lot louder. Loud enough that I saw it had caught Hannah's attention, from where she was sitting on the couch, beside

Clare.

"You can ask nicer than that," Guthrie said, but he shifted forward, and reached out and turned the volume button.

"Thank you," I said. I went back to talking to Lori, but, even though Guthrie had lowered the sound on the t.v., they started talking, too,

and I still couldn't hear very well.

"Shhh," I told them.

They both ignored me, and so I shushed them again. Evan gave me a gimlet-eyed look.

"Knock it off," he said.

"I can't hear what she's saying-" I began.

"Guthrie turned the t.v. down," Evan pointed out.

"Yeah. But-" I began to argue.

"Don't be shushin' us," Evan said.

"Bossy," I muttered, and turned my back to lean against the staircase. "Stick together," I added, again in a low mutter before I put the receiver

back to my ear again.

"Don't go there-" I heard Evan begin, and I realized that he'd heard my muttering.

"Harlie, get off the phone," Crane said, and I twisted my head to see him standing there, beside the couch where the boys were

lounging.

I said okay, and told Lori that I had to go, and she said she'd talk to me in the morning before school, but then we were settling on

a time and all that-

"Harlie," Crane said. I looked over my shoulder at him again, and he wasn't smiling. At all.

"I'm getting off," I protested, and told Lori goodbye, hanging up the receiver.

I stood up, rubbing my hands on my jeans, and turning to face them. My hands were sweaty from holding the receiver for as long as I had.

"Is your homework done?" Crane asked me.

I hadn't even started it. I said, only, "No, not done."

"Get with it," he said. "You spent too much time on the phone."

"I wasn't on long," I protested. "It's just that the boys were making too much noise and I had to-"

"Harlie," Crane said. Third time in a very short time.

Crane didn't say to shut up. But, he still said it. Without words.

So I shut up, and went back to the couch where all my books and stuff were strewn around. I was on family-overload right then. I began to gather

up all my stuff, feeling put-upon.

"Where are you going?" Hannah asked me, as I shoved papers into books.

"Upstairs. It's too noisy down here," I said.

That got Adam's attention. He was leveling me with a look, and I said, "I can't concentrate," and headed for the stairs, my arms full

of two books and pens and papers.

I met up with Crane as I was half-way up the stairs, and he was half-way on his way down. He paused, there, mid-stair, and it was

obvious that he wanted me to pause, too, so I did.

"You have a good amount to get done, right?" he asked me.

There was no point to deny that. If he wanted to, he could look thru my school planner to see all the assignments. I was actually

surprised that he hadn't done that already.

I nodded briefly at him.

"So-using your time to talk on the phone before you've even gotten started isn't a good idea. Is it?"

Instantly, my mood deflated. The look on his face. Ugh.

"No, Crane," I said. "It isn't."

I guess he thought my response was smart-assed or whatever because his eyebrow went up.

"Are you being sarcastic?" he asked me.

"No. I was just answering you-" I said. "I was being-respectful."

"I don't think you are. I think you're being sarcastic," he said. "And sassy."

"I'm not," I protested. "I was just answering you-"

"Alright, that's enough," Crane interrupted, and it was clear he was near the end of patience with me. Getting Crane to this point is

rare. He has, nearly everybody agrees, the patience of Job.

"Go upstairs and get busy," he said, shortly. "I'll be up after awhile to look over your work."

I didn't want him to do that. I couldn't think how to keep him from it, though. Crane turned to start back down the stairs.

"You don't have to," I attempted. "I'll do it all."

Crane stopped. He paused, and turned back to look at me, two or three steps above him.

Then, with elaborate slowness, he came back up a stair. He still towered over me, though, even with the stairs still between us.

"Close your mouth," he said. "And get yourself busy."

For a long, long few moments, our gazes were meshed together. Then Crane gave a nod of his head towards the top of the stairs, in the

direction of my bedroom. Well, I went.

Once, in my bedroom, I shut the door, a little harder than usual, but not actually slamming it. I did my homework, but by now I was

upset. I didn't want Crane to be mad at me. Which I knew, if I was honest with myself, made little sense, because I'd provoked him, and

I knew it well. But, also-I was sort of mad at him, too. Why did he always have to be so-intent?

In the midst of conflicting irritation and hurt feelings, I pushed thru my worksheets in anatomy and pychology, and was working with

my math stuff when there was a short tap on my door.

I said, yes, and Crane opened the door, coming in.

There was no hello or how are you getting along or anything remotely like that. He left the door open, but he came over to the edge

of the bed and said, shortly, "What's ready for me to look at?"

I felt my face get hot, but I shuffled thru the papers, and handed him the two worksheets. Anatomy and psycology.

Crane took the papers and went to pull out my desk chair. He pulled the chair out a little and sat down, leaning forward and

looking over the worksheets.

I kept plugging away at my math, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

He read over the papers, which didn't take him all that long. I paused and sat up a little straighter, looking at him.

"Is it okay?" I asked him. It felt awkward saying nothing.

He nodded. "It's good."

Even though I'd mostly answered the anatomy questions from the book itself, and it would have been hard to get anything incorrect, I

still felt a little better at his comment.

Crane leaned forward far enough to lay the worksheets back on my bed beside my knee. "What about your trig?"

"I'm working on it-" I began.

"Let me check the ones you've gotten done," he said.

I handed it off to him. Waiting, nibbling on my lower lip, while he looked it over.

He stood up, and came over to sit on the bed beside my feet. I straightened out so that we were sitting next to each other, and my feet

were dangling off the bed.

Crane pointed out the ones that were correct out of the six problems I'd gotten finished. Two out of six. Ugh. He sat there with me

and helped me work thru the other four that were incorrect. I listened and erased, and redid them. He was quiet, not overly chatting with

me, but he was speaking softly, and he was being kind. In other words, he was being Crane.

When I'd fixed the four, he said, "Keep working on the rest. I'll check over them in the morning before you leave for school."

I nodded, and we sat there for a couple minutes, neither of us saying anything.

"Thank you," I said, finally, quietly. "For helping me with those."

Crane turned to meet my eyes. "I don't mind helping you, Harlie."

"I know," I said, humbly.

"As long as you're not deliberately being a pain, or thinking it's funny to be sarcastic," he added.

"I didn't mean to sound sarcastic," I told him.

He still looked doubting, and I said, "I guess it did sound that way. I'm sorry."

Crane sighed a little. "This edgy thing you have going on lately is getting real old, Harlie."

"I'll try to be better," I said.

Crane gave me a long, serious look. "That would be wise on your part," he said, dryly.

I could tell he wasn't mad at me any longer. He wasn't all jokey or anything, but he wasn't mad, either. I know how to read all

my brothers.

I leaned into his side a little. For the first time in the last two hours I felt myself relaxing. It came to me that this was a opportune time

to tell Crane some stuff about school. About Mr. Price talking to me. About my failing grade in Anatomy class. About my barely-there passing

grade in Trigonometry. Instead of waiting until Sunday afternoon like I'd planned, I should tell him now.

Still-there was always the chance that he would ground me, effective immediate. And there would go Saturday night.

I fought a battle with myself right then. Wanting to tell him. But yet, not tell him. Crane said, "Alright," and made a move to stand up.

I put my hand on his arm, and he paused, looking at me.

"This classes are harder than I thought they'd be," I said, by way of an opening.

"You can do it," he said, simply. But with authority.

That was typical. Encouraging. But also, not letting me complain overmuch.

"I'm trying," I said. "But-" I paused.

"But what?" he prompted.

He was looking at me intently. Waiting.

"They're just hard," I said, lamely. I was losing my courage to tell him. Or, if not my courage, exactly, (I mean, I'm not afraid of Crane), then I was

rethinking the wise ness of telling him just now. Sunday afternoon would be better.

7

Friday went a lot better. Simply because I decided not to worry overmuch about school or grades or progress reports or the look

that Crane was sure to have on his face when he found out the true way of things-

I turned in my work, and tried to pay attention in class. The best parts of my day were lunch with all of our group, and then going to

work with Ivy. By Friday afternoon, I was feeling excited enough about the weekend, and light-hearted enough that Ivy and I had a couple of

times of dissolving into laughter while we worked.

We were in the throes of one of those laughter fits when Crane came walking thru to the back of the vet clinic. I was up to my armpits in

sudsy, dirty water in the old sink, washing Mrs. Pekin's new puppy, Smokey. Ivy was just nearby, wiping down the surgical table, and we were

laughing about the way Mrs. Pekin's husband, Mr. Pekins rolled his eyes behind his wife's back when she gushed over the puppy.

Ivy was doing an amazing impersonation of Mr. Pekins, while I was mimicking Mrs. Pekins.

I saw Crane first, standing there tall, with a slight smile on his face as he listened to us. Ivy was finishing up her jolly joking around, when

she saw Crane, too.

"Oh, hi," she greeted him, still smiling.

"Hi," Crane answered, giving both of us an indulgent look.

"We're just being silly," Ivy said, laying down her rag and going to stand next to him.

"I heard," Crane said. "Sounds like you're both having fun."

Ivy and I exchanged a look of camaraderie.

"Mr. Pekins is very indulgent of his wife," Ivy said.

"Ah," Crane said, with a nod.

"But he loves Smokey, too," I offered. "He just pretends to be annoyed by him. Right, Ivy?"

"That's exactly right," Ivy said.

Crane still looked indulgent. "You two are a pair, alright," he said, and put an arm around Ivy's waist. I didn't miss the way that

Ivy leaned into him, or the look of pure adoration she gave him.

7