"You can't resist a terrible pun, can you?" Liv smiled.

"And you didn't answer the question."

"No. Not especial y harrowing. Not for me."

"Why not?"

"Wel , for starters, I'm a genius." She was matter-of-fact, as if she'd just said she was blond, or British.

"So why did you come to Gatlin? We're not exactly a genius magnet."

"Wel , I'm part of the AGE, Academical y Gifted Exchange, between Duke University and my school. Wil you pass the mayo-nnaise?"

"Mann-aise." I tried to say it slowly.

"That's what I said."

"Why would Duke bother to send you to Gatlin? So you could take classes at Summervil e Community Col ege?"

"No, sil y. So I could study with my thesis adviser, the renowned Dr. Marian Ashcroft, truly the only one of her kind."

"What is your thesis about?"

"Folklore and mythology, as it relates to community building after the American Civil War."

"Around here most people stil cal it the War Between the States," I said.

She laughed, delighted. I was glad someone thought it was funny. To me, it was just embarrassing. "Is it true people in the South sometimes dress up in old Civil War costumes and fight al the battles over again, for fun?"

I stood up. It was one thing for me to say it, but I didn't want to hear it from Liv, too. "I think it's time to get going. We've got more books to deliver."

Liv nodded, grabbing her fries. "We can't leave these. We should save them for Lucil e."

I didn't mention that Lucil e was used to Amma feeding her fried chicken and plates of leftover casserole on her own china plate, as the Sisters had instructed. I couldn't see Lucil e eating greasy fries. Lucil e was partic-u-lar, as the Sisters would say. She liked Lena, though.

As we headed for the door, a car caught my eye through the grease-coated windows. The Fastback was making a three-point turn at the end of the gravel parking lot. Lena made a point of not driving past us.

Great.

I stood and watched the car skid onto Dove Street.

That night, I lay in my bed and stared up at the blue ceiling, my hands folded behind my head. A few months ago, this would've been when Lena and I went to bed in our separate rooms together -- reading, laughing, talking through our days. I had nearly forgotten how to fal asleep without her.

I rol ed over and checked my old, cracked cel . It hadn't real y been working since Lena's birthday, but stil , it would ring when someone cal ed me. If someone had.

Not like she'd use the phone.

Right then, I was back to being the same seven-year-old who had dumped every puzzle in my room into one giant, miserable mess. When I was a kid, my mom sat on the floor and helped me turn the mess into a picture. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and my mom was gone. I turned the pieces over and over in my mind, but I couldn't seem to get them sorted out. The girl I was madly in love with was stil the girl I was madly in love with. That hadn't changed. Only now the girl I was madly in love with was keeping secrets from me and barely speaking to me.

Then there were the visions.

Abraham Ravenwood, a Blood Incubus who had kil ed his own brother, knew my name and could see me. I had to figure out how the pieces fit together until I could see something -- some kind of pattern. I couldn't get the puzzle back into the box. It was too late for that. I wished someone could tel me where to put even one piece. Without thinking, I got up and pushed open my bedroom window.

I leaned out and breathed in the darkness, when I heard Lucil e's distinctive meow. Amma must have forgotten to let her back inside. I was about to cal out to tel her I was coming, when I noticed them. Under my window, at the edge of the porch, Lucil e Bal and Boo Radley sat side by side in the moonlight.

Boo thumped his tail, and Lucil e meowed in response. They sat like that at the top of the porch steps, thumping and meowing, as if they were carrying on as civilized a conversation as any two townsfolk on a summer night. I don't know what they were gossiping about, but it must have been big news. As I lay in bed listening to the quiet conversation of Macon's dog and the Sisters' cat, I drifted off before they did.

6.15

Southern Crusty

Don't you lay a finger on a single one a my pies until I ask you to, Ethan Wate."

I backed away from Amma, hands in the air. "Just trying to help."

She glared at me while she wrapped a sweet potato pie, a two-time winner, in a clean dish towel. The sour cream and raisin pie sat on the kitchen table next to the buttermilk pie, ready for the icebox. The fruit pies were stil cooling on the racks, and a dusting of white flour coated every surface in the kitchen.

"Only two days into summer and you're already under my feet? You'l wish you were over at the high school takin' summer classes if you drop one a my prizewinnin' pies. You want to help? Stop mopin' and go pul the car around."

Tempers were running about as high as temperatures, and we didn't say much as we bumped our way out toward the highway in the Volvo. I wasn't talking, but I can't say anybody noticed. Today was the single biggest day of Amma's year.

She had won first place in Baked and Fried Fruit Pies and second place in Cream Pies every year at the Gatlin County Fair for as long as I could remember. The only year she didn't get a ribbon was last year, when we didn't go because it was only two months after my mom's accident. Gatlin couldn't boast the biggest or the oldest fair in the state. The Hampton County Watermelon Festival had us beat by maybe two miles and twenty years, and the prestige of winning the Gatlin Peach Prince and Princess Promenade could hardly compare to the honor of placing in Hampton's Melon Miss and Master Pageant.