“Honey, it’s the pond, though,” Jamie replied, as if he had heard every word. “We talked about this. Remember?”

Cora just looked at him, running a hand through her hair, which was sticking up on one side. Then, without further comment, she went inside. Jamie watched her go, his face quizzical. “Hey!” he shouted when he saw me. The backhoe dug down again, with an even louder clank. “Pretty cool, don’t you think? If we’re lucky, we’ll have it lined by tonight.”

I nodded, watching as the machine dumped another load of dirt onto the pile. Jamie was right, you could really picture it now: there was a big difference between a theoretical pond and a huge hole in the ground. Still, it was hard to imagine what he wanted—a total ecosystem, a real body of water, with fish and everything—seeming at home in the middle of such a flat, square yard. Even with the best landscaping, it would still look as if it had fallen from the sky.

Back inside, I flopped back into bed, although sleeping was clearly no longer an option. Hard to believe that the previous Saturday, I’d been at the yellow house, waking up on the couch with our old moldy afghan curled around me. Fast-forward a week, and here I was at Cora’s. My basic needs were certainly being met—running water, heat, food—but it was still strange to be here. Everything felt so temporary, including me, that I hadn’t even unpacked yet— my bag was still right by the bed, where I was living out of it like I was on a vacation, about to check out at any moment. Sure, it meant the little bit of stuff I had was that much more wrinkled, but rolling over every morning and seeing all my worldly possessions right there beside me made me feel somewhat in control of my situation. Which I needed, considering that everything else seemed completely out of my hands.

“The bus?” Jamie said that first night, when he mentioned Nate picking me up and I told him I’d prefer alternate transportation. “Are you serious?”

“There isn’t a Perkins Day bus in the morning,” Cora said from across the table. “They only run in the afternoon, to accommodate after-school activities.”

“Then I’ll take the city bus,” I said.

“And go to all that trouble?” Jamie asked. “Nate’s going to Perkins anyway. And he offered.”

“He was just being nice,” I said. “He doesn’t really want to drive me.”

“Of course he does,” Jamie said, grabbing another roll from the basket between us. “He’s a prince. And we’re chipping in for gas. It’s all taken care of.”

“The bus is fine,” I said again.

Cora, across the table, narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s really going on here?” she asked. “You don’t like Nate or something? ”

I picked up my fork, spearing a piece of asparagus. “Look,” I said, trying to keep my voice cool, collected, “it just seems like a big hassle. If I ride the bus, I can leave when I want, and not be at the mercy of someone else.”

“No, you’ll be at the mercy of the bus schedule, which is much worse,” Jamie said. He thought for a second. “Maybe we should just get you a car. Then you can drive yourself.”

“We’re not buying another car,” Cora said flatly.

“She’s seventeen,” Jamie pointed out. “She’ll need to go places.”

“Then she’ll ride the bus. Or ride with Nate. Or borrow yours.”

“Mine? ”

Cora just looked at him, then turned her attention to me. “If you want to do the bus, fine. But if it makes you late, you have to do the carpool. All right?”

I nodded. Then, after dinner, I went online and printed out four different bus schedules, circling the ones I could catch from the closest stop and still make first bell. Sure, it meant getting up earlier and walking a few blocks. But it would be worth it.

Or so I thought, until I accidentally hit the snooze bar a few extra times the next morning and didn’t get downstairs until 7:20. I was planning to grab a muffin and hit the road, running if necessary, but of course Cora was waiting for me.

“First bell in thirty minutes,” she said, not looking up from the paper, which she had spread out in front of her. She licked a finger, turning a page. “There’s no way.”

So ten minutes later, I was out by the mailbox cursing myself, muffin in hand, when Nate pulled up. “Hey,” he said, reaching across to push the door open. “You changed your mind.”

That was just the thing, though. I hadn’t. If anything, I was more determined than ever to not make friends, and this just made it harder. Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice, so I got in, easing the door shut behind me and putting my muffin in my lap.

“No eating in the car.”

The voice was flat, toneless, and came from behind me. As I slowly turned my head, I saw the source: a short kid wearing a peacoat and some serious orthodontia, sitting in the backseat with a book open in his lap.

“What?” I said.

He leaned forward, his braces—and attached headgear— catching the sunlight coming through the windshield. His hair was sticking up. “No eating in the car,” he repeated, robotlike. Then he pointed at my muffin. “It’s a rule.”

I looked at Nate, then back at the kid. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“This is Ruby,” Nate said.

“Is she your new girlfriend?” the kid asked.