

Miracle

A Young Adult Novel

By

Pam Tribble

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Published by:

Pam Tribble at Smashwords

### Miracle

Copyright © 2012 by Pam Tribble

Book cover design by Judy Bullard

<http://jaebeecreations.com/index.html>

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

I want to thank my amazing husband, Randy, without whose support, this book would not have even been finished, let alone published. He never doubted my talent or ability. _Thank you, my Love, for your unwavering faith in me throughout this entire process ._

_~~*_ _**~~_

Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on;

'Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on;

Let it travel down the years, Let it wipe another's tears,

' _Til in Heaven the deed appears - Pass it on._

\- Rev. Henry Burton

~~***~~

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Table of Contents

Prelude

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Epilogue

About the Author

PRELUDE

Jonah knew he was dreaming because he'd walked in this beautiful garden before. Flowers of all kinds bloomed in riotous color all around him: petunias, begonias, daisies, irises, lilies, tulips. The cool spongy grass felt good under his bare feet and the lush verdure spread out as far as his eye could see. There were flowering bushes: azaleas, gardenias, camellias, and hibiscus; perfectly groomed topiary in different shapes and sizes; tall oaks that spread their branches wide; and fruit trees of every kind. Above him, the sky was a clear, cerulean blue.

One moment he was all alone and the next, a familiar gray-haired man walked beside him. The man always appeared in the garden wearing the same loose khaki pants and white button-down shirt.

Jonah couldn't remember why, but for some reason, the sight of the man made Jonah angry. But, not knowing who the man was, or where _he_ was for that matter, Jonah walked along silently.

The man handed Jonah a basket. "You may pick as many flowers as you like," he told Jonah.

"Is this your garden then?" Jonah asked.

"Yes."

"I don't think I should take your flowers," Jonah told him, resenting the fact that the man was being nice when Jonah felt this unreasonable antipathy toward him. His fingers had been itching to reach out and pick some of the blooms until this man had offered. The luscious fruit and fragrant flowers were nearly irresistible.

The stranger put his hand on Jonah's shoulder companionably. Jonah stiffened beneath his touch. "Please, take what I offer you," the man urged gently.

Jonah stopped abruptly and demanded, "Who are you?"

The man stopped too. They stood beside a bush, covered in white gardenia blossoms. Their fragrance filled the air. Instead of answering, old Gray-Hair picked one of the blooms and held it to his nose. Then he held it out to Jonah. The breeze lifted the flower's fragrance as Jonah involuntarily reached for it. Jonah had never smelled anything so heady, so intoxicating.

His escort smiled and guided him onward. "There is much to see. Come."

Jonah opened his mouth to protest, but as he did, he was violently torn away from the scene; the garden and stranger abruptly disappeared into blackness and chaos.

Jonah was cruelly jolted awake by The Stone Temple Pilots blaring from the small speaker of his alarm clock. The dial read four a.m. Jonah slammed his hand over the snooze button and laid his head back down. He struggled to remember his dream and recapture the serene fantasy, but it was like trying to catch a mist. He sucked in a deep breath and instead tried to figure out why in the hell his alarm was set for four o'clock. His brain and his body felt like wet sand. It couldn't possibly be time to get up.

Then he remembered. _Oh yeah. It's moving day_.

Chapter I.

"The Thompson's place finally sold."

Lyra Grant looked up at her father from across the kitchen table.

Her mother put down her fork. "Really? Who bought it—anyone we know?"

"No. An out-of-towner, a man by the name of Carsen. A columnist for the New York Times. A real recluse, as I understand it. Tired of the big city, I suppose."

Lyra went back to picking at her dinner uninterested. A reclusive old man wouldn't make much of a difference in the neighborhood.

"Jimmy over at Tri-Lakes Realty told me when he came in to sign his will." Gordon and Olivia Grant were attorneys. "He has a nephew who lives with him. The boy's in his teens. He'll be starting at Placid High this year." Her father took another bite of his manicotti before continuing. "They're closing on the house tomorrow and moving in this weekend."

"It will be nice having someone over there again," her mother commented.

Lyra wondered about the boy—probably some annoying big-city punk with an attitude who would expect a ride to school every day. Lyra scolded herself; she wasn't being nice (or fair). Then she realized he must not have parents if he lived with his uncle and she felt really guilty. Of course she would give him a ride to school if he needed one. Lyra, who knew she had great parents, couldn't imagine not having any.

Lyra ate another bite of the cheese ravioli her mother had brought home for her and took the rest to the sink. She rinsed her plate, put it in the dishwasher, and turned to go to her room. "Thanks for dinner, mom," she said, kissing her mother's cheek on her way out. "I'm going upstairs to practice. C'mon, Harry."

Harry, named after her a favorite fictional character, was a gray and white Siberian Husky whom Lyra had gotten for Christmas almost two years ago. He'd finished his dinner too and was lying on the rug by the back door. Harry was on his feet in a second and raced past her, his nails clacking on the wooden floor.

Lyra bounded up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom on the third floor. Harry went straight to his fluffy blue dog pillow at the foot of her bed and, with a contented sigh, stretched out. Lyra went to her window. She could just make out a corner of the Thompsons' (now Carsens) roof and chimney through the trees.

James and Tammy Tompson had divorced over a year ago. They spent three years building their dream house, then only one year living in. It became the center in a bitter battle over the couple's assets. After months of fighting over it, the Thompsons had been forced to put the house up for sale. Apparently, neither one could afford the mortgage on their own, and both had racked up exorbitant legal fees during the protracted litigation. The house had been vacant ever since.

The homes on their wooded, winding road, high above the village of Lake Placid sat far apart. The Grants' was situated on three acres, so new neighbors really weren't that big of a deal. She'd probably never see them—except the nephew. Lake Placid's Junior/High School contained grades six through twelve and new faces were easy to spot.

The new school year started on Monday. Lyra would be a junior. She was looking forward to being back with her friends, most of whom had been busy with summer jobs over the last two months. Lyra herself had worked at her parents' law firm, Grant & Grant L.P., answering phones and filing, but it had lost all its glamour after the first week.

The Grants' thriving law practice was located in downtown Lake Placid. Though a small town, Placid played host to wealthy tourists all year round. Her parents were never at a loss for clients needing legal advice on estate and financial planning and real estate contracts.

Despite the constant stream of tourists, and winter six months out of the year, Placid was a great place to live. Set in the midst of the Adirondack Mountains, there was no end to the outdoor amusements and sports available. Lyra enjoyed the warmer weather activities best, particularly hiking. Next summer, she thought, she'd get a job at one of the canoe or river raft rental stands like most of her other friends had done.

Lyra turned from the window and went to sit at her vanity. Did she look a year older? Her birthday was November 25th and she would be seventeen. She was rather tall, at five feet, seven inches and thankfully, a few curves had finally emerged to round out her slender figure. Her face was tan from being outside every weekend. Her wavy, dark brown hair framed her face and fell to her shoulders in a new, more flattering, layered style. Clear green eyes fringed in thick lashes stared back. Her phone rang, interrupting her critical inspection. She picked it up and saw it was Aimee, her best friend.

She flipped it open. "Hi, Aimee. What's up?"

"Hey girl. Just wanted to see how your day was. It was nightmare at the store."

Aimee worked at Olympic Outfitters, where they sold gear for kayaking, canoeing, fly-fishing, and hiking in the summer and cold-weather gear in the winter.

"I swear! Everyone within two hundred miles must be planning one last summer outing this weekend. It was wall-to-wall people all day. Oh my gosh, but this guy came in and he was _so cute._ He was flirting like crazy and I thought for sure he was going to ask me for my phone number. He said he was down from Chazy Lake and..."

Lyra tuned her out. Even though Aimee had been going out with Connor Evans for the last three months, she was still completely boy crazy. Lyra guessed her own hormones were just late to kick in because she had not yet caught Aimee's fascination, or maybe it was the lack of selection in Placid. When Aimee finally wound down about the Chazy Lake guy, Lyra related her only bit of news.

"Our neighbor's house finally sold. Some editor or journalist or something and his nephew. Dad says the nephew's a teenager."

"How old?" Aimee asked.

"I don't know" Lyra replied.

"What's his name?"

"Um. Their last name is Carsen. Jim Taylor told Dad, and I don't think Dad knew much more. They're moving in this weekend."

"Cool. Well, be sure to make yourself neighborly while they're unpacking so you can get the scoop on the guy." Aimee had a one-track mind.

"I'm sure, Aimee. I'm not going to go over there. Anyway, Dad says the uncle is really anti-social."

"Well, we'll see him on Tuesday—and you probably shouldn't go over there. Kyle might get jealous if you get too chummy with the new guy."

Lyra exhaled in a huff. "Kyle? As if I care what Kyle Douglas thinks. He's not my boyfriend. I've seen him twice this summer—and only because my parents arranged it. We are _not_ a couple."

"Sure, sure," Aimee said placating. "Anyway, I gotta go. It's my turn to cook dinner tonight. I'll call you tomorrow." Aimee's mother was a single parent and worked late hours at the Whiteface Mountain Ski Center so Aimee often had more responsibilities at home than her friends, including looking after her little sister, Kimmy.

Lyra hung up the phone and started pacing. Did everyone think she and Kyle were dating? She'd known Kyle for years. Their parents were close friends and they got together at the country club a couple times a week for tennis or golf, or sometimes dinner. Kyle was _definitely_ not someone she was romantically interested in, though. Except for his light-brown hair, Kyle reminded her of the ego-manic Gaston from Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_. He was very into himself. Surely everyone knew her better than to think they were going out. She was sure that Kyle would squelch any rumors of that kind. He was a senior and she doubted he wanted people thinking they were dating either.

She shrugged off Aimee's remark and went to the corner to get her cello. She hadn't played in a couple days and her fingers were stiff and clumsy at first. She limbered them up with some scales and arpeggios and then chose a concerto by Beethoven. She soon forgot about Kyle and school and new neighbors as she lost herself in the soulful melody.

When Lyra was six years old her parents had bought her a violin and hired a private instructor to teach her. She still played it occasionally, but at the age of twelve, her parents had taken her to see Yo Yo Ma in New York and she had fallen in love with the cello. Its warm, rich tones and mellow timbre inspired her in a way the violin had not. It took weeks to convince her parents to let her switch instruments, but once they'd given in, even they had to admit Lyra's enthusiasm for playing and aptitude increased exponentially. Her instructor, Bartholomew "Barty" Masters, was a cellist in the Sinfonetta-a small, local orchestral group which played a short season of concerts in the summer. He was retired from the New York Philharmonic and Lyra was very grateful to have such an accomplished instructor. She also liked him as a person. They had become good friends over the years. He was small and spry with a zest for life that was contagious. Under his tutelage, she had developed a love of classical music and a penchant for perfectionism. Their hour together each week was one Lyra eagerly anticipated, a testament in itself not only to his prodigious skill as a teacher, but his vivacious personality.

Lyra's parents were happy she had a hobby she liked and they were delighted to act as audience but they never encouraged her to pursue music any further. Like the ballet lessons (which she'd given up after a couple years), and the voice lessons (which she'd given up after a couple months), Lyra's parents exposed their daughter to the arts to round out her education, but the arts were not an approved career path. Gordon and Olivia Grant wanted Lyra to go into law or medicine. Unfortunately for Lyra, neither option appealed to her at the moment.

The cool evening breeze blew in her window as the sun set behind the mountains. It was very peaceful on the third floor of their stone and cedar house. The top-most floor consisted only of her spacious bedroom and bath. Her parents' bedroom and the two guest rooms were on the second floor. From her wide window she had a fantastic view of the surrounding Adirondack Mountains and of Mirror Lake, hundreds of feet below. Actually, the entire house was serene and tranquil. Though large, its cedar and rough stone blended naturally with its surroundings. And her parents were very quiet. When they weren't working or out with friends, they spent most of their time in the family room reading, talking, or watching television.

Gordon and Olivia Grant had met in law school and married soon after graduation. They got busy with their careers, practicing at different firms in Manhattan. From what they had told her, new lawyers were expected to work long hours to prove themselves, so they put off having children. When they finally got around to it, her mom was thirty-eight and her dad was forty-one. Her mother's pregnancy was difficult and the doctors advised her not to risk trying again after Lyra was born healthy. Her parents had thus doted on her as a child. Her mother suspended her law practice until Lyra started kindergarten.

Though often left alone now that she was older, Lyra never felt lonely. She knew her parents loved her. They still took vacations together every summer and they were interested in all she did. In the last couple of years, she had become more self-sufficient and socially active, but even when home alone, had no problem with the solitude. She had Harry, her music, and her love of reading to keep her occupied.

When her fingers began to ache, she put away her cello. She went back to her window and lifted it a little higher. Kneeling on the sill, she twisted around until her legs dangled below searching for the ladder steps. She climbed down onto the roof that hung over the first story deck and unfolded the lounge chair she kept up there and laid down. The crescent moon was rising slowly above the distant peaks.

Lyra was eleven years old before she convinced her parents to turn the third-story loft space of their home into her bedroom. Lyra had been enchanted with the peaked, beamed ceilings, the angled walls and large window with its spectacular views of the distant mountains.

Before allowing her to move upstairs, though, her father had insisted on putting in an adjoining bathroom and, more importantly, a fire escape. The vertical rungs lay flush against the exterior wall of the house, descended to the roof of the deck, then picked back up again against the back of the house a few feet over where the deck roof ended. The weathered wooden ladder blended inconspicuously with the rest of the house.

When she started getting sleepy, Lyra climbed back into her room and then into bed. She thought about the upcoming weekend—only three more days until school started. Her parents were playing golf with the Douglases on Saturday and she definitely didn't want to get stuck spending the day with Kyle, especially since rumors were already flying. School clothes shopping had been finished up with her mom the weekend before, so maybe she and Harry could go on a long hike Saturday. With over 2,000 miles of trails in and around Lake Placid, she never got tired of exploring the outdoors. Harry would appreciate it too. He'd been cooped up all week at the office with her (one of the perks of working for your parents in a small-town office) and would be ecstatic to get the exercise. Then maybe Aimee would want to go canoeing on Sunday afternoon. What was it she'd said about everyone wanting one last summer outing? Lyra thought that was a great idea.

~~***~~

Jonah Forrester slammed his car door and stared up at the towering glass and timber house in front of him. It was at least three times the size of his uncle's tiny brownstone in Manhattan, where he'd lived for the last five years. A wilderness of maples, beech, and evergreens spread out in every direction around the house. Talk about a culture shock.

"Well, what do you think, Jonah?" Jethro Carsen came around to the passenger's side of the car where Jonah stood and clapped him on the shoulder grinning. "Wait until you see the views from the second story—magnificent!"

Jonah gave his uncle what he hoped was a cheerful smile. "It's enormous."

Jethro chuckled. "I got a fantastic deal. We'll have a bit more room to spread out here. We won't be always on top of each other. You're going to love it here, son."

Guilt pricked Jonah's conscience. His uncle had sacrificed a lot to take him in, not least of which was his privacy. His smile came more easily. "I know I will, Jet. Why don't you go on in and I'll unload the car?"

Jethro fished in his pocket for the house key. "No, no, I'll help. I need to move around. The long drive made my legs stiff."

It didn't take long to carry in the suitcases and few boxes they had stowed in the car. Professional movers had delivered all of the furniture, household goods, and Jonah's Audi earlier that day.

The house had an open floor plan: the entryway flowed into the living room (which was itself enormous, Jonah thought), and the living room was divided from the kitchen only by a long granite-topped bar. The wall on far side of the living room was entirely glass, including the doors leading out onto two-tiered deck. Jonah opened the doors and stepped outside. In the right-hand corner of the deck Jonah noticed a sunken Jacuzzi, covered with a black fiberglass top. _Cool._ The backyard sloped downward a few yards then melted into the trees. According to Jet, they had two acres of property.

Jonah took a deep breath. The air definitely smelled better here—clean and piney. He turned around and went back inside. He checked the door in the kitchen. On the other side of that door was a short hallway containing only two other doors. He opened the one on his left. He made to step inside but his foot met only air. He jerked back. He flipped on the light switch and a light half-way down flickered on revealing a descending stairway—the basement. He shut the door; he'd check that out later. Right now he wanted to find his car. It hadn't been his car for long and he'd been loathe to let the movers haul it behind their truck, but Jet had insisted.

He opened the door directly opposite the kitchen door—Bingo. He flipped the switch and florescent lights flickered on. There was his Audi. Jonah hurried forward and examined every inch carefully. The late model car had a few dings and scratches when he and Jet bought it three months ago, but it didn't appear to have acquired any new ones on the trip up. He breathed a sigh of relief; Jonah loved his car. He opened the driver's side door and felt for the ignition; his keys were in it. He pulled them out. It might be ridiculous, but he liked to feel their weight in his front pocket. He took another glance around the garage and turned back toward the kitchen. On the wall beside the door was a panel with three small switches and one large one. He pressed the large one and the two-car garage door opened. He'd pull Jet's car in for him.

Jet suggested they go into town and get some dinner first, though, which they did. They found a little Italian restaurant, Nicola's, on the main street. The evening rush had come and gone so they were led straight to a table. Once they'd placed their orders, Jethro leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. It had been a hectic couple of weeks. He had driven up two weeks ago to see the house, though the realtor had e-mailed numerous photos. He made an offer and thankfully, it had been accepted immediately. Jethro had then worked furiously to push the paperwork through, schedule the closing, and get them moved before the school year started for Jonah.

Jonah worried that all of his work had been in vain. He knew his uncle hoped he would fit in better here and make friends more easily. Jonah had no intention of doing either, but he didn't tell Jet that. There was no reason to deliberately hurt his uncle's feelings.

As if reading his mind, Jet started in on the sales pitch again. "This is a great town. It's small enough that you'll get to know people a lot more quickly. The area is beautiful—lots of outdoor activities. It's a little late in the year, but next spring we'll go fly fishing. This will be a good place for us, Jonah."

Jonah smiled, his conscience awakening again. "I appreciate all your efforts, Jet. I really do, but like I told you before, I could have had friends in the city if I'd wanted. It's just best if I stay to myself."

Irritation flashed across Jethro's face. "That's utter nonsense. You're a seventeen-year-old boy. You need to be around other kids your own age. I want you to have a normal life."

"My having a normal life is pretty much out of the question."

Jet leaned across the table pinning Jonah with his eyes. "No, Jonah, it's a choice—and you've been making the wrong one. Let me tell you something: life is no fun lived alone. I know. God made you special and He doesn't make mistakes. When are you going to realize that and let yourself be happy?"

Jonah looked down, ashamed for upsetting his uncle. "I'll try, Jet. I promise." And Jonah vowed to himself he _would_ try to settle in and find some sort of contentment here—though not in the way Jet suggested. Getting close to other people was just a bad idea.

Jonah's Chicken Milano was delicious and Jethro raved about his Bolgnese. They left Nicola's full to bursting with Jet's assurances to the waitress they would be back soon.

That night when they got home, they made up their beds, unpacked a few necessities, and left the rest until morning.

They spent most of Sunday inside getting organized. By dinner time, they had the furniture arranged and their personal items unpacked and in good order. The previous owners had left a large expensive-looking grill on which Jet happily broke in by grilling burgers for them that evening.

Jonah fell into bed that night exhausted. If he was tired, he knew his uncle must be. He liked the big house. Jethro had been right about that. He and Jet would be able to be home together all day and not even run into each other if they didn't want to—except perhaps in the kitchen.

Jonah smiled as he remembered the spacious kitchen. He knew they'd run into each other a lot there—his uncle loved to cook. Maybe as much as Jonah loved to eat. He rolled over and punched his pillow. He was sincerely grateful that tomorrow was Labor Day, giving him a free day before school started. He wanted to go exploring. All those trees and open space. He could get used to that.

Chapter II.

Lyra woke early and refreshed on Tuesday morning. Her muscles ached a little from the long hike on Saturday and the paddling she'd done on Sunday. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and took Harry out for a walk. It was still dark and there was a little chill in the air. A few leaves had begun to fall already she noticed. Back in her room, she put on a pair of her new (though fashionably faded and worn) jeans, layered a thin, multi-hued t-shirt over a purple tank, and her sketchers. No need to make a fashion statement on the first day (or any day for that matter) at Placid High, she thought with a grimace. She gathered her hair into a ponytail and brushed on some lip gloss. Good enough, she thought.

A bowl of cereal and glass of OJ later, and she was out the door. She'd heard her parents just beginning to stir as she left. Since they often worked until six or seven in the evenings, they usually didn't go into the office until around ten. She backed her Toyota out of the garage and rode the brake down her winding driveway. The streets in downtown Placid were not very busy and she made it to school with twenty minutes to spare. She checked her bag again to make sure she had her pens, pencils, and notebooks, then walked around to the front of the building and entered with the crowd of arriving students. She looked around and didn't see Aimee anywhere yet. Down the eleventh grade corridor she found a group huddled around two sheets of paper taped to the wall on which homeroom assignments were listed. Lyra tried to look over their heads.

"Hey, Lyra," greeted a pretty, blond-haired girl as she turned from the wall and saw her. The blond-haired boy beside her turned too.

"Hi, Katie. Hi Trevor," Lyra grinned, glad to see them. Katie and Trevor were twins, her good friends since kindergarten.

"Hey there gorgeous," Trevor said as he noticed her.

Lyra grinned and rolled her eyes.

"You are looking as beautiful as ever." He smiled and gave her a one-armed hug. Trevor was also tanned from spending the last couple of months outdoors. He was an avid kayaker and had worked as a guide and instructor over the summer.

"Yeah, sure. Move over and let me see who I've got."

"You're in Hamilton's room with us. Aimee and Connor are too. Let's go see if they're in there yet," Katie said as she switched her backpack to her other shoulder. Lyra followed them.

They made their way down the hall to Hamilton's class. Hamilton coached the hockey team and taught biology. He was a big man with an aggressive personality. They walked in and saw him behind his desk. "Hi, Coach," Trevor called as they entered. They took seats at the back of the class. Thankfully, they only had homeroom the first day to get their class assignments. Aimee walked in soon after and made a beeline to them. Connor, her boyfriend, followed close behind. Within ten minutes the classroom filled and excited chatter was heard all around. It seemed everyone was excited to be back and discuss what they'd done over the summer.

Just as the bell was ringing, a boy Lyra had never before seen walked in. He hesitated at the door, looking around for an empty seat. Keeping his head down, he walked to the far side of the classroom to the only vacant desk and folded himself in. This must be her new neighbor.

Lyra couldn't get a good look at his face, but the way he kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, she thought he seemed unfriendly, or maybe just unhappy.

He was tall—at least six-three. His straight, black hair was long and hid his face and eyes. He looked uncomfortable in the too-small desk, on which he kept his eyes glued. Well, thought Lyra with sympathy, it must be hard being new. He wore faded blue jeans, a long-sleeve black turtleneck, and black lace-up boots. He was by no means bulky, but his shirt stretched against well-defined muscles in his chest and shoulders.

Coach Hamilton called the class to order and started handing out schedules. He went through the C's without calling out a Carsen. Lyra watched the stranger surreptitiously.

"Forrester" Hamilton announced. "Jonah Forrester." The class got unusually quiet and all eyes were on the dark-haired stranger.

"Here," the new boy said, holding up his hand. His voice was deep and low. Hamilton walked over to him and handed him the slip of paper. Hamilton paused in front of his desk, evidently taking stock of his height and rugged build. "You're new."

"Yes, sir," Jonah Forrester replied eyes still lowered.

"Welcome to Lake Placid."

"Thank you, sir."

Hamilton continued to scrutinize him. "Hockey try-outs are Thursday after school at the ice rink. I hope to see you there."

Jonah Forrester looked up quickly and then back down, but didn't say anything.

In that instant Lyra caught a glimpse of high cheek bones, straight nose, and squared chin. His brows were knit into a frown and his full, red lips were pressed together tightly

"Oh my gosh. He is so good looking," Katie, who was sitting behind Lyra, whispered in her ear. "Don't you think?"

Lyra hadn't taken her eyes off of him since he'd walked in. Suddenly, his head snapped up. His gaze flickered to Katie and then settled on her. Lyra's breath caught and her mouth opened in surprise. His eyes were a vivid blue and he wasn't good looking; he was beautiful. He could have just stepped off a Calvin Klein billboard—or out of a painting of a Greek god. He stared at her intently. Before she could remember how to work the muscles in her face to smile at him, he'd looked back down. Lyra closed her mouth and felt her cheeks burn. Katie giggled behind her. Lyra was saved from speaking by Coach Hamilton walking down the aisle to deliver her schedule.

Jonah Forrester was in three of Lyra's classes—two were advanced placement, so she knew he was smart. In Algebra II and Government, their teachers seated them alphabetically, so she ended up in the desk behind him for those classes. He towered above her so that Lyra had to lean to one side or the other to see the teacher. She never heard him speak another word that day and he didn't look at her again. He sat at a table by himself at lunch. Lyra noticed Kyle go over and introduce himself. Kyle was captain of the hockey team and Lyra was sure he had the same idea as Coach. She watched as Kyle tried to engage him in conversation, but Jonah must have kept his answers short because Kyle walked back to his table within less than a minute.

Kyle was a senior this year, so thankfully Lyra didn't have any classes with him. He always sat at a lunch table with his own classmates and it seemed that would be his habit this year too. She hoped their not sitting together at lunch would extinguish any rumors that they were dating. However, just before the bell rang, Kyle walked by and winked at her. "Hi, Lyra," he called.

"Hi," Lyra mumbled, looking away. She caught Aimee's 'I told you so' smirk. Lyra grimaced and shook her head no, denying the unvoiced remark.

The brooding new student was discussed at Lyra's lunch table that day in hushed voices. The girls were all in agreement that he was very hot. The guys suffered through that conversation by speculating about what sports he played—he was obviously athletic. They all wondered where he was from and what brought him to Lake Placid. Aimee volunteered to the group that he and Lyra were neighbors and that he was evidently orphaned because he lived with his uncle. Lyra wished she hadn't shared that knowledge with Aimee. She didn't want to be guilty passing on third-hand, and possibly incorrect, information about him.

The first day of school ended and Lyra had to admit, it was much more interesting than she had expected. She spotted Jonah Forrester getting into an older model black Audi in the students' parking lot. _Well, he won't be asking for a ride to school after all,_ she thought with a twinge of disappointment. Then she laughed at herself when she recalled her earlier anxiety and sour attitude about him needing a ride.

She thought about him all the way to Mr. Masters' house and even during practice she couldn't put him completely out of her mind. She played so poorly the technical etudes she'd been assigned the week before that Mr. Masters' asked if she was sight-reading them.

When Lyra got home, she and Harry went out for a run. Harry was delighted with her faster-than-normal pace. She went up the hill and past her new neighbor's house, but kept her eyes firmly on the road. After returning home and showering, she pulled out her cello and attacked with savage concentration the etudes she'd played so horribly at Masters'.

When Harry's barks announced her parents' arrival, she went downstairs to greet them. Her mom had brought her home a cobb salad tonight. Over dinner, they asked about her first day back to school. She told them her course schedule, who her teachers were, and which classes she had with Aimee (English and History) and Katie (Algebra and Art).

Her father still looked at her expectantly. "So," he finally asked, "did you see the Carsen boy today?"

"Yeah. He's a junior too and in a couple of my classes. His name's not Carsen, though it's Jonah Forrester."

"Did you speak to him, dear?" her mother asked. "Does he seem nice?"

Lyra dropped her fork. For some reason, just thinking about his intense, too-blue eyes, set butterflies dancing in her stomach. "No. I didn't speak to him. But, he seemed nice," Lyra replied, not sure what to reveal about the stranger. "He looked...um...uncomfortable, you know? Being the new kid and all, I guess."

"Well, honey, you should introduce yourself tomorrow. Make him feel welcome. I'm sure he's feeling very out of place right now," her mother admonished. Her father nodded his assent.

"Yeah, I will," Lyra agreed, feeling ashamed now because she hadn't done so that day.

~~***~~

The next morning, Lyra spent a little more time on her appearance, though she didn't admit to herself why. She chose a new, pink, scalloped-edged blouse she'd gotten at her mother's urging and slipped on her Nichole Simpson ballet flats. She brushed her hair back, but left it down and added a dusting of powder in addition to lip gloss. She stopped herself from reaching for the mascara. _No need to look like I'm trying_ , she chided herself.

She got to her first class without seeing Jonah. But as she walked from first period to second period History, she saw him come out of the chemistry lab heading their way. Aimee walked beside her chattering on about how much English homework they'd been given, but Lyra barely heard. Jonah's head was down. He was dressed in black jeans and a soft gray v-necked shirt. He was nearly to them when he looked up briefly and caught her eye before his slid away again. She'd had her friendly smile in place this time. Was he shy, she wondered?

When she got to algebra later that morning, he was already seated. He was flipping through the course book and didn't look up as she walked past and took her seat behind him. He smelled good—clean and woodsy. His dark hair was in disarray as though he'd been running his fingers through it. For some reason, his nearness was distracting. Every time he moved or shifted in his seat Lyra noticed. She leaned around him, focused her eyes on the teacher, and tried to concentrate on the problem she was working out on the board.

They both had lunch next and Lyra resolved to speak to him after class. When the bell rang, he remained seated waiting for everyone to pass before he got up. Lyra left with the others, but stopped just outside the classroom door. She took a deep breath and got her smile ready again. When he came out, he looked startled to see her standing there.

"Jonah, right?" She asked, craning her neck slightly to meet his gaze.

"Yes."

She hadn't just imagined how deep his voice was yesterday. "Hi. I'm Lyra Grant."

He eyed her warily. "It's nice to meet you," he said somewhat formally. After a second of awkward silence, he turned and started walking toward the cafeteria.

"Yeah, well, I um, just wanted to introduce myself," she continued, jogging a couple steps to keep pace with him, "and I wanted to also let you know we're neighbors."

He stopped abruptly and she nearly bumped into him. "Really?" He eyed her curiously.

Lyra realized it would seem odd that she knew where he lived when she only met him five seconds ago.

"You know, small town—word travels. My dad, he's friends with Jimmy, the real estate agent. My dad said you were from the city...Anyway, we live in the house just down the hill." Was she babbling?

He'd resumed walking. "Well, thanks for letting me know. It's nice to know we have such...ah...sociable neighbors." The one side of his mouth Lyra could see while walking beside him crinkled up at one corner slightly. His tone of voice, however, left her to wonder if he really did think it was nice.

They were nearly to the cafeteria now. She tried again. "So, I know it must be hard starting a new school and all and I was, um, wondering if you'd like to sit at my table during lunch and I could introduce you to my friends."

He pulled open the cafeteria door, and held it for her. She walked through it and stopped to wait for his reply.

He stared down at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. "Did your dad also tell you to be polite and introduce yourself to your new neighbor?"

Lyra flushed deeply, dropped her gaze, and stammered. "Um, well, my mom actually, but, I was going to do it anyway."

Amusement lit his eyes for a moment, but then vanished and a crease appeared between his brows. He looked at her intently again, then brusquely replied, "Thanks all the same, but I'm not interested in meeting your friends and I prefer to eat alone." And with that he walked away from her.

She stood there in shock, motionless in sea of moving bodies. Well, so much for being neighborly, she thought irritably. Maybe she shouldn't have been honest about what her dad said. Had she hurt his feelings? She was bumped from behind which startled her into movement. She went and put her books on the lunch table. Katie and Trevor were already there waiting for her to get into line with them. Katie was looking at her in awe. "What were you talking to Jonah Forrester about just now?" she wanted to know.

"I just introduced myself and invited him to eat lunch with us, but he said no." Lyra shrugged attempting to appear indifferent, though her cheeks still burned with embarrassment.

"He turned down a lunch invitation from the best looking girl in the school?" Trevor asked, indignant. "What's wrong with that guy?" He slung his arm over Lyra's shoulder, guiding her to the end of the lunch line.

"Thank you, Trevor, but everyone knows your fair sister here is by far the loveliest maiden at Placid High," Lyra returned with a laugh, disentangling herself.

"Yeah, but that's only because she looks just like me," he quipped.

They went through the line, but Lyra no longer had an appetite. She kept wondering about Jonah's apparent aversion to her. She continued looking over at him out of the corner of her eye. He had gone to sit at the same deserted table as yesterday. Try as she might, Lyra couldn't seem to stop herself from watching him.

Compassion eventually overrode her irritation. Lyra was very accustomed to spending time by herself. She enjoyed solitude more than most of her friends. But as she continued to look at Jonah Forrester sitting at his solitary table, Lyra thought she'd never seen anyone so alone in her life.

~~***~~

When Jonah got home from school, he tossed his books down on the sofa without stopping and headed straight out the back patio doors. He had to release some of the pent-up energy and tension inside of him. He felt claustrophobic, as though if he didn't get away from the confines of his life he would explode. His long legs ate up the ground as he crossed the back yard and entered the line of trees. He didn't slow down even though his legs got caught in the underbrush and sharp limbs pulled at his clothes and slapped his arms and face. He strode through the low hanging branches for ten minutes before he crossed a trail. _Excellent_. He turned onto it and broke into a run. It didn't take long to work up a sweat and, after a few minutes, he pulled off his damp shirt. He ran for half an hour and passed no one. God, this was great. He had never run so far, for so long, without encountering another human being. His opinion of Lake Placid rose. The last two days had been hard. He had been completely anonymous at his high school in Manhattan. He was accustomed to melting into the background amidst thousands of other kids. Everyone's interest and curiosity here was nearly unbearable. He felt like he'd been walking in a spotlight for two days.

It had been a long time since anyone in school had bothered to be friendly to him. And the pretty, green-eyed girl...she'd been the worst. He'd seen the pain in her eyes after his rejection. She had seemed more kind—more sincere than most. She's actually seemed hurt. Most girls just got ticked off and did that snooty hair flip when their egos got bruised. What did she say her name was—Lyla, Lily? _Lyra._ That was it.

He slowed his pace, finally beginning to feel a release of the pressure in his head and muscles. His feet were beginning to hurt too. He should have at least taken the time to change into his tennis shoes. He turned around and headed home. _Home._ He could get used to calling this place home. Except for school, which he should have realized would be bad, he already liked it here better than the city. The constant press of people and incessant noise, intermingled smells of fried food, car exhaust, and garbage—he hadn't realized how much he had hated living in New York until he'd left. Manhattan was better than where he came from, though, so he supposed he had just overlooked its defects.

Back at the house, Jet was in the kitchen.

"Well, there you are. I saw your books, but couldn't find you."

"Yeah, I just felt like a run."

Jethro raised his eyebrows taking in Jonah's bare chest, blue jeans, and boots, but didn't say anything.

"I'm going to take a shower; then I'll help with dinner."

~~***~~

After they had eaten and Jonah had cleaned the kitchen, Jethro disappeared into his office and Jonah went upstairs to his room. He needed some music to listen to...something to get his mind off of school and—everything. He dug through the boxes in his closet that he hadn't yet unpacked, but his CDs were in none of them. He went downstairs and knocked on Jet's office door.

"Come in."

Jonah stuck his head in. "Hey, Jet. Where are the other boxes—the ones with my CDs and books and stuff?"

"The movers put some things down in the basement. And I wanted to tell you, there's no reason for you to cram all your stuff in one bedroom. This is a big house—feel free to spread out into another of the bedrooms up there."

"Okay. Cool. Thanks."

Jonah went down the hall, crossed through the kitchen and went out the door leading to the basement. He flipped on the light and went down the stairs. He hadn't been down here yet. Jonah noticed that the room was vast, carpeted like the upstairs, and the walls had been painted a pale blue. He saw half a dozen boxes against the wall nearby, but thought he'd first check out the room. Electrical outlets were spaced evenly apart along the walls near the floor. He saw a bolted door to his left that likely led outside and another at the far end of the room. He strode over to the door on the back wall and discovered a full bathroom. He next went to the door leading outside, unlocked it, and with a little effort, pulled it open. He stepped onto a small cement square surrounded on two sides with high walls and to the left, stairs ascending to ground level. He jogged up the stairs and saw that he was on the back side of the house. He could hear the crickets and an owl, but otherwise it was quiet. He looked up, but the stars were obscured by clouds and trees. He sighed. One day he would live in a place where the stars were always visible. Jonah went back down the stairs and reentered the basement. He dug around in the boxes until he found his CD collection. He lifted the box and started to head back up to his room, but he stopped to take one last look around. It was such a cool room. It was big, sound-proof, with its own bathroom and exit to the outside. It was perfect, but the blue had to go. It was awful—well, there was just too much of it. He had a sudden idea. He set the box of CDs down and raced back up to Jet's office. He knocked but opened it before Jethro could even answer.

"Jet, could I have the basement instead of another bedroom?"

Jethro thought a moment. "Sure. I don't see why not. I don't know why I didn't think of it. It would be perfect for you."

"Can I paint it?"

Jethro's expression turned skeptical. "What color?"

Jonah looked down and shuffled his feet. He looked back up with pleading eyes. "I have an idea. I'd kind of like it to be a surprise. Can you just trust me on this? I promise not to do anything too radical. I think you'll like it."

Jethro took in Jonah's flushed face and excited eyes. The boy hardly ever got excited about anything. "Of course. I'll leave my credit card on the table for you in the morning. You can go by the hardware store after school and get what you need."

Jonah's face split into a rare, wide grin. "Awesome! Thanks Jet!"

Chapter III.

Over the next couple of weeks, Lyra made no more attempts to talk to Jonah. But she watched him constantly. He was like a magnet that drew her eye wherever he was. Sometimes he caught her staring, and though she was deeply embarrassed that her fascination was so obvious, she was incapable of keeping her eyes away from following him for long.

It wasn't just that he was gorgeous—though that would have been enough. But, his aloneness bothered her. He rebuffed all friendly gestures from the few who attempted to engage him. On the one hand, Lyra saw this as a good sign—at least it wasn't just her. On the other hand, she was confounded as to why he seemed so determined not to make any friends in Lake Placid. He never laughed or even smiled. She didn't think he was just rude or stuck up. He didn't seem arrogant. Rather, she sensed that there was some deep wound that kept the walls up, and darned if she didn't want to be the one to break them down.

It didn't take long for word of his cold attitude to spread. Within a week or two, anyone who was, or might have been, inclined to be friendly stopped bothering. He never talked to anyone. When he was called on in class, his answers were always correct, but curt, almost to the point of rudeness, making it very clear he did not appreciate the attention drawn to himself. Eventually, interest in the 'new guy' wore completely off. Lyra was saddened to see that her classmates and even teachers gave up entirely. People talked over him and around him as though he was not there, as though he was invisible. But Lyra's awareness of him did not diminish. He was the proverbial elephant in the room. It was as if he radiated a high frequency signal to which she alone was attuned.

~~***~~

Those weeks were equally frustrating for Jonah. He knew Lyra watched him. He felt her eyes on him in class, in the hallways, and across the busy cafeteria. He was acutely aware of her sitting behind him in Algebra and Government. It drove him crazy that she could observe him, while he had to turn completely around to see her—which he never allowed himself to do. Since she made no attempt to approach him again, he wondered what could possibly hold her interest.

Though he couldn't watch her during class, he listened to her conversations with those around her. She seemed different than the others. She was soft-spoken when everyone else was loud. She joked and laughed with her friends, but never was she rude, sarcastic, or unkind. At the same time, she wasn't afraid to reprove someone for gossiping or tell them to watch their mouth if they cursed. She was completely comfortable with those around her, but at the same time she wasn't like them. Underneath her soft voice and gentle words was a core of integrity and high personal values. Jonah wondered what made her different and as time passed, his curiosity unwittingly turned to interest, and eventually, his interest turned to attraction.

~~***~~

One day, a few weeks into the school year, Lyra walked into Algebra to find Jonah sitting at her desk. She paused briefly, then continued down the aisle. She stopped in front of him and opened her mouth to ask him if he realized he was in the wrong seat when Ms. Hammons called out to her. "Lyra, dear, I asked Jonah to change seats with you. I noticed you have to lean around him to see the board. He was kind enough to agree."

Jonah met her eyes with an innocent look.

"Fine," she mumbled, before turning around to take his _(her)_ seat. She didn't mind leaning around him. She quite enjoyed staring at his back actually, watching him run his fingers through his hair, and surreptitiously inhaling his unique scent. Now she had nothing remotely interesting to look at and was acutely conscious that now _he_ would see _her_ every move and gesture. _As if he cared!_

Having the tables turned made her nervous—and clumsy. She dropped her pencil twice and knocked her book off her desk with her elbow in the first five minutes of class. When she bent to pick up her pencil the second time she could have sworn that out of the corner of her eye she saw him smiling.

What happened when she got to Government that same afternoon, however, unsettled her far more. She arrived before him and was smugly thinking that at least she still had one class in which to indulge her morbid fixation when Mr. Thompson stopped her.

"Ms. Grant. I hope you don't mind, but yesterday after class I asked Mr. Forrester to switch seat assignments with you. I couldn't help but observe that you have trouble seeing around him. He was very happy to do so, of course."

Lyra stared at him stunned. Several people came in behind her so she pulled herself together, nodded, and dazedly walked to her _(his)_ desk. When he walked in a minute later, she glared at him suspiciously. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and gave her an amused look before taking the seat behind her. She didn't know how, but she was convinced he had something to do with the change in seating arrangements. It was too much of a coincidence.

Fuming, she sat ramrod straight in her chair the entire hour. Thankfully, she managed to maintain control of her book and pens during class. As she gathered her things at the end of the period, she could again swear she saw his lips twitching, but mustering all her self-control, she managed to resist looking directly at him.

Meanwhile, Kyle was becoming a real nuisance. He'd called her several times to ask her out (she'd politely declined), and he'd gotten into the habit of coming to sit beside her at lunch after he ate with his friends. It made it look like they were together. She'd refused to go out with him, but how could she prevent him from coming over to her table?

"I don't know why you won't go out with him," Aimee exclaimed one day when Lyra complained. "You're perfect for each other. He's hot, you're beautiful. His dad's a doctor, yours is a lawyer. He's rich, you're rich. And you've known each other all your lives. Why won't you go out with him?"

"Because I'm not _remotely_ interested in him; because all he ever talks about are his moves on the hockey field; and because he stops to look in every mirror he passes," she hissed, not wanting to be overheard. They were walking through the parking lot after school.

"You're too picky," Aimee called over her shoulder as she veered to the left where Conner was waiting for her.

_Don't I know it_ , thought Lyra grimly as she made her way to her own car. _My hormones finally kick in, but they only clamor after one person. And he couldn't care less if I lived on Mars_.

When she got home, Harry met her at the back door, dancing with impatience to go out. "Okay, okay. Just let me put my stuff down and get my boots on," she told him as she made her way through the kitchen. She noticed a note on the table from her mother and stopped to read it. Her parents were meeting a client for drinks and possibly dinner at the Red Fox Restaurant in Saranac after work. It looked like she was on her own this evening.

She changed quickly and ran back down the stairs pulling her hair up. Harry followed close on her heels. As soon as she opened the French doors onto the deck, Harry took off like a shot. He disappeared into the woods for a couple of minutes, choosing to take care of his business in privacy. He reappeared, ran back to her barking playfully, and took off again. He wanted her to chase him. She lengthened her strides and followed behind, scolding him playfully to wait up. Lyra breathed in the crisp fragrant air. It felt good to walk off some of the tension that seemed to have been building up all day. Harry led her to a trail that picked up below their property line and wound around, though high above, Mirror Lake.

Lyra followed the trail for a mile or so, until she arrived at one of her favorite look-out spots. She brushed the leaves off the flat, narrow rock she used as a bench and sat down. She could hear Harry in the underbrush nearby—probably rooting out rabbits and squirrels. She watched the play of light on the surface of the lake. The sun sank lower and lower until it was touching the peak of Whiteface Mountain. Harry had finally tired himself out and was resting at her feet.

Suddenly, he raised himself into a crouch and started growling deep in his throat. The hair on his nape stood up and he bared his teeth. Lyra heard leaves crunching and twigs snapping behind her. Someone was coming. She turned around and saw Jonah Forrester on the path about 20 yards away. He kept walking toward her, but his eyes were locked on Harry. When he was just a few feet away he stopped. He and Harry looked at each other a long moment. Finally, Harry whined and his ears laid back. He sank to his stomach and crawled forward. Lyra was shocked at Harry's immediate and uncharacteristic submission. Jonah closed the gap and kneeled down to scratch Harry behind his ears.

"Magnificent animal," he said glancing up at Lyra. Lyra closed her mouth with a soft popping sound.

"Thank you," she managed.

"What's his name?"

"Harry. Harry P. Grant."

"'P' for Potter?"

Sheepish, Lyra nodded.

Jonah's smile was swift. He chuckled, "I love Harry Potter. Rowling is a genius."

He looked like an angel when he smiled, Lyra thought, and grinned back.

Jonah straightened up and stared down at her with an unreadable expression. "Is this a favorite spot of yours?" he inquired.

"Yes, it's a good place. Not many tourists come up this way. It's quiet and peaceful."

He nodded, looking out over the lake. After a minute he asked, "Mind if I sit down?"

Lyra started at the question. She'd been staring up at him lost in the wonder of his unexpected appearance and uncharacteristic sociability. "No, no, not at all." She scooted over to make room for him.

He sat down and gazed back out over the lake. Harry came and put his head on Jonah's knee and Jonah buried his hand in Harry's fur, stroking him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, their shoulders almost touching. Lyra could feel his body heat radiating from him. The small space between them seemed charged with unseen electricity.

"So, how do you like Lake Placid?" she asked, when she was finally able to manage a coherent thought.

"It's a beautiful area."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he offered nothing else.

"You lived in New York, right?" she prodded.

"Manhattan. My uncle works for the _Times_. It was convenient, but he was tired of the city. With e-mail and a fax machine, he's able to work from home—wherever he chooses to call home."

That was the most she'd heard him say at one time. She loved his deep, rich voice. It was velvety smooth with a subtle Southern lilt to it.

He glanced down at her. Her eyes had been fixed on his face while he spoke. She blushed and looked down. "Sorry."

He looked amused. He watched her for a second and then turned back toward the lake.

"Do you miss your old school and friends?" asked Lyra, thinking that must be the reason for his self-imposed isolation here.

His voice turned hard and she felt him tense beside her. "No. As far as that goes, it doesn't matter at all. Some things are the same regardless of location."

Lyra tried unsuccessfully to unravel that mysterious statement. Having no idea how to reply, she gave up on conversation and just enjoyed being so near him, and alone with him.

They sat in companionable silence a while longer watching the sun sink behind the distant mountain. Jonah sighed and slowly got to his feet. "Thank you for the company" he said as he turned and gave her a wry smile. "You are a restful person to be around."

Not sure what to say to that, Lyra kept her silence, but gave him a faltering smile.

"Are you heading back soon? It's getting dark," he inquired.

"Yeah. I'll start home in a minute. I know the trail well and I don't mind a night-time walk when Harry's with me."

He hesitated a second as if unsure whether to leave her. He opened his mouth to say something else but then shut it again. He gave her another brief smile. "Okay then. I'll see you in Algebra tomorrow."

That reminded her of the strange circumstance of their reversed seating arrangements. She looked back up at him sharply. He seemed to be waiting for her to comment or ask him about it, but she couldn't figure out how to frame her suspicion of his involvement into a tactful question.

"Right" was all she said, her forehead puckering into a frown. She thought she heard him sigh, and she was sure she misread the look of disappointment in his eyes before he turned and headed back up the trail.

Harry whined again and thumped his tail on the ground as he watched Jonah stride away. "My thoughts exactly," Lyra murmured, patting Harry's head, as Jonah rounded a turn on the trail and disappeared.

She waited until the sun set behind Whiteface's summit before heading home. Under the canopy of trees, the day abruptly turned into twilight. The birds had quieted, but the crickets grew louder, warming up for their nightly concert.

Lyra walked home slowly, knowing her parents wouldn't be back yet. She wondered about her encounter with Jonah. He'd obviously come upon Harry and her unexpectedly, but she was mystified why he hadn't just kept walking. Why, all of a sudden, had he decided to talk to her? Why did he stay and sit with her? Maybe he just likes my dog, she thought with a grimace.

Once home, she filled Harry's bowl with kibble and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. She would save whatever her mother brought her home tonight for tomorrow's dinner. She thought about Jonah's smile and how, though brief as it was, it had melted her insides...and her brain. His face was even more mesmerizing when he smiled. Maybe that's why he doesn't smile often, she thought. If every other girl turned into a gawking imbecile like she did, she imagined that would get annoying after a while.

He reminded her of someone, but she couldn't think of who it was. He was enigmatic. Everything about him was a mystery. Why would someone choose to isolate themselves completely from everyone else like he did? And his complete indifference to where he lived was downright odd. Hadn't he had any friends in Manhattan either? If not, she was sure it had been by his choice there too.

She finished her sandwich and went upstairs. In her bedroom, she opened her window wide to the star-strewn night. It was unusually still. She pulled her cello out of its case and flipped through her sheet music looking for something melancholy to suit her mood. Her fingers halted over the familiar black cover with the white mask and red rose. _Phantom of the Opera_. She knew at once who Jonah reminded her of—the Phantom. Abandoned even by his mother and forced to live beneath the opera house because of his loathsome deformity, the Phantom led a loveless life, spurned by the world. It was her favorite Broadway musical, seen on a special birthday trip to New York City with her parents. She probably knew every tortured note by heart.

She was probably being an overly dramatic, romantic fool, but her hands still shook slightly as she opened the book to the dog-eared page of _Music of the Night_ and slipped the soundtrack into her CD player. She checked the volume, making sure she would be able to hear Michael Crawford's mesmerizing voice above her cello as she played along.

The Phantom, having brought Christine, his protégé and heart's desire, to his ghostly underground home, seduces her with his song.

The haunting opening notes filled the room. She bent her head and surrendered to the unbearably tender, latently sensual, emotions evoked by the music.

Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness wakes and stirs imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Helpless to resist the notes I write

For I compose the music of the night

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Hearing is believing, music is deceiving

Hard as lighting soft as candle light

Dare you trust the music of the night?

Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth

And the truth isn't what you want to see

In the dark it is easy to pretend

That the truth is what it ought to be

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.

Hear it, feel it secretly possess you

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness which you know you cannot fight

The darkness of the music of the night

Close your eyes start a journey through a strange world

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before

Close your eyes and let music set you free

Only then can you belong to me

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

You alone can make my song flight

Help me make the music of the night

As the final note faded, her bow suspended above the strings, an involuntary sob escaped Lyra's lips. She raised her head and realized her face was wet with tears. She hadn't been aware that she was crying. Never had she felt the words so powerfully. Never had Andrew Lloyd Weber's music awed her more. Her heart broke for Jonah, imagining him as alone and alienated from the world as the Phantom.

Harry padded over and licked her face, breaking the spell. Outside in the dark a twig snapped but all else was still.

Chapter IV.

After their evening in the forest, Jonah warmed up to Lyra perceptibly. She wouldn't have said he was exactly friendly, but he didn't seem hostile anymore. When they passed in the halls at school or when she caught his eye in class, he gave her a small smile now instead of avoiding her eyes. In Lyra's mind, it was a huge improvement.

The air was getting colder and the landscape around Lake Placid turned brilliant. It looked like giant boxes of crayons had melted all over the surrounding mountains. Numerous photographers were seen with their cameras and tripods, capturing the lustrous foliage for next year's calendars. The summer vacationers with their noisy, hard-to-please children were gone, but it was too early for the town to be flooded with the winter sports enthusiasts. Fall was Lyra's favorite season and her mood became buoyant.

One thing (or person, she should say) marred her happiness—Kyle Douglas. He was becoming impossible. Though she had continued to refuse to go out with him, he had evidently still not gotten the hint. He'd started showing up wherever she was to walk her to her classes and he stopped eating with his friends all together and sat at her lunch table every day. The day the posters went up announcing the date for the Harvest Dance, he was waiting for her in the parking lot after school. She knew what was coming. Coincidentally, Jonah Forrester had parked beside her that morning and he was in his car with the windows down flipping through his CD folder. He glanced up and smiled at her as she walked by. Her stomach gave a little thrill and she returned his smile, but as she looked back at Kyle lounging against her car, her butterflies became a knot of irritation. Couldn't the guy get the message?

Her eyes narrowed and she said tightly, "Hi Kyle. What's up?"

"Hey, baby," he drawled. "Just wanted to make sure we were going to the dance together on the 30th,"

Lyra bit back an angry retort and took a deep breath. Placid was a small town. Their parents were close friends. She didn't want to make an enemy of Kyle. "No, we are not going to the dance together, but thank you for the invitation. And please don't call me baby. It's demeaning."

"De-what?" he asked, looking confused.

She heard Jonah snort and shot a glance in his direction. He still had his eyes on his CD folio, but was grinning from ear to ear.

"Look, never mind. Just don't call me baby. I don't like it."

"Okay, sugar, whatever you say. But why don't you want to go to the dance? You going to be out of town or something that day?"

Lyra gritted her teeth. How his parents, two highly intelligent and successful people, could produce such an idiot son, was beyond her comprehension. "No. I just don't want to go. Katie doesn't have a date yet, though. You might ask her."

Kyle pushed off from the car and unfolded his arms. The lazy smile was gone and his tone turned aggressive, "I don't want to ask Katie. I thought we had an understanding."

Anger seeped through her voice unwittingly as she asked tensely, "And what exactly is it that I'm supposed to understand?"

The indolent smile returned and he leaned back against her car again, stretching his arms wide. "That we're crazy about each other, of course."

It was Lyra's turn to snort. She didn't mean to laugh in his face, but the outrageousness of his declaration was ludicrous. One look at his face, now red and twisted with fury, and her laughter died immediately. She hurriedly tried to repair the damage. "I'm sorry, Kyle, really, but I'm not interested in going out with you. I've been trying to tell you that for weeks."

His eye twitched convulsively. "So you were just leading me on this summer?" his voice rising in anger.

Lyra blushed scarlet. She was mortified to be having this conversation in the hearing of Jonah Forrester. She took another deep breath and tried to calm her emotions.

"No, I wasn't. I didn't honestly think that _our families_ having dinner together once and going to one movie constituted a relationship. I didn't think you did either or I never would have agreed to the movie." Before he could interrupt she continued. "We've been friends for years, Kyle," she said placating. "But that's all we are."

Jonah cleared his throat in the car beside them.

Evidently embarrassed now himself by the turn of the conversation and humiliated by her public rejection, Kyle spat out bitterly "Fine. I see now what a tease you are." He cast a contemptuous glance in Jonah's direction and stalked off to his BMW coup.

Lyra stood watching him. He pealed out of the parking lot and disappeared down the road, tires squealing.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. _That didn't go well_ , she thought. She laid a shaking hand on the roof of her car and turned to look over at Jonah. She could only imagine what he was thinking. He was staring at her with an inscrutable expression, but he said nothing. She took a deep breath, got into her car, and drove slowly home.

Lyra was pleased to see her parent's Volvo in the garage when she got home. After her disturbing confrontation with Kyle, she would appreciate their comforting presence.

Harry barked a welcome when she walked in the door. Her parents were in the kitchen and they greeted her warmly.

"Hey, Mom, Dad. What are you guys doing home so early?" she inquired, smiling her pleasure.

Her mother was standing at the counter. "Well, we've hardly seen you since you started back to school. And I've been hungry for a home-cooked meal," her mother explained.

"That sounds great," Lyra sighed. She dropped her school bag by the table and leaned over to kiss her dad, who was sitting at the table. "What are we having?"

"Steaks, pasta salad, and fresh asparagus," her father told her enthusiastically, leaning up to hug her.

"Yum!" She went over to the sink and hugged her mom around the waist, then started washing the asparagus that were in the colander.

Their talk was light and cheerful, and the peaceful atmosphere soothed Lyra's raw nerves. She hadn't realized how much she'd been missing her parents lately. She followed her dad out to the deck when he went to light the gas grill. The sun was setting and the sky had turned a deep, luminous purple.

"So when do you take your SATs?" he asked, as her mother stepped outside with two glasses of tea in her hand. She handed them each one and sat in the other cushioned lounge chair beside Lyra.

"Saturday, November 15th," Lyra answered. "The prep course is the Saturday before. I signed up for that too."

"Good, good," her father rejoined. "Have you thought about where you'll apply to college? We'll want to get the paperwork started as soon as we get your scores back."

"No. I honestly haven't given it that much thought. Isn't it still a little early to be worrying about that?"

"No, definitely not," her father returned. "The admissions process takes time."

"And we'll want time to visit some campuses before you decide," her mother put in. "You'll be amazed at how fast the next two years fly by, honey."

Lyra looked down at her hands and nodded. She knew most kids her age were eager to get out on their own and assert their independence. Maybe the thought of college would be more appealing if she knew what she wanted to do. But, Lyra didn't. Law, nor medicine, really appealed to her and she knew a general business or liberal arts degree would not satisfy her parents, or guarantee her a future. She was overwhelmed with the thought of deciding on a career that she wouldn't even start for six or more years.

Her father interrupted her musing. "Cornell is a fine school," he observed aloud trying to sound nonchalant. Lyra knew her father would be gleeful at the thought of her attending his old alma mater.

Her mother cleared her throat. Her father glanced over at her before adding grudgingly, "Brown is perfectly adequate too."

Her mom chuckled. "Brown University is far more than _adequate_ , Gordon. Their medical program is outstanding and it would be nice if Lyra wasn't all alone in a big city. Ithaca is much more like the home she knows."

"I know, I know," her father conceded.

Her parents took turns telling college stories and then tried to outdo the other in naming famous people who'd graduated from Brown and Cornell. Lyra sat through an enjoyable dinner listening to them and laughing with them.

They lingered at the table afterward, reluctant to leave the comfortable atmosphere and each other's company. Lyra thought how lucky she was to have such good parents.

As her mother got up to clear the table, her father turned to her again. "I met our neighbor today—Jethro Carsen. A very nice man."

"Really?" asked Lyra, sitting up straighter in her chair. She was extremely curious to know about Jonah's uncle, and by extension, Jonah himself.

"Yeah. We were having lunch at Casey's Pub today and he was seated at the table next to us. When the waitress brought him back his credit card and receipt, she thanked him by name. I thought it highly likely he was the same Carsen, so your mother and I introduced ourselves. He seemed truly glad to meet us—friendly sort of fellow. He said he and his nephew were all settled in and were very pleased with the town. He told us he's been coming up this way for years for the fishing."

Lyra mulled that over, her brow puckering. _Friendly sort of fellow?_ _Glad to meet them?_ He sounded about as opposite from Jonah as he could be.

Her father interrupted her musings "Is his nephew nice? What's his name again?"

"Jonah," Lyra answered, avoiding the first question.

Her mother stopped rinsing dishes at the sink to listen.

Her father continued, "Well, does Jonah seem to be settling in at school, making friends?"

Lyra wasn't sure what to say. She decided to be diplomatic. "I think he's shy." She paused, debating what to tell them. "I invited him to sit at our table at lunch—you know, with me, Katie, Trevor, and everyone, but he didn't want to." Lyra frowned, remembering their conversation from weeks ago.

"Was he rude to you?" Her father demanded, indignant, reminding her of Trevor's identical response.

"No, no, Dad. He wasn't. I...I guess he just prefers to be alone. I don't know. I don't understand it myself. But, I met him down on the trail the other day when I was walking Harry and he was very civil."

"Humph!" was all her father had to say to that. Evidently being 'civil' wasn't good enough treatment for his daughter.

Lyra smiled. "He's fine, Dad. Like I said, just shy, probably."

"Well, I was going to ask if you thought you could get a ride to school with him tomorrow, but I think you'd better not. I'll drop you off and then maybe you can get Aimee to bring you home."

"Why?" Lyra asked.

"I'm going to take your car in and have it serviced. It's time to get the oil changed, make sure there's plenty of antifreeze in the radiator, that sort of thing," her father replied.

"Oh, okay. Thanks, Dad."

Her father got up and took his plate to the sink.

Lyra thought hard for a minute. It would be a real inconvenience to her Dad to have to take her to school _and_ drop her car at the shop before going to work himself. Should she ask Aimee to come pick her up? She was sure Aimee would be glad to, but Lyra hated to ask because it was several miles out of Aimee's way. Would Jonah mind giving her a ride? She thought about their brief, but pleasant conversation in the woods and his smile as she'd passed him sitting in his car this afternoon. Surely he wouldn't mind. The thought of being alone with him on the ride to school sent a shiver up her spine. Yes, she'd love the opportunity to be that close to him again.

Resolved, she stood up and went to the door. "I'll walk over and ask him, Dad. There's no need for you to have to get up so early and drive me to school when Jonah will be going right by here on his way."

Her dad looked like he was about to argue, but Lyra assured him, "It'll be fine, Dad, honest." He grumbled something under his breath that sounded like 'well, if he thinks he can be civil,' before he turned back to the counter. She hid her smile, put on her jacket, and fastened Harry's leash to his collar. She didn't want him running off in the dark.

Lyra didn't take the road. It was much shorter to cut across their back yards. It had rained the night before and the wet leaves muffled the sound of their footsteps. The night was clear and the stars lit her way. Harry walked with his head down, nose to the ground.

She crossed over the invisible property line and after a couple minutes more she began to catch glimpses of the house through the trees. A brilliant light, mounted high in a towering red pine, illuminated the back yard and showed Jonah near the edge of the forest chopping wood. Lyra stopped and watched him a few yards from where he worked, though still unseen under the cover of trees.

What she saw took her breath away. Jonah was shirtless and in the glow of the artificial light, his bare chest glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration. His long hair, damp at the temples and neck, clung to his shimmering skin. His sinewy muscles rippled as he wielded a colossal axe and Lyra was reminded of a picture she'd once seen of Michelangelo's _David_. He was simply magnificent. She stood frozen, mesmerized by sight of him.

As he stepped to the side and bent to pick up another log, Lyra's gaze shifted. The log, or tree, she should say was mammoth. It had to be at least six feet long and half as thick. He picked it up as though it was a sapling and tossed it over to his work area. The force of it landing rocked the ground where she stood. Lyra's mouth fell open. He picked his axe back up. Dimly she wondered where his chainsaw was. Surely he wasn't going to try to chop up that entire tree trunk with an axe. Lyra looked on in disbelief as, in one deafening blow, he sliced off a block the size of a truck tire. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. She could not have just seen what she thought she'd seen. The enormous power he wielded was incongruous with his size. Before she knew it, he'd cleaved another section off as large as the first. In less than a minute he had the entire trunk chopped into rounds. He bent down to turn the pieces over to split them again. By her side, Harry whined and strained at the leash.

Jonah's head snapped up, searching the trees. He spotted them in an instant. Her eyes were still wide with shock, her mouth open, forming an O. His body tensed and his face, at first startled, turned livid. He straightened up slowly and they stared at each other for a long minute.

Harry pulled again at his leash and it slipped from her slack hand. He bounded toward Jonah, barking and wagging his tail. She broke eye contact and struggled to get control of herself. Lyra gulped in some air, her throat dry. She was more frightened than she wanted to admit; Jonah's fury was palpable. She started forward, unsteady on her feet. It felt like she was walking through water.

As she stepped into the yard, she opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a croak. Jonah continued to glare at her, ignoring Harry's antics. Anger radiated from him in waves. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hi, Jonah," she managed hoarsely. She raised a trembling hand in a belated greeting. She stopped a few feet from him, a safe distance, she hoped.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes flashed menacingly. "What are you doing here?" he asked tightly, enunciating each word slowly. His arms hung loosely, but his hands were balled into fists.

At the sound of his deep voice, Lyra's fear receded, but absurdly, disappointment surged through her. Lyra's eyes began to sting and burn and she bent her head to stare at the ground. She'd been a fool to think he had warmed up to her. He didn't want her here. His anger at her for showing up at his house unannounced saddened her to the depths of her soul. She blinked away the unshed tears, cleared her throat, and took a couple more steps forward so that she was standing a foot front of him. She looked up into his unyielding, indigo eyes. "I'm sorry, Jonah. I wasn't spying on you. I just came over to ask if you would give me a ride to school tomorrow. My...my dad is taking my car to have it serviced. But, I, um, I'll just call Aimee."

He searched her face, looking for any hint of untruth in her words. When he didn't find any, his taut muscles relaxed somewhat and his hard expression gradually softened. He tore his gaze away from her and stared into the woods. He inhaled deeply, and let his breath out slowly. Finally, he seemed to get control of his temper.

When he looked back at her, his anger was gone, replaced by a pain Lyra couldn't define. Weak with relief that at least he wasn't about to rip her limb from limb, she smiled tremulously up at him. He didn't smile back, but he murmured, "Of course you can ride with me tomorrow." His eyes held hers for another long moment.

Finally, Harry managed to get Jonah's attention and Jonah bent down to pet him. After a few minutes, when Harry had calmed down, Jonah stood back up. "I'll pick you up at 7:30. Is that okay?"

"Are you sure?" Lyra asked. She didn't want to force her company on him.

"I'm sure. I go by your house every day. It's no big deal."

"Okay." Lyra replied, the butterflies riotous once more in her stomach.

"You get on home now. It's too late for you to be out walking," he scolded.

She nodded, bent to catch hold of Harry's trailing leash, and retraced her steps. She looked over her shoulder once she was back in the darkness of the trees. He was standing in the same spot, watching her. She raised her hand in farewell and headed home.

~~***~~

Jonah watched her walk away and when she'd reentered the tree line, his shoulders slumped. _Damn!_ _Why did she have to choose tonight to walk over? Why had he chosen tonight to chop wood?_ He'd totally screwed up. The solitude of his new home had lulled him into complacency. There was no way to explain to Lyra what she'd just seen...and she'd seen plenty. That much was obvious from her shocked expression. She had to think he was a total freak. And for a moment, she'd been scared of him. He'd seen it in her eyes.

Jonah stacked the chopped wood, put the ax away, and went inside. He didn't want her to be scared of him. If he could just keep his true nature hidden, he might be able to be around her sometimes...like in the woods. _No!_ He could not get close to her— _at all!_ What was he thinking? He knew what was inside of himself and what he was capable of. Living with Jet was risk enough. He would _not_ put Lyra in danger too.

And now she knew he was abnormal. Now she would have questions. She would be wondering and watching. He would have to completely avoid her. _Oh, why had he agreed to give her a lift to school?_ Ignoring her had been hard enough, but he didn't think he could be deliberately cruel to someone so good. Despair filled him. He cursed himself all during his long shower and until he finally drifted off to sleep hours later.

Chapter V.

Lyra did her best to compose herself before she walked into the house. She knew her father would be waiting for her, and he was. She assured him Jonah was happy to pick her up for school, and then quickly headed to her bedroom.

Her mind was full of what she'd seen in Jonah's back yard. Had her eyes deceived her? Was that log really as large as she at first had thought? How heavy could it actually have been? Was it so inconceivable for a man to lift and toss a piece of wood that size as effortlessly as he had? She shook her head. Her eyes had not lied. She had to admit to herself that what she had witnessed was real and incredible. What was more, she had seen Jonah with his shirt off. His body, gloriously well-developed as it was, was not that of a heavy-weight body-builder. His muscles were long and lean. She's seen clips of those 'strongest man' programs on television where the competitors lifted, carried, or pushed impossibly heavy loads. Those guys were enormous. As long as she lived, she would never forget what she'd seen or understand it.

Then there was his terrible anger when he caught her secretly watching him. If what he had been doing were not impossible, would he have been so mad at her for seeing it?

Her head ached from the strain of trying to unravel the mystery of it. She eventually gave up and climbed into bed. She wondered instead what the ride to school tomorrow would be like. She had been so hopeful earlier in the evening, thinking he might open up to her a little more if they were alone together. She doubted very much that would happen now. She sighed and rolled over to go to sleep. The sadness had closed around her heart again and she didn't want to think about him anymore. "Talk about impossible feats," she said into the dark.

~~***~~

The next morning, Lyra spent a long time deciding what to wear and how to fix her hair, but even so, she was still waiting impatiently by the front door for him to arrive. As soon as she caught sight of his car through the trees, she opened the door and hurried outside, anxious not to keep him waiting even for a second. As he slowed to a stop alongside her, she opened the passenger's side door and slid into the warmth of the Audi. It took her eyes a second to adjust to the dim interior due to the darkly tinted windows.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. She breathed in his clean, woodsy scent and indulged herself in a long look at his angel face. He was dressed in black as usual, his hair still damp from the shower.

"Good morning, Lyra," he replied solemnly, his eyes lingering on her a moment. He circled the drive and sped down the hill.

She tried to think of a safe topic of conversation, but before she could come up with one he began to speak.

"About last night," he paused glancing at her before continuing.

Lyra hurriedly interrupted, "I'm so sorry, Jonah. I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I should have called out as soon as I saw you. I just," she faltered, not wanting to say what she was actually thinking. "I was just surprised," she finished lamely.

"Surprised is putting it mildly," he laughed humorlessly. He said nothing further, letting the subject drop.

Lyra turned in her seat to study his face. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the road, his mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

He always seemed to be in some sort of pain—grief or anger or loneliness, Lyra thought. Compassion welled up inside her and without thinking, she reached over and laid her hand on his arm. She felt the muscles flex violently and saw his jaw tighten. Reluctantly she withdrew her hand. Evidently he did not welcome physical contact either. He looked down at her, his expression confused and mistrustful.

Lyra sighed heavily, "Can't we be friends, Jonah?"

Jonah turned back to the road, his eyes bleak. He didn't speak for so long, she thought he wasn't going to. "You want to be my friend?" he finally asked, incredulous.

Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is that so hard to believe?"

When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Yes, I do." She paused before adding, "I think you need a friend, Jonah."

Secure in the love and acceptance of her family and friends, she risked another rejection from Jonah. Her heart ached for the tortured, seemingly destitute boy beside her who evidently had no such security.

He took a ragged breath, his expression grave. "You don't know anything about me, Lyra. I wouldn't make a good friend for you." His voice turned hard, "If you knew what I had..." he paused, sucking in his breath. "If you knew about things that had happened in my past, you'd be running in the other direction."

"Whatever happened, whatever you did, can't be so terrible you don't deserve love and friendship, Jonah," she assured him emphatically.

They had reached the school parking lot. He cut the engine and turned to face her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you are worth it," Lyra answered softly.

He looked at her, disbelieving, for a long time. "I've never met anyone like you."

She smiled crookedly, "So, is that a yes? Will you let me be your friend?" She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

He exhaled slowly and turned back to stare out of the windshield. All around them students were getting out of their cars and walking toward the school. Without looking at her he answered quietly, "All right."

Relief flooded through Lyra. She felt like she'd just passed an extremely difficult exam.

Jonah looked over, and seeing her beaming face, let out a real, honest-to-goodness laugh himself. "C'mon. Let's go."

Lyra was euphoric. It seemed she floated up the steps of the school and down the hall to first period English. In Algebra, he was already at his desk when she came in. She flashed him a brilliant smile before taking her seat. As usual, he kept his seat when the bell rang, letting everyone file out before him. Lyra stood at her desk waiting for him. They walked in companionable silence toward the cafeteria. When they were almost there, Lyra asked, "Will you sit with me at lunch today?"

He frowned, thinking it over. They had reached the glass doors and he looked through them to her usual table. Connor, Aimee, and Trevor were already seated, talking animatedly. As they watched, Katie and Lisa, Trevor's on-again-off-again girlfriend, walked over and joined them. Jonah turned to her, his eyes apologetic. "I don't think so."

Lyra tried to hide her disappointment. She knew she had made tremendous progress with him today and she didn't want to push him any more. "Okay." She looked down, then back up at him, "Maybe some other time" she suggested.

He nodded, but his eyes were doubtful. They walked in and Lyra headed over to her friends, watching Jonah join the queue in the lunch line. She was greeted enthusiastically and, after she'd put her books down, followed Katie and Lisa to get in line as well.

Katie and Lisa were discussing the Harvest dance, which brought back to Lyra's mind her argument with Kyle yesterday. She looked over to his table and saw him glaring at her, his face twisted in sneer. He was leaning across the table talking to a fellow senior and hockey buddy named Steve. Steve looked over at her, then back at Kyle. Lyra could just imagine what Kyle was telling him.

"Lyra," Katie asked, tugging on her shirt to get her attention.

Lyra turned back toward Katie. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if it was true that you rode to school with Jonah Forrester today. Someone said they saw you getting out of his car and walking in with him."

"Oh, yeah, I did. My dad took my car in for servicing and so I got a ride with Jonah."

Katie and Lisa eyed her with something akin to awe. Finally, Katie found her voice. "I can't believe you would ask him after he was so rude to you that time."

Lyra bristled slightly. "He wasn't rude to me." Though he sort of had been. "He's just shy, I think," repeating the explanation she'd given her father. She looked over at him, now seated at his solitary table, his food in front of him. He was looking back at her, his eyes amused, as though he had heard what she'd said. She smiled at him and turned back to Katie. "He's quite nice actually."

Katie raised her eyebrows. "If you say so."

They made their lunch selections and returned to their table.

When she sat down, Trevor looked up at her. "What in the world did you do to get on Kyle's black list, Lyra? I overheard him saying some ugly things about you in the locker room today. I was about to knocked his teeth out, but coach walked in before I had a chance."

Lyra flushed with embarrassment and anger. Everyone at the table had stopped talking to listen. "I'm afraid I had to be rather blunt with him yesterday. When I refused to go to the dance with him and said I wasn't interested in dating him, he accused me of being a tease."

Trevor's expression turned sour. "What a jerk. I don't know how he doesn't just blow away, his ego is so inflated."

Aimee patted her arm consolingly. "He'll get over it. Don't worry about it."

Lyra waved her hand, "Oh, I'm not. But I do wish he'd keep his opinions to himself."

They moved on to other topics and left Lyra to her musings. She looked over at Jonah and found him watching her again, his face sober.

The rest of the day passed by quickly and it wasn't until seventh period that Lyra realized she'd forgotten to ask Aimee for a ride home. She hoped she could catch her after school before she took off. When the bell rang, she hurried out the door, and ran right into Jonah. He reached out to steady her.

"Oh sorry, Jonah. I didn't see you. Excuse me, but I need to find Aimee before she leaves."

"Okay," he said keeping up with her as she headed out the doors.

Lyra realized he was following her and whirled around. "I'm sorry, Jonah. Did you need something?"

Jonah stopped too, looking confused. "No...I'll just go wait by the car then."

At once Lyra understood and her expression cleared. He was waiting for _her_ to take her home. She smiled up at him in comprehension. "You're waiting to take me home?"

He nodded, still looking confused.

"I'm sorry— _again_. I was going to ask Aimee. I didn't want to inconvenience you twice in one day. But, if you don't mind dropping me off, that would be better. It's really out of Aimee's way."

"Of course not," he flashed her a quick grin, lifting the books she was juggling in her arms. "Let's go."

Lyra fairly skipped to his car. He opened and held the door for her, then shut it gently once she was settled. She beamed up at him again. He stowed her books in the back seat and was around to his side in an instant. The parking lot was crowded with other students leaving, so they inched along at a crawl.

Lyra studied Jonah's profile. His face was serious, but he looked more at ease than she'd ever seen him. As they waited for an opening in the line of cars, he turned meet her gaze. His eyes softened and the corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He looked at her inquisitively.

"For not being mad at me and for giving me a ride this afternoon," she clarified.

He leaned back in his seat, reaching in his front pocket for something. "That reminds me." He pulled out a small slip of paper and held it out to her.

It was torn from a sheet of notebook paper and had a phone number neatly printed on it.

He was watching her, his smile careful. "In case you ever need a ride again."

She blushed, lowering her eyes and tucking the paper into her purse. "Right," she mumbled. Translation: he didn't want her dropping by.

The line finally thinned and they eased out onto the street. They were silent, each of them thinking about the night before, but neither one daring to mention it.

They passed through the busy streets of downtown Placid, to the quieter, winding road leading home.

When he pulled to a stop in front of her house, Lyra turned to him again, "Do you want to come in?"

Jonah looked at her, surprised. Then his eyes narrowed and he demanded, "Are your parents home?"

It was Lyra's turn to be surprised. "No, but they don't care. I'm allowed to have company over when they're not here."

Jonah's lips pressed into a thin line. He carefully shifted into park and angled his back against his door to face her. "Lyra," he began, a warning in his tone. "I want you to promise me something." He waited.

She nodded, "Okay."

He took a slow, deep breath before continuing. "You need to be careful...You are...too trusting of people. You are the most open, honest person I've ever met. But you are also probably the most naïve. You don't know anything about me. I'm a virtual stranger. And you don't just go inviting strangers into your home, especially when you are _home alone!_ Surely your parents have advised you on basic personal safety." His voice rose as he spoke, his agitation apparent.

Before she could reply he went on. "I don't want to scare you. I didn't want to bring this up at all, but you obviously need to be warned...You haven't heard the last from Kyle Douglas. He is taking your rejection very personally and I wouldn't put it past him to resort to violence of some sort." His hands curled into tight fists. "Please, Lyra," his eyes beseeching, "Please be more careful."

She was touched by his concern, but felt it was misplaced. "I appreciate what you've told me, Jonah. And yes, my parents have repeatedly lectured me about safety. My dad has even taught me some self-defense maneuvers. I'm not completely helpless. I know Kyle is upset with me right now, but he'll calm down. Our parents are very good friends and he would never do anything to hurt me physically."

Jonah was shaking his head, incredulous she could believe that.

"As for protecting myself against you," she began again, her voice suddenly fierce, "I may have only known you a short time, and I may not know your whole life story, but I do know you're not a bad person. I know you aren't a rapist or a serial killer. And I'm not afraid of being alone with you—in this car, in the woods, or even inside my house when my parents are gone."

They stared into each others eyes for a long moment, her face resolute, his disbelieving. In the ensuing silence, they heard a muffled barking and scratching. Lyra turned in her seat to see Harry through the floor-length window beside the door, clawing vainly to get outside to them. He must have finally figured out she wasn't coming in through the garage and come around front to investigate the sound of the idling car.

She swiveled back to Jonah, her eyes pleading. "Will you at least get out and come say hi to Harry? He's taken an unusual liking to you. His feelings will be hurt if don't."

Jonah gave up the argument for now, exasperated but resigned. He could see his words of caution were completely wasted on her. "You are hopeless. You know that don't you?"

Lyra smiled benignly. "Please?" she begged.

He sighed and cut the engine.

Jonah didn't go inside, but he stayed and played with Harry for a while in the driveway, rough-housing with him the way only boys could. Lyra took immense pleasure in watching them together.

Eventually, Jonah's voice and petting grew more subdued until Harry was calm and docile once more. He straightened up and walked over to where she was sitting on the front steps. His eyes sparkled like bright sapphires, his smile was gentle. "I better go. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

Lyra hopped up and thanked him again for bringing her home. He started toward his car and she turned to go inside. As she was about to step in, he called her name. She turned with one hand on the knob. He was looking at her over the roof of his car.

"Lock the door," he commanded, his voice stern.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to go in. She shut the door soundly and slid the bolt in place. When she peeked out the window, he was climbing into his car, a satisfied smile curving his lips upward.

Chapter VI.

Lyra's father returned her car serviced and detailed that evening, so she had no reason to call Jonah, though she tried vainly to come up with some excuse. Instead, she programmed his number into her cell phone for future use.

The next day was Friday and it dawned cold and clear. Glittering frost crunched under foot when Lyra took Harry for his walk.

Lyra didn't see Jonah in the halls that morning, but he was at his desk when she arrived in Algebra and he returned her smile as she took her seat. Ms. Hammons lead them through a review of recent material in preparation for a test the following week. When the bell rang for lunch, Lyra kept her seat allowing the other students to get a head start, as was Jonah's custom, and they walked to lunch together.

"How is your day so far?" she asked him cheerfully.

He smiled down at her. "Just fine. Yours?"

The sound of his voice, combined with his rare smile, caused Lyra's stomach to flip-flop. "Great. So, what are you going to do this weekend?" she inquired keeping her tone casual.

"Why?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Lyra shrugged "Just curious. It's a common question _friends_ ask each other, you know."

He laughed. "Yes, I do know. I don't have much planned, maybe do some hiking. That is one thing I love about this place—hundreds of miles of trails—very different from city life. There you can never get away from people."

They'd reached the cafeteria and he held the door for her. Before she could continue the conversation, his eyes flickered over to her table and back to her. "Your _other_ friends are waiting you. I'll talk to you later."

Lyra looked over her shoulder and sure enough, Trevor, Katie, and Aimee were watching them with curious faces. She turned back to Jonah, but he had walked away.

They all got in the lunch line, quizzing Lyra incessantly.

"What's up with you two?" Aimee demanded.

"Have you finally managed to thaw out Ice Man?" Trevor wanted to know, sounding annoyed.

"Are you _going out_ with him?" Katie joined the interrogation.

Lyra sighed, but smiled. "There's nothing _up_ with us and no we aren't going out. We're just friends."

"You like him," Aimee announced.

Lyra rolled her eyes derisively.

"Well, he _is_ the most gorgeous creature to ever walk these halls," Katie sighed.

"Hey," Trevor objected loudly.

"Besides you of course, dear brother," Katie allowed.

Back at the table, talk turned to plans for the weekend. Aimee leaned across the table. "Lyra, would you want to come over Sunday and study algebra? I was doing okay up until this week, but those radicals are kicking my butt."

"Sure," agreed Lyra. "What time?"

"Oh, any time after lunch. If we study Sunday afternoon, maybe some of it will still be in my head on Monday," she joked.

As the conversation swirled around her, Lyra glanced longingly at Jonah's table where he sat reading a paperback. She sighed, wishing she could join him.

~~***~~

In Government, Mr. Thompson announced to a groaning classroom a group project assignment. "Now, come on, this won't be that bad," he reproved them. "You'll need to form groups of three or four. Each person should choose a different U.S. president on whom to write an essay. Then, together, you will compare their different administrative and legislative styles. You will designate one person in your group to write a compilation essay on your comparative study. Your individual essays will constitute sixty percent of your grade, the compilation essay will make up the other forty, so each of you better assist the person you choose to write it."

Raising his voice above the renewed protests and complaints, he instructed them to take the rest of the period to form their groups and choose on their presidents.

Lyra whirled in her seat to face Jonah. Before she could utter a word, Jonah held up a hand and, faking a look of painful sufferance, answered her unasked question. "Yes, I'll be in your group, Lyra." Her responding smile was smug and he chuckled. Lyra next asked a timid girl with an unfortunate stutter named Gina to join their duo. Gina eyed Jonah fearfully, but accepted Lyra's invitation. They spent the rest of the period debating who to write their papers over.

When the bell rang, Lyra and Jonah walked together to their seventh period classes, hers Art, his U.S. History, which happened to be in the same hall. Kyle, walking from the other direction, caught sight of them. His eyes shifted from Lyra to Jonah and back again. His face twisted into a malicious sneer and as he passed he hissed "Bitch" just loud enough for them to hear. It felt as though Lyra had been punched in the stomach. She stopped, frozen in shock. Beside her, Jonah's body went rigid and his expression turned murderous. He spun around and Lyra just managed to grab the back of his shirt before he was out of reach.

"Don't," she wheezed. He halted, reluctantly, and allowed her to pull him back. He turned, and seeing her distress, quickly put his arm around her, holding her steady.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes roving over her face.

Lyra gulped in some air and nodded. "Just shocked. No one's ever called me that. Guess I've lead a pretty sheltered life, huh?" She smiled up at him ruefully.

His expression turned hard again, but he kept his arm around her as he urged her on toward her classroom. He left her at the door, grateful for his assistance.

He was waiting to walk her to her car when the final bell rang. She'd had an hour to compose herself and was able to greet him calmly. She could tell he was still furious, but he was trying to conceal it from her.

"You don't have to escort me around, Jonah. I'm perfectly fine—and safe," she tried to assure him, though she was secretly delighted he'd been waiting for her.

He was silent until they reached her Camry. She leaned against the driver's door looking up at him. He was standing close, leaning over her. She could feel the heat radiating from him. His azure eyes held hers.

"And what if I said I just enjoy your company and want to be with you as much as possible?" he asked, his voice soft but intense.

Somewhere in the region of her belly, warmth pooled and spread outward. "Well, that would be okay, then," Lyra whispered, forgetting how to breathe.

One corner of his mouth lifted crookedly. "Then _we_ have an understanding, don't we?" he challenged, repeating Kyle's words from the day before.

Lyra nodded mutely, her heart hammering against her breast.

His eyes moved over her face once more before he straightened up and broke the intimacy. "Have a good weekend, Lyra."

She frowned in disappointment—two whole days without seeing him. She curbed the urge to ask him over or at least give him her phone number. She probably already appeared too desperate in her infatuation of him. She swallowed and forced out a cheerful "You too," before climbing in her car.

Her parents came home early that evening and the three of them ate dinner and watched a National Geographic program about parrots of the Australian outback on television together. When her parents turned in, she shuffled off to her room too. She'd never looked forward to Monday so much.

As was her custom, on Saturday morning Lyra helped her mom with the housework and grocery shopping. That afternoon she did a little studying, researching her president, Calvin Coolidge, online, and spent a couple hours practicing her cello. The day seemed to drag on endlessly.

After dinner, she took Harry out for some exercise. Fog had rolled in and the forest seemed strange and otherworldly. It was very still, all of the animals burrowed in their nests and dens for the night. She didn't wander very far past their backyard boundary. Though she had never been afraid of being outside at night, the fog seemed to press itself around her ominously. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she had the eerie feeling that she was not alone, that she was being watched. She peered all around, but couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction through the cloying mist. She called Harry back to her side and they quickly made their way back up the slope toward her house.

Once inside she laughed at herself for getting spooked. She'd grown up in these woods and knew there was nothing in the dark to fear.

She went to bed early, thinking that at least tomorrow she'd be with Aimee and the day would pass more quickly.

Sunday morning her parents were up and dressed when Lyra and Harry made their way downstairs. After their necessary trip outside, Lyra and Harry joined them in the kitchen for breakfast. Gordon and Olivia were spending the day at the club playing tennis, lunching with their friends, the Coles, and swimming in the heated, indoor pool. They invited Lyra to accompany them, but Lyra informed them of her study date with Aimee. When they were gone, Lyra showered and donned blue jeans and a sweatshirt for her casual day at Aimee's house.

At 10:00, the phone rang; it was Aimee, canceling their plans. "Kimmy's got strep-throat," Aimee informed her, apologetically. "Mom's working all day so I'm stuck nursing her. You better not come over because she's contagious," Aimee concluded glumly. Lyra hung up the phone dispiritedly.

_Now what?_ The day stretched out endlessly before her. Her homework was done, the housework was done. She could play her cello a while, but she had really been looking forward to getting out of the house. She rambled through the empty rooms dejectedly. As it so often did of late, her mind turned to Jonah. She wondered what he was doing. She chewed her lower lip. Should she call him? She recalled what he'd said yesterday at her car. _"And what if I said I just enjoy your company and want to be with you as much as possible?"_ Had he been serious or was that just been an excuse to keep an eye on her at school?

Well, there was one way to find out. She marched back to the kitchen and picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly with nervousness as she searched through her contacts and then punched in his number.

He answered on the second ring. "Hello?" His deep, silken voice sent a shiver of excitement up her spine.

"Jonah?"

"Yeah," he replied, a note of surprise in his tone.

"Hi, it's Lyra."

"I kind of guessed that since you are the only person who has my phone number."

"Right...Well, um, I was just wondering what you were doing today," she stammered awkwardly.

"Not much...Why?" he asked, slowly, cautiously.

"I was wondering if you wanted to hang out or something." _Was that the best she could come up with,_ she berated herself silently. "We could, um, go hiking. Have you been up to Avalanche Lake yet?" inspiration finally striking.

He was silent for a moment. "I thought you were studying with Aimee today," he replied, avoiding her question.

"How did you know that?" She asked, startled.

Silence. "Didn't you tell me?" he hedged.

Lyra racked her brain to recall that conversation, but she came up blank. Perhaps he had been walking by their table when Aimee asked her. She didn't remember seeing him, but if he had been walking behind her...She let it go for now.

"I don't know...Anyway, Aimee's little sister has strep-throat so she had to cancel." She was distracted—still trying to remember their conversation yesterday afternoon.

"So, do you want to?" she repeated.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Lyra," he said haltingly.

"Oh, well, if your busy then...No problem...Harry will be disappointed" (Harry, right!), "but we'll, um, try to have fun without you," she boasted with false cheerfulness.

"You're going alone?" he demanded, alarmed.

Lyra was taken aback. "Of course. Harry and I hike alone all the time."

Jonah growled something that sounded like "I know you do."

"I've hiked Avalanche Lake trail several times. It's not difficult. We'll be back well before dark, even taking our time," Lyra assured him.

He sighed affectedly. "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes. And dress warm," he ordered, "it's cold out today."

"Jonah...no...I," but the line had gone dead. He'd hung up on her! She huffed angrily, berating herself for calling him in the first place. He obviously didn't want to go with her, but wouldn't let her go alone. Of all the arrogant...She redialed his number furiously. He answered before the first ring had finished.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to go," Lyra announced defiantly. "Thank you, though, for your _generous_ and _courteous_ offer to accompany me," She added with poisonous sweetness.

He chuckled, "Lyra, will you _please_ allow me to take you and Harry hiking today at Avalanche Lake?"

Lyra vacillated. She really did want to see him, but was this just his protectiveness coming out again? It seemed he was more worried about her safety than wanting to spend time with her. And she would not force herself on him. She had _some_ pride after all.

"Please?" he pressed, his voice mocking, but just as seductive.

Her resistance evaporated. "All right," she mumbled.

"Good. You're down to 15 minutes now," and he hung up again.

She squealed, snapping her phone shut. She sprinted back upstairs, checked her appearance and exchanged her tennis shoes for her hiking boots. Downstairs once more, she dashed out to the garage where she searched for and found a small, lightweight backpack. Then she ran to the kitchen and threw in three bottles of water, a handful of granola bars, and Harry's flexible, nylon water bowl. She was jotting her parents a quick note advising them of her change in plans when the doorbell rang. Harry tore off toward the door, his booming barks echoing off the wood floors and walls. Hundreds of butterflies erupted in her stomach. She was spending the whole day with Jonah. The thought made her lightheaded.

She tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to repress her elation, and went to get the door. Holding Harry by his collar, she opened the door and there he stood. He looked fantastic in scuffed boots, tattered blue jeans, and a faded Hollister sweatshirt. His expression was amused as he looked down at her.

"Come in for a second," she managed when she found her voice. As soon as she let go of Harry, he launched himself on Jonah. Jonah laughed and scratched Harry's neck as he nudged him inside in order to shut the door. He followed Lyra to the kitchen where she completed her note.

"Where are your mom and dad?" Jonah asked, his eyes narrowing.

"They're at the club for the day," Lyra informed him. "I'm sorry you won't get to meet them. They'll probably be here when we get back, though."

Jonah's expression darkened and he took a step toward her. "What did I tell you about letting people into the house when no one is home?"

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I thought we had limited that broad category of 'people' down to axe murders."

Jonah glowered at her. "And how do you know I'm not?"

"You _are_ an axe murder?" she gasped in mock horror.

He exhaled sharply. "What am I going to do with you?" he groaned, shaking his head and raising his eyes heavenward.

"Take me hiking. C'mon." She grabbed her parka from the coat closet and they set out.

Chapter VII.

Avalanche Lake was in Keene Valley, ten miles south of Lake Placid. Nestled in a narrow gorge, flanked by sheer rock cliffs, it afforded breathtaking views from its lofty summit.

The clouds had remained low and it was cold, but thankfully there was little wind. Jonah had insisted on driving, so Lyra sat in the passenger's seat trying vainly to make Harry lie down in the back. He preferred standing up with his head between them, his hot, moist breath on their faces. Every few minutes he would try to lick one of their exposed ears or nuzzle their neck. He blithely ignored Lyra's scolding.

No other cars were in sight when they parked at the trail head. Jonah took command of the backpack and Harry's leash and led the way up the trail. He set an easy, but steady pace. Under the canopy of trees, ferns grew abundantly and the rocks were fuzzy with green moss. They passed through patches of lush forest and open meadows. They walked the first mile or so of the rolling terrain in companionable silence. When they reached the pond at Marcy Dam, they stopped to rest. They laughed watching a pair of beavers construct a complicated network of twigs, branches, and debris, forming an embankment on the east side of the pond. Jonah let Harry off his leash and when he tired of running along the bank barking at the beavers, he nosed around the high, waving grass hunting rodents.

Lyra's curiosity burned to know more about Jonah, but she was hesitant to question him. She racked her brain for a tactful way to open the subject.

"Mom and Dad met your uncle the other day," she finally volunteered.

He raised one brow in silent inquiry.

"He sat beside them in Casey's the other day at lunch. They heard the waitress call him by name and introduced themselves. They said he was very nice."

Jonah smiled sadly. "He is." He inhaled deeply and looked back out over the lake. "He's a very good person. Jet—that's what I call him—is my mother's brother. My parents died in a...in an accident...when I was ten years old. Jet took me in and has treated me as if I were his own son. He's never been married and has no children of his own, so I'm sure adopting me was not an easy undertaking."

"Your mother and uncle were close then?" Lyra asked, hoping to draw him out.

Jonah's eyes turned hard. "Not really. Jet wasn't allowed to come around much. My uncle and my father despised each other." Jonah broke off, staring at something or someone unseen. His mouth twisted in a mocking sneer. "Perhaps Jet took me to spite my father...You see, my father despised _me_."

A cold fist squeezed Lyra's insides. She held her breath and waited for him to continue.

His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, his expression pained, but he said no more. By degrees, the muscles in his face relaxed. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Lyra. He laughed harshly.

"I'm sorry. Bad memories. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. And, whatever my father's feelings were for me, Uncle Jet doesn't share them. He's got a heart of gold." Sighing, he got to his feet and held out his hand to help Lyra up, gazing down at her apologetically.

Lyra put her slender hand in his large one and let him pull her to her feet. He didn't step back when she stood up, but towered over her, their bodies inches from touching. He kept her hand captive in his, his piercing blue eyes roving her face. With his other hand he lifted a tendril of hair that the breeze had swept across her face and tucked it behind her ear. Delicious shivers ran up Lyra's spine that had nothing to do with the cold air.

"You are so beautiful and...uncommonly kind," he murmured, his breath warm on her face. "What are you doing here with me?"

She couldn't answer because her mouth had gone suddenly dry, but she didn't want to anyway. She wanted to go on looking into his eyes forever. Involuntarily, she leaned in.

He squeezed her hand and released it. Stepping back and smiling gravely, he advised, "We'd better get moving if we're going to climb this lump of rock today."

Coming out of her trance, Lyra nodded and called for Harry hoarsely.

They hadn't seen anyone else on the trail so they agreed to let Harry walk unrestrained. He ran ahead of them and back again exuberantly. As they left the pond behind, the path became steep and rocky. Harry would scramble up the steep grade, his four legs more nimble than their two, then wait, watching from above their labored progress over the rugged incline.

Their ascension through the remote mountain pass was slow, each step deliberate, as they navigated the loose rock and exposed tree roots. When the path opened up near the crag's zenith, the panoramic view was spectacular. The brilliant leaves in their autumn splendor had begun to fall, but the hillsides were still a patchwork of vibrant yellows, reds, oranges, and greens of the evergreens.

"Wow," Jonah exclaimed, standing with his hands on his hips. "This is fantastic."

Lyra smiled, hoping he was now glad he had come.

They found a couple of flat rocks and stopped to rest and take in the majestic scene spread out before them. The air was fragrant with the spicy scent of the balsam firs, spruces, and Scotch pines. Other than an occasional call of a bird and Harry snuffling around, it was still and quiet.

Jonah passed Lyra a water bottle and granola bar and filled Harry's bowl. Harry drank noisily and then came to lay by Lyra, fatigued from the climb. They watched raptly as an eagle soared among the cliffs, its sharp eye searching for prey. A deep sense of peace filled Lyra and when she looked over at Jonah, he smiled contentedly back at her.

"So tell me about yourself, Lyra Grant," he requested, his voice mild but curious.

She shrugged. "There isn't anything to tell. I live a perfectly ordinary life."

"Tell me about your family."

"Well, my parents are attorneys, but don't hold that against them," she joked. "They're very nice people. I'm an only child. My grandparents on both sides are deceased. I never really knew them. My mother was an only child too, but my father has two brothers. Uncle Larry is a stock broker in New York City. He has a son, but he and his wife are divorced, and we rarely see them. Uncle Emile—Uncle M for short—is an accountant in Boston. He and his partner of many years, Bradley, live there with their two schnauzers." She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "They sometimes visit during the holidays and are always very entertaining."

"I bet," he laughed. "What do you do for fun?"

"This, for one thing. I love to be outdoors. I read a lot, hang out with my friends...you know," she shrugged again, "the usual."

"Is that all?" he questioned further, a doubtful look on his face.

"Oh, and I play the cello."

He leaned back, an odd smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Do you really?" he drawled, his tone laced with amusement. "And do you play well?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Lyra admitted modestly.

"Humph."

"What?" Lyra laughed. "Do you think that's funny?"

"I think _you're_ funny," he declared.

"Well, what about you? What do you like to do?" Lyra returned.

His grin faded a bit. "I like to read too. Since moving here, I've been spending a lot of time walking and exploring myself. Jet and I play chess sometimes, and I like to _listen_ to music," his secret smile returning.

"Have you read anything good lately?" Lyra asked.

"I just finished _Moby Dick._ I really liked it. And I just started _The Alchemist_. I think it's going to be good, but I'm not very far into it."

" _The Alchemist_? I haven't heard of that. Who's the author?

"Paulo Coelho."

They discussed books and their favorite movies for a while longer, then repacked the empty water bottles and granola wrappers and started making their way down along the narrow gorge overlooking the lake. They paused several times to admire the magnificent vistas as they edged along the sheer cliffs. Jonah took the lead, but stayed close to assist her down the slippery slope.

They'd been hiking down the mountain for about half an hour when, as Jonah was helping Lyra over a large boulder, his body suddenly tensed and he went still. He cocked his head to one side. For a moment he stood there immobile, his hand grasping Lyra's tightly. His eyes, cautious and alert, found hers and held them briefly.

He released her and turned. "Harry," he called softly. Harry looked back. "Come here, boy." Jonah kneeled down and Harry rushed to him. Jonah pulled the leash out of his pocket and clipped it to Harry's collar.

"What is it, Jonah?"

Jonah shook his head. "I hear something up ahead—a bear perhaps. Let's just go a little more slowly and maybe it will move on before we get too close."

They walked several more minutes and try as she might, Lyra heard nothing but their footsteps and the breeze whistling through the canyon. Finally, she caught the sound of faint rumbling and scratching. Harry started growling deep in his throat, but suddenly stopped and turned to look at Jonah as if Jonah had called his name. Jonah stared fixedly into Harry's eyes a moment. Harry whined softly, his ears folded back, and then inexplicably, he swiveled around and continued along the path mutely.

They continued along the trail, the grumbling getting progressively louder. When it sounded as though they were fairly close, Lyra began to discern a higher pitched bawling as well. Though unseen on account of the sharp bends in the path, Lyra recognized the unmistakable bellow of a black bear. It echoed across the granite cliffs and back again. They crept forward until, at last, they could tell it was just beyond the next crook in the path. They stopped and listened. Jonah twisted around and handed Lyra Harry's leash. He put his finger to his lips and then pointed to the ground, noiselessly instructing her to be silent and stay put.

Lyra's eyes grew wide with fear. What did he intend to do? She shook her head adamantly. He looked into her eyes intently and, though his lips did not move, she heard his voice clearly in her head.

It's okay. Stay here until I come back for you.

Her eyes widened further in astonishment. Jonah's expression turned grim. Again, his voice came to her soundlessly.

Stay here.

He wheeled around, jogged ahead, and disappeared around the bend. The bear's grunts and moans rose into a thunderous roar of frustration. Harry yanked at the leash nearly pulling Lyra face first onto the ground, frantically straining to follow Jonah. Lyra wound the leash around her hand more securely and allowed him pull her forward slowly. Inch by inch, she approached the turn in the path, until she was finally able to peek around. She gasped in fright at the scene before her.

An enormous bear lay on its stomach, more than half of its vast torso precariously balanced over the precipice. As Lyra watched, the mammoth creature swiped an arm downward, each of its four-inch-long, razor-sharp claws extended. Lyra heard again the same plaintive bawling from earlier. She searched the surrounding area and spotted two furry bear cubs up a tall pine watching their mother anxiously. A softer mewling came from over the edge of the ridge.

Jonah walked slowly toward the anguished, prostrate mother, his arms raised, palms outward. When the bear caught sight of him, she heaved her massive body back onto the ledge, howling in rage. The fearsome beast lurched upright, sable coat quivering, eyes rolling. Her hulking form cast Jonah in shadow. Her blond muzzle twisted in a savage snarl which thundered explosively across the open expanse. Lyra's insides turned to ice and she dug her fingernails into her palms painfully to keep from fainting in terror.

Jonah froze. The formidable creature dropped to all fours and Lyra saw her shoulders bunch, ready to launch herself at Jonah. For several interminable seconds, the irate bear growled furiously at Jonah, but Jonah fearlessly stood his ground.

The mother continued to growl viciously but made no move to pounce. Lyra was dizzy from holding her breath. Eventually, the bear quieted and her taut muscles relaxed, but she continued to eye Jonah warily. Lyra risked taking a shallow breath.

Jonah had not moved since the bear had spotted him. After several minutes more, the agonized mother eased back onto her haunches and wailed pitifully.

Jonah slowly lowered his hands and took a tentative step forward...then another...and another...until he was standing a mere foot in front of the submissive brute. She rolled her head, moaning in misery. The cubs in the tree brayed mournfully.

Jonah backed toward the edge of the cliff, keeping his eyes on the tormented she-bear. When he neared the rim, he looked over his shoulder down into the plummeting gorge. He turned back and glared intently at the fretful mother for several seconds. She made no move toward him. After satisfying himself that she would not attack, Jonah turned his back on her and lowered himself onto the lip of the cliff. His legs dangled over the side. He braced his arms and carefully turned, shimmying face-first down the side until only his fingers were visible.

Lyra leaned soundlessly to her left and could just make out the third bear-cub perched on a narrow outcrop of rock and clinging to a scrubby hemlock. As Jonah released his grip and dropped to the slender shelf, the frightened cub wailed loudly. The mother bear became more fitful, but remained where she was.

Lyra shifted another couple of inches until she could see over the ledge. Jonah knelt beside the cub, but did not move to touch it. He gazed at the quaking fur ball a few moments, as though somehow communicating his intent. After a moment, Jonah reached out and the now docile cub allowed Jonah to grasp hold of it. He shifted the suckling to press against his chest holding on to it with one arm. With the other, he felt along the smooth stone for a notch or groove with which to pull himself up. He disappeared for a moment and Lyra heard huffing and scraping as he scaled the cliff wall.

Lyra dared not move to help him for fear of re-igniting the she-bear's wrath, so she held her breath and waited anxiously for him to reappear. She took an involuntary step forward when she saw his reaching hand grip the ledge of the cavern. A second later his head cleared the top, then his shoulders. Somehow, Jonah managed to swing himself and his squirming load back over the edge and set the hairy bundle down. The mother bear rolled to her feet and roared her relief exultantly. The cub scampered gleefully to its mother and she caught it up, cuddling it close. She sniffed and licked every inch of the little thing, checking for injuries, soothing it with her muffled grunts.

Satisfied that the cub had suffered no harm, the mother called to her other two babies. They clamored down the pine tree, and the bear-family ambled off into the dense trees.

Lyra watched the tender scene with a bursting heart. She had never witnessed anything so amazing in her life. She turned, eyes brimming with tears, toward Jonah.

Chapter VIII.

Jonah's expression was hard to read—possibly because of the tears blurring Lyra's vision. She stumbled toward him on shaky legs. Her knees were as weak as if she'd just run a marathon. Her throat ached from the well of emotion she was trying to hold in. A sob escaped her throat. In two strides he was beside her.

Oh, Lyra.

He wrapped an arm around her waist to support her weight. She gulped in air, but she couldn't completely control the convulsions. Jonah gently untangled Harry's leash that was biting into her hand. Once freed, she turned into him and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his chest. His arms circled her, holding her close, while she cried herself out. Eventually the sobs subsided into an occasional hiccup and sniffle.

She pulled away and dried her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "I'm sorry...I was just so scared...I thought that bear was going to slash you into ribbons...but you calmed it down—and the cub too. And then you climbed back up that cliff one-handed. _How?_ How did you...how can you...?" She looked up at him in awe.

"Shhh," he urged gently. "Let's talk about this later. Right now we've got to get going. Can you walk?"

Lyra took a deep breath of the cold, cleansing air and nodded.

They hurried through the rest of the trail and stumbled back to the trail head as darkness was falling. Lyra hoped her parents wouldn't be worried.

It was with relief that Lyra collapsed into the seat of the Audi. Harry too, worn out from the day's excitement, stretched out in the backseat to nap.

Jonah got into the car and started the engine. Lyra studied his profile and waited for him to speak. It wasn't until he turned onto the main road that he glanced over at her.

When he saw her expectant face, his mouth hardened and his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry I scared you Lyra. I didn't mean to frighten you...You shouldn't have seen that." His tone turned mildly irritated. "I _told_ you to stay behind and wait for me."

"Jonah," Lyra interrupted annoyed, "I thought you were about to be _eaten by a bear_! I was just supposed to stand there and wait for you not knowing what was happening? What if you hadn't come back?"

"What if I hadn't?" Jonah demanded. "I hope you would have had enough sense to run the other direction all the way down the mountain! What if you had been hiking alone? What if I hadn't been there to...to...do what I did? Don't you see how dangerous it is? Don't you see how dangerous I am?"

"You? Dangerous? To whom?" Lyra asked incredulously ignoring all but the last question. "You just admitted that you saved all of our lives—including that bear cub's."

Jonah scrubbed his hand across his forehead. "I don't know what to do," he said in a low, tortured voice. "I don't know what's right anymore. I want to do the right thing, but even when I think I am, it's wrong."

Lyra stared at him uncomprehendingly.

After a moment of silence, Jonah sighed. "Lyra, this is a bad idea. You shouldn't be with me. You should be hanging out with your _normal_ friends. I've tried to keep my distance. I really tried. You're just so...persistent...so...irresistible. It's impossible to tell you no—to be cold to you." He paused, his shoulders slumping. "But surely, even you can see that getting close to me is a mistake. We can't see each other anymore," he announced in a defeated voice.

Lyra felt the anger and panic rising in equal measures. Jonah was virtually a stranger to her, but he was already more important to her than any of her other friends. She couldn't explain it—even to herself, but he was. As insane as it sounded, she thought she could give up all of them, some she'd known all her life, as long as she had Jonah. She pressed her lips together for a long a moment trying to decide whether to yell or to beg. It was long enough to get some measure of control and when she spoke she was able to do so calmly.

"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard. _You_ didn't put me in danger today. _You_ saved us all by your...by your...ability."

Jonah laughed harshly. "That's one way to put it—my ability...my _abnormality_ is more accurate."

"What is it, Jonah? How are you able to talk to people in their heads? How can you tame wild animals? And your strength—how is it you're so incredibly strong?" Lyra asked in an awed whisper.

Jonah's hands clenched the steering wheel and he wiped his face of all emotion. "Freak of nature...or bastard child of the devil—that one was my father's favorite theory."

Lyra stared at him stunned. The thought of a father telling his son something so horrible appalled and sickened her. She'd seen stories of neglect and abuse on the news, but she'd never personally known anyone who was so unloved by their own parents. Her ire rose again and she insisted fervently, "You are no such thing, Jonah—and I hope you're not stupid enough to believe it. I'll never believe you're a freak or evil."

They had pulled up in front of Lyra's house. It was lit from the inside; her mom and dad were home. Harry stood up and started pacing impatiently.

Jonah's face was bleak when he turned to her. "Like I said before, you really don't know anything about me."

Lyra wanted to argue further, but now was not the time. "You have to come in to meet my parents."

Jonah hesitated, then nodded curtly, and opened his car door. Lyra and Harry followed. Lyra opened the door and hollered, "Mom, Dad, I'm home."

Olivia called from the kitchen, "We're in here, honey."

Lyra led the way with Jonah following a step behind—Harry, of course, had pushed passed them and raced inside as soon as Lyra had opened the door. They passed through the living room and rounded the corner into the kitchen. Gordon and Olivia Grant were standing at the kitchen counter, her father chopping mushrooms, her mom whisking eggs in a ceramic bowl.

"Hi. I brought Jonah in to meet you."

Gordon laid down his knife and wiped his hands on a dish cloth. Olivia set her bowl down and they both walked forward to greet Jonah.

Gordon offered his hand and Jonah shook it. "Jonah, nice to finally meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you, sir," Jonah answered politely, meeting Gordon's eye.

Olivia raised her hand as well and, grasping Jonah's, smiled warmly. "Come in, please. We were about to make an omelet and French toast for dinner. I know it's not much, but I hope you'll stay."

"Thank you, ma'am, but Jet, my uncle, will be expecting me," Jonah replied cordially.

"I'd like to thank you for giving Lyra a ride to school the other day. Saved me a trip," her father said, addressing Jonah.

"Yes, sir. Any time," Jonah offered.

Olivia asked him, "How do like Lake Placid? Are you and your uncle all settled in?"

"Yes, ma'am. We both like it here, and we're all unpacked. The house is very comfortable," Jonah answered.

There was a short pause in the conversation and Jonah took advantage of the opportunity. "Well, if you'll excuse me. I'd better be getting home."

Gordon and Olivia conveyed again their pleasure in meeting him and returned to their work at the counter.

Jonah turned to leave and Lyra offered "I'll walk you to the door."

Lyra followed him outside and around to the driver's side of his car.

Jonah attempted to get away swiftly with a short "See ya," but Lyra wouldn't let him off that easily.

She placed her hand on the car door window to prevent him from opening it.

"Wait. I...I don't want to leave things the way they are. I want to know you're okay," she pressed.

Jonah sighed. He kept his hand on the door handle and his eyes down. "I'm fine. But I meant what I said. I don't think we should hang out anymore."

When Lyra didn't respond or withdraw her hand, he looked up at her. Her eyes pleaded with him. "Jonah, don't you like me at all?"

Jonah exhaled loudly. "Yes, I do—too much. I'm not good for you, Lyra."

"Why don't you let me decide that," Lyra suggested. "Don't push me away, please," she begged. She took her hand from the door and placed it on his arm. She felt the muscles tighten as they had that day she'd touched him in the car. She kept her hand there this time, however. She leaned her hip against the car, bringing her closer to where he stood. She squeezed his arm gently. He turned slightly toward her and before he could object, she pushed aside the flaps of his open jacket and circled her arms around his waist. Unlike the embrace on the mountain, she was not sobbing uncontrollably and it had a much more intimate feel. He stood stock still for a second before enfolding her within his arms tightly. He lowered his face to her hair and breathed in deeply. It felt so good to be close to him—so right.

Lyra could have stayed that way for hours, but she knew her parents were waiting for her. Too soon, she loosened her hold and pulled back, but Jonah kept her within the circle of his arms. She lifted her face, inches from his, and gazed into his ocean blue eyes one last time. "Good night," she breathed.

"Good night," Jonah repeated. She stepped away; he opened his car door and slid in.

When Lyra made it back into the kitchen, her mom and dad were dividing up the eggs and toast on three plates. All of a sudden, Lyra realized she was famished. She smiled gratefully and dug in.

"Jonah is a very polite young man. Quite civil," her father remarked with a chuckle.

Her mouth full, Lyra just nodded.

"His manners remind me of a Southerner's and he has just a wee bit of an accent," her mother observed. "Is he originally from the South?"

Lyra swallowed and took a sip of iced tea. "I don't know. Not since living with his uncle, I don't think. Perhaps with his parents before they died."

"You got back awfully late. Was there any trouble today?" her father asked.

"Um, no, we just stopped a couple of times to enjoy the view. We didn't realize the time," Lyra fibbed.

"Hm," was all her father said, though there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

After dinner, Lyra did the dishes and then went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. As she was collecting her school things for the next day, there was a knock on the door. Her mom poked her head in. "Hey sweetie, can I come in for a minute?"

"Of course, mom. Lyra removed the books and papers she'd just piled on her desk chair and her mom sat down. Lyra went to the bed and pulled up her legs Indian style. It had been a while since her mom had been up to her room. Olivia looked around a minute before beginning.

Finally, she rested her eyes on Lyra affectionately. "Lyra," she began, fidgeting nervously. "Now that you are old enough to start dating, I thought we should have a little talk."

"We already had a 'little talk' a couple of years ago, remember, mom?"

"Yes, well, I know, but you were just a girl then. You are rapidly turning into a beautiful young woman. Relationships between young men and women can get serious quickly...I just want you to know that you can talk to me or ask me any questions you might have."

"I know, mom," Lyra assured her.

"Of course your father and I hope that you won't get _that_ serious with a boy for a long time."

"Mom..."

Olivia held up her hand. "You've heard it enough in church, but it bears repeating: adult intimacy is best reserved until marriage. God knew what he was doing when he set out the laws of sexual morality. Violating them leads to heartache and trouble every time." Her mother gazed at her earnestly.

Lyra just nodded, giving up on trying to short-cut the conversation.

"It's natural to want to be close to someone you care about...just remember, honey, that you have a long life ahead of you. You will love more than once. And what you think you want now will likely not be what you want years from now—even one year from now." Her mother looked at her earnestly. "Your father and I are a bit old fashioned, but high morals never go out of style, contrary to what some people may think."

Olivia smiled at her daughter once more. "But whatever decisions you make in that area of your life, you can still talk to me about them and I will do my best to help you and not be judgmental. I love you very much."

"I know, mom. I love you too."

"Well..." her mother got to her feet. She walked over to the bed and Lyra stood as well. Her mother hugged her warmly. "Sleep tight, love."

"You too, mom."

Later that night, Lyra lay in bed thinking of all that had happened that day, including her mother's words of caution. She could understand her mom's reasoning about relationships and intimacy. After all, she was just sixteen. She wasn't even out of high school yet and had no idea what direction her life would take. It would be foolish to get emotionally and physically involved with someone at this stage.

But on the other hand, she was already involved. Her emotions were all tangled up and she was drawn to Jonah in a way she couldn't comprehend herself, let alone explain to her mother. If Jonah tried to kiss her, she knew she would let him. When she'd been in his arms earlier, she'd felt whole and complete. Having experienced that connectedness with him once, she ached to be with him and touch him again. What was she supposed to do with those feelings?

What she had learned about Jonah today only spurred her curiosity and compassion. If what Jonah said about his father was true, what kind of hell must he have lived through? No wonder he kept his guard up. And he obviously took a very negative view of his supernatural abilities. Again, in her mind's eye, Lyra saw him hoisting himself and the bear cub over the side of the cliff; heard his voice in her head; and saw him toss around a tree trunk with the ease of Superman. _Incredible._ What was he? _Well, he's human,_ she thought. She'd heard his heart beat, felt the heat of his blood pumping through his veins. He was no Edward Cullen. But he was devastatingly handsome, smart, amazing in every way, and everything it seemed that her heart and soul longed for.

Logically, she knew her mother's advice was right. But her heart refused to believe that she would want anything or anyone else but Jonah a year from now, or even a lifetime from now.

~~***~~

When Jonah got home, Jet was in the kitchen stirring a pot on the stove that was billowing steam and filling the house with a delicious aroma.

Jonah breathed in deeply. "Mmm. That smells so good. What is it?" He walked over to lean over Jet's shoulder.

"Potato soup. Thought you'd want something warm and filling after spending the day hiking."

"You were right; I'm starved. But is that all we're having—just soup?"

"Well, the soup's got cubed ham in it, and I have cheese and chives to stir in at the last. _And_ I picked up some bread from the grocery's bakery. It's in the oven now."

Jonah smiled appreciatively at his uncle. "Man, that's going to be awesome. I'm going to go wash up."

When he got back to the kitchen, Jet was ladling the soup into bowls. The bread and soup toppings were already on the table. He brought their soup over and they sat down.

"So, how was your day with Lyra?" Jet inquired, a twinkle lighting his eye.

Jonah was buttering a piece of bread and didn't meet his uncle's curious gaze. "It was okay."

Jet waited several seconds, then sighed. "Teenagers! A meteor could fall from the sky and all you'd say was 'it's okay.' You could get a full four-year scholarship to Yale and you'd say, 'Well, that's okay.'"

Jonah smiled despite himself.

"C'mon. Have a little sympathy for an old man. I've been home alone all day; you spent yours with a pretty girl. Tell me about it."

Jonah blew on a spoonful of soup. "It was fine." He glanced up apologetically. "I mean, I had a good time with Lyra—and Harry. The area we went hiking at is beautiful—very remote. And Lyra's good company. She's not one of those real chatty girls. She's pleasant to be around.

Jonah concentrated on his soup while Jet watched him closely.

"So are you going to go out with her again?"

"I didn't 'go out with her' today. It wasn't a date or anything."

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Jonah exhaled loudly, pushed his bowl away, and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. "Jet, I did something really stupid. I don't know what to do. There's nothing I _can_ do, but I still don't know what to do."

Jet set his spoon down and waited.

Jonah got up from the table and paced restlessly. "Today we came across this little bear cub that had fallen over the side of a cliff and was stranded on this little outcrop of rock. Its mother was in a rage trying to get to it. I...I...," he broke off and glared at Jet. "I rescued it ....and Lyra saw me do it."

Jet kept his silence, moved by the tender heart of his nephew.

"That's twice now she's seen me—you know...first with the wood chopping and now this." He took off pacing again. " _And,_ as if that wasn't enough, I spoke to her— _mentally_. This is bad, Jet. We shouldn't have come here. I was much more inconspicuous in the city; it was easier to hide what I am. I'd even be better of at Edenvale, though you know I don't want to go there...What should I do?"

Jet regarded Jonah for a moment before speaking. "What do you think Lyra will do with the knowledge she has about you? Do you think she is trustworthy?"

Jonah sank back into his chair. "She's curious of course. She wants to know about it, but she's polite enough not to push. I don't think she's going to go running around telling everyone she knows. But it's dangerous for _her_ to know."

Jet shook his head. "I don't think she's in danger simply because she's seen you do some extraordinary things. You _can_ have friends, Jonah. You just have to choose discreet ones."

Jonah looked at Jet with a knowing expression.

Jet stared back resolutely. "You have been with me six years, Jonah, and nothing has happened. You aren't _capable_ of hurting another person. I know what you think, but you're wrong. You _choose_ to do good, therefore you _are_ good. If you chose to use your gifts for wrongdoing that would be another matter altogether, but you don't. You never have."

Jonah shook his head, but knew arguing with his uncle was pointless. They would never see eye to eye.

"So," Jethro exclaimed, grabbing their bowls and taking them back to the stove to refill. "Now that's settled, when can I meet Lyra? I'm anxious to get acquainted with the young woman who has so quickly and effectively broken through all of your carefully constructed defenses."

He returned to the table with full, steaming bowls and smiled happily at Jonah.

Jonah rolled his eyes. "It's not like that, Jet. And I'm not going to encourage her."

"Unattractive, is she?"

"No, she's very pretty," Jonah returned defensively.

"Ah. But she's nosy you said?"

Jonah's voice rose a fraction. "No, I just said she was curious."

Jethrow contemplated his nephew a moment.

"So, she's pretty, you enjoy her company, _she_ obviously likes _you_ , but you're not going to encourage her. Is that right?"

Jonah smiled slightly around a mouthful of soup. "That's right."

Jet shook his head, disgusted. "Youth is wasted on the young. It truly is."

Chapter IX.

The next day at school she and Jonah walked together to and from the classes they shared. It seemed for now he would allow their tenuous friendship, but at lunch he went to sit at his table alone as usual. Lyra sat with Aimee, Katie, Trevor, and the gang, but kept casting guilty glances at Jonah. Finally, Aimee, trying to talk to her about Algebra, asked exasperatedly, "What do you keep looking at, Lyra?" She craned her neck around.

Lyra blushed. "Jonah. I hate seeing him over there all alone. I think I'll go sit with him for a while." She picked up her tray and walked over to Jonah's table while everyone at hers watched with mouths agape.

He looked up, surprised, when she pulled the chair out and sat down across from him. He had a book open beside his tray. She smiled self-consciously. "Hi again. What'cha reading— _The Alchemist_?"

He frowned, looking from her, to the table she'd just left, and back at her. "No. I decided to put it aside to read Dean Koontz's newest release. I'll pick it back up when I'm finished with this. What are you doing? You should go back to sit with your friends." He glanced over to them; then, smiling mischievously, back at her. "They're all staring. Shall I do something shocking?"

Lyra laughed. She turned around and waved. They ducked their heads quickly and pretended they hadn't been gawking.

She swiveled to face Jonah once more. "So is it any good?" Lyra asked, nodding toward the book.

"Yeah, it's really suspenseful. Do you like Koontz?"

"I've read a couple of his books, but he's a bit too scary for me," Lyra admitted. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, watching him as he snuck peeks at the open book. It really must be good.

"So, the harvest dance is next weekend. Do you want to go?" she asked, surprising him again.

He looked up blankly. "Huh?"

"The dance. Do you want to go?" she repeated.

Jonah's eyes narrowed. "Isn't it normal for the guy to ask the girl?"

"I'm a liberated woman."

He looked like he wanted to smile, but managed to keep a straight face.

"Oh, all right. Have it your way," she said. "Yes Jonah, I'd be delighted to go to the dance with you."

Jonah couldn't help himself from laughing. "I didn't ask you!"

"Well, get on with it then. I haven't got all day," she rejoined, picking up her apple juice and taking a sip.

Jonah chuckled again in spite of himself. "You're incorrigible." His smiled faded a little. "But, honestly, Lyra, I don't do dances." He saw her pout and quickly added, "If I were going to go, I'd want to go with you, but...I don't like crowds."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Jonah, you're in a crowd _now_. The only difference will be that at the dance the tables will be gone, the lights will be dim, and everyone will be dancing instead of eating. Even the people will be the same."

Trying to find a hole in her logic, Jonah's brow wrinkled in concentration. He couldn't.

"So, you'll go?"

"I guess so," he sighed morosely.

It was Lyra's turn to laugh. "Brilliant. You'll have fun, I promise."

~~***~~

After school that day she headed over to Barty Master's house for her lesson.

She unloaded her cello and lugged it up the front walk and wrap-around covered porch to the front door of his canary yellow Victorian cottage. Barty had converted his front living room into his music studio where he taught his students. He used a smaller room toward the back of the house for his personal living room. As was expected, Lyra let herself in and, when she didn't see him waiting for her, called out a greeting.

He shouted back, "Coming," from somewhere in the back of the house, and appeared a moment later.

By then Lyra had unpacked her instrument and was warming up. She smiled and continued running through her scales. Once warmed up they visited briefly before getting started. Barty always inquired about her parents and school. He suggested they start with the Mozart concerto she'd been working on for several weeks. Barty collected his cello from its nearby stand and he accompanied Lyra.

A typical Mozart composition, the melody was light and the tempo devilishly fast. Mozart never failed to lift Lyra's mood and as they hurtled through the piece to the conclusion, their arms and bows blurred with the speed of the sixteenth and thirty-second note combinations. Lyra was laughing with exhilaration as they drew their bows across the strings holding the last note of the romping finale. Lyra and Barty shared a moment of laughter while they caught their breath and flex their cramped hands.

"I'm impressed, Lyra. You've been practicing, I'm glad to see. You had me worried a couple of weeks ago."

Lyra smiled with chagrin remembering the day. "Yes, well, I was just preoccupied that day. But I have been practicing. That is a particularly fun piece to work on."

"Yes, it is. Okay. Let's see how you are doing on the technical exercises I assigned you last week."

Lyra played and he critiqued for another half-hour. At the close of the lesson, as Lyra repacked her cello and music, Masters surprised her by asking, "Have you been thinking much about college, Lyra, in particular, a major?"

"Um, no. Mom and Dad have been asking me the same thing. I haven't decided. I don't want to hurt their feelings, but I just can't see spending my life in a boring office preparing legal documents all day. They'd be happy to see me go into medicine too, but I don't have the stomach to cut people open. I guess psychology wouldn't be that bad," she frowned and shrugged her shoulders.

"Have you considered a career in music?"

Lyra was taken aback. "No. Honestly, I haven't."

Masters gestured to the chair she'd just vacated. She sat back down.

"You are an excellent musician," he began. "Your technique is flawless and you play with real passion. I think you would do well and thoroughly enjoy taking music in college. What you need, however, is to play with other musicians—besides me."

"How could I do that? You know the school band doesn't have a string section."

"You are far above the level of most high-school musicians. No, I wasn't thinking that." He shifted in his seat. "Susan Bourke, one of the cellists in the Sinfonietta, I am sorry to say, has been diagnosed with brain cancer. She has resigned her post and it is unlikely she will return. We will need to replace her. Would you be interested in joining our group?"

Lyra was astonished, first about the diagnosis of Susan Bourke. She'd met Susan after one of the Sinfonietta's concerts and had truly admired her, a talented and vivacious musician. Second, she was flabbergasted Masters would even consider Lyra as a potential replacement. "Am I...am I good enough?"

"Most certainly. I have always felt it was a terrible waste that you were not able to hone your skills in a group setting." His eyes were lit with excitement and he continued, "We get together about once a month over the winter and spring to practice for the summer concert season, but it is nothing arduous—nothing that would interfere with your school schedule. In June, we'll bump it up to once a week. Our first concert will be in July and the season will be over before school starts back. It would primarily involve you learning the music at home and, of course, we can work on anything difficult during our lessons together."

Excitement began to build inside Lyra too. She had attended the Sinfonietta concerts with her parents for years and would always imagine herself up on the stage playing alongside the other cellists. She had, however, never dared to entertain the idea seriously. She jumped up and started pacing.

"Oh my gosh. That would be totally awesome! I would love to, Barty! When do we start? When is our first practice?"

"Well, hold on just a minute. First you need to go home and clear it with your parents. They have to approve of the idea."

"Okay. No problem there. They'll be thrilled." Lyra waved away his concern.

"Next, you will need to audition for the Board."

Lyra stopped in her tracks and her face fell.

"It's just a formality," he continued hurriedly. "I have no doubt of your being accepted." He smiled wryly. "Especially since I happen to be chairman of the Board. I've been bragging about you to everyone for years. Unless you manage to break both your arms between now and then, I can almost guarantee your acceptance."

Lyra squealed and ran over to hug him. He laughed and hugged her back affectionately.

"Now," he clapped his hands, getting her attention once more. "If you enjoy playing in the orchestra this coming season, and you want to think about majoring in music in college, I can get you letters of recommendation and interviews with the music directors at Browne, NY State, Cornell—wherever you want to go."

Lyra's face sobered once more. She wasn't so sure her parents would be thrilled with that idea. "Is it possible to make a living playing music? I mean, would I actually be able to support myself one day?"

Masters patted the chair beside him and she returned to her seat obediently.

"I grant you, the average professional musician makes far less than a tax attorney or brain surgeon," he conceded with a grimace, "but thousands of musicians the world over manage to support themselves in their profession, some extremely well. And I do believe, Lyra, you are one who would do extremely well."

"What exactly could I do?"

"Well, most musicians combine teaching and performing. Those who teach full-time may be part of a smaller, less-demanding orchestra, like the Sinfonietta here in Placid. Others, who are part of larger, world-class symphony orchestras like the New York Philharmonic, may supplement their income by teaching part-time. There are the rare few who manage to make it as composers. The most profitable composers usually write for television and/or movies."

Lyra stared at the floor biting her lip.

Barty patted her shoulder. "Just think about it, Lyra. You do not have to make a rash decision, but let me give you a bit of advice: You will work many years, even with a family and raising children. Do something you enjoy. Life is too short to waste your time in a job you do not love."

Lyra later wondered how she made it home from Barty's house; she did not remember the drive at all. She was consumed with ideas of being part of the Sinfonietta and a possible career in music. For the first time in her life, she was excited about the thought of college and eventual profession. Could her livelihood actually be made in an occupation she enjoyed, was passionate about? Images of herself in college (playing and learning alongside kids her own age), being on stage with other professional musicians, and teaching little children the notes on the staff, filled (and thrilled) her mind.

Lyra wasn't satisfied with walking Harry when she got home; she had to run with him to work off some of her nervous energy. She called her mom at work to see if she and her father would be home for dinner. Upon hearing that they would be, she got busy in the kitchen preparing broiled lobster, angle-hair pasta with pesto, steamed cauliflower, and garlic-buttered focaccia bread. By the time her parents made it in an hour-and-a-half later, the delicious aromas wafted through the house.

"Mmm. What in heaven's name are you cooking in here? It smells wonderful!" her father exclaimed as he came into the kitchen removing his coat.

Her mom followed closely behind, her nose lifted and smiling in appreciation.

"Hi Mom, Dad. It's just about ready," Lyra sang as she darted from the oven to the counter removing the lobster and toasted bread.

Olivia and Gordon got busy setting the table and pouring iced tea. As they took their seats at the table, her father stretched his hands out, reaching to grasp one of each of theirs.

They bowed their heads and her father prayed.

"...and, Lord, we thank you for the beautiful, priceless gift of our daughter, Lyra. She makes us so proud. Amen."

Lyra's heart warmed at her father's words. Her parents were not overtly religious; their faith was more personal and their worship spontaneous, which made his words of praise much more special.

The food was excellent, and in much less time than it took to prepare, they had finished eating it. Gordon and Olivia were lavish in their praise of the meal.

"Is there any particular reason for this lovely treat?" her mother inquired as they lingered at the table after dinner.

"Yes and no," Lyra admitted. "I was in the mood to cook and just wanted to surprise you...I do, however, have something to talk to you about."

"Well don't keep us in suspense. Tell us," her father urged.

Lyra relayed Masters' news of the vacancy in the orchestra and his invitation for Lyra to audition for it. She explained the rehearsal schedule, emphasizing that it would not interfere with school, and the concert schedule for the summer. She did not mention Barty's and her discussion about college and possible music careers; there was no need to go into that until she had thought about it some more herself. They were saddened upon hearing of Susan Bourke's cancer diagnosis, but as happy for her as she had hoped they would be. They were delighted at her accomplishment. After she and her mom finished cleaning the kitchen, she called Barty to let him know he could schedule the audition.

Lyra showered and completed her homework, and then practiced her cello for an hour. She was determined to be worthy of the honor of becoming a member of the orchestra group. She spent most of the time on exercises in her advanced method book before allowing herself to play a few of her favorites, including Music of the Night, which she'd felt compelled to play often over the last few weeks. She had finally tired herself out, so after spending a moment at the window looking over the misty mountain range, she went to bed and slept soundly.

Tuesday at school Lyra smiled so much, Aimee and Katie asked her at different times what in the world she was so happy about.

"That's fantastic!" Aimee congratulated when Lyra told her. "I'm not much into classical music, but I'll come to hear you play. Maybe some of that high-class will rub off on me."

Katie was just as enthusiastic to hear Lyra's news.

At lunchtime, Lyra followed Jonah through the lunch line and sat with him again. She just couldn't bear for him to continue to sit by himself. There was such a crowd at her table anyway, she wouldn't be missed.

Jonah too asked her what she was so happy about. She was a little shy telling him about auditioning for the Sinfonietta. He seemed genuinely happy for her.

"So, do you ever listen to classical music?" she asked him.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I like a lot of different kinds of music. I can't say I prefer one genre over another; it just depends on my mood. I listen to classical mostly at night to wind down and contemporary or alternative rock in the morning to get myself moving," he said with a smile. "So when is the audition?"

"I don't know yet. I wonder what I'll have to play—something new or a piece I'm already familiar with?" she mused. She worried about it for a few minutes, then shook her head to clear it.

"How are you doing on your president?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, okay. I've got an outline for my essay. I'll probably get through writing it by the weekend. I'm glad I picked Lyndon Johnson. I really like him."

"Do you want to get together over the weekend to start on the comparison part of the project?"

"Um, okay. What about Gina?"

"I'll ask her in Government. We can meet at my house. Mom and Dad will probably be out, but even if they're home, it'll be fine."

"Okay."

The bell rang and Jonah walked Lyra to Computer Programming before heading to Spanish. Lyra wasn't worried about Kyle; she didn't believe he would try to harass her in a school full of students and teachers. He had done nothing more unpleasant than throw vicious glares their way at lunch for the last couple of days. However, she enjoyed walking with Jonah so much, she didn't raise any more objections. She could feel warm energy radiating from him as they walked close together in the halls. Even though they didn't speak much, it just felt so good to be near him.

Gina said she had already written her paper on Theodore Roosevelt and agreed to get together on Saturday at Lyra's house. They decided on one o'clock in the afternoon.

The rest of the week passed much the same, with the exception that Barty called to let her know the audition would be held the morning of October 30th—the day of the Harvest Dance. Well, at least she wouldn't have much time to be nervous about the evening with Jonah; she'd be too busy obsessing about the audition.

She increased her practice time to two hours a night. Barty had told her she would perform two technical etudes (thankfully he told her which ones) and the Allegro movement of _Spring_ from Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_. She had learned the Vivaldi piece a couple of years ago, but had not played it lately, so she dug it out and began to refamiliarize herself with it.

On Saturday morning she zipped through her chores and helped her mom bake apple bread. Her parents would be home after all and had suggested that she, Jonah, and Gina convene in the den.

Gina arrived first. Lyra (and Harry) answered the door and showed her in. "Hi, Gina. Did you have any trouble with my directions?"

"N...n...no, they were p...per...perfect." She smiled apologetically, self-conscious of her stutter.

Lyra led her to the kitchen to meet Olivia and offer her something to drink. Jonah arrived minutes later. Lyra met him at the door and he followed her back to the kitchen where Gina and her mom were talking. As usual, Harry was overjoyed to see Jonah. Despite Lyra's continual reprimands, Harry jumped up on Jonah and nipped at his shirt hem and blue jeans, assuming Jonah had come solely to play with him. Jonah laughed at Harry's irresistible enthusiasm. He set his books down on the kitchen table and bent to return Harry's affection.

Her mother greeted him graciously. "Hello, Jonah. It is good to see you again. Will you have some apple bread?"

"No thank you ma'am, but it sure smells good."

"Lyra and I baked two loaves, so I want you to take one home with you—a belated welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift."

"Thank you. We will certainly enjoy it. Jet is a good cook, but he doesn't bake."

Supplied with glasses of iced tea and a plate of the bread, they made their way to the den. Lyra closed the door on Harry so he wouldn't be nuisance. They spread out on the floor and unpacked their notes and books. Lyra knew Gina was nervous being around Jonah so she started the discussion, reading her essay first. Then she asked Jonah to read his. By the time it was Gina's turn, she had relaxed marginally and she had better control of her stutter. At first, Lyra watched Jonah obliquely to see if he would get impatient with Gina's faltering speech, but soon her worry was allayed. Jonah was kind and patient. He kept his eyes downcast while Gina read, and not being watched seemed to ease her anxiety. In fact, Lyra was astonished at Gina's fluency; she didn't stammer at all. An odd tranquility seemed to pervade the room while they were closed in together. During the ensuing discussion on the presidents' administrations and major legislative decisions, Lyra took notes.

Around three-thirty they called it quits for the day. Gina had volunteered to write a draft of the composite essay to which Lyra and Jonah had readily agreed. They decided to get together once more to make any changes or revisions before finalizing the paper for submission.

Lyra walked Gina to the door. Jonah had stopped to play with Harry a few minutes before he left.

"Thanks for h...ha...having me over and p...p...picking me for your group."

"Oh, I'm so glad to be with you and Jonah," Lyra assured her. "We make a good team. I hate group projects where one person ends up doing all the work."

"Me too," Gina agreed.

Lyra hugged her and watched her walk to her car, get in, and drive away. She turned back inside and saw her parents coming down the stairs. Jonah was still on the floor wrestling Harry.

"Jonah. How are you?" Her dad walked forward to shake Jonah's hand as he stood up.

"Fine, thank you, sir."

"It seems your uncle and I were of like minds today," her mother said. "He invited us over for dinner tonight. Regrettably, I had to decline. We've had long-standing plans with some friends who are up from Albany—an old college buddy of Gordon's and his wife."

Lyra tried to hide her disappointment. Dinner with Jonah and his uncle would be a thousand times better than a night spent listening to her dad's ancient college stories or staying home alone (as she'd secretly hoped to beg-off going with her parents at the last minute).

"Oh. I'm sorry you won't be able to make it," Jonah returned, looking uncomfortable. "Jet was just starting the sauce for lasagna when I came over. I didn't realize he had intended to invite you."

"I mentioned to him that Lyra would likely prefer to have dinner with the two of you than go with us. He assured me she was welcome to come without us," her mother confessed, adding, "If that's okay with you."

Lyra's heart leapt with joy. She looked at Jonah hopefully.

There was a split-second hesitation before Jonah confirmed, "Of course. That would be great."

Was it Lyra's imagination, or was there a hint of apprehension in his voice?

He turned to her and smiled and she dismissed the thought.

She grinned back. "Yeah, I'd like that. What time should I come over?"

Her mother intercepted again. "Jet suggested Jonah drive over to pick you up at six o'clock and then bring you back after dinner. That way you won't be coming home to an empty house after dark." Apparently Olivia had been quite sure of Lyra's preference and thus arranged all the details. Lyra restrained herself from skipping over to her mother and kissing her while Jonah was present.

Jonah nodded and looked at Lyra. "Okay then. I'll be back at six to pick you up." Addressing them all he added, "I'd better get going and see if Jet needs some help. Thanks for having me over this afternoon." He went to the table, retrieved his books, and left with a final wave.

Chapter X.

When the door shut behind Jonah, Lyra gave in to her impulse and danced over to kiss her mom on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom." Turning to her dad, "You don't mind do you, Dad?"

"No, of course not. I know you'd rather be with someone your own age than with a group of doddering old geezers."

Her mother laughed and elbowed him. "Watch who you call a doddering old geezer."

Lyra practiced her cello until it was time to get ready to leave. Her parents were driving up to Whiteface Lodge to meet their friends and they left before Jonah came for Lyra. She put on a pair of black stretch pants, which were flattering to her lean figure, but more importantly, comfortable, and a deep blue embroidered tunic. She wore her hair down.

Lyra was bundled in her jacket and waiting at the front door at six o'clock. She saw the headlights before the car was visible and slipped outside as Jonah rolled to a stop. She opened the door and hopped in. Jonah was peering beyond her. She turned back toward the house and saw Harry with his nose pressed against the floor-length window looking morose.

"Why don't you bring him?" Jonah suggested. "Jet won't care."

"Are you sure?" Lyra asked doubtfully. She hated leaving Harry all alone, but also didn't want to offend Jonah's uncle.

Harry let out a pitiful whine they could hear over the humming of the motor and heater. Jonah chuckled, "Yeah, I'm sure. Go get him."

Lyra jumped out, unlocked the front door, and liberated an ecstatic Harry. He bounded into the backseat of the car and proceeded to bathe Jonah's face in appreciation. Lyra laughed and scolded Harry while Jonah wiped his face and ear on his sleeve. The short trip to Jonah's was spent with Harry's big, furry head and lolling tongue between them.

Lyra had been in Jonah's house while it had belonged to the Thompsons. Celia Tompson's decorating style had been flamboyant. Lyra had always thought it was incongruous with the home's pristine surroundings, which the large windows let in from the outside. Lyra was pleased to find Jethro Carsen had more subdued taste. The tiled foyer was empty except for a dark wood hall tree supporting a couple of umbrellas and some hats, and a hand-woven Indian-style rug of burgundy, tans, and chocolate brown.

They hung their jackets up and stepped down into the lushly carpeted living room. The back wall was entirely glass and reflected a crackling fire in a stone hearth opposite it. The bright orange flames were the room's only light, but it was enough for Lyra to make out buckskin hued leather sofas, two tapestry-covered arm-chairs in earthy tones, and accent pillows in the same burgundy and chocolate as the rug in the entryway. It was a warm, welcoming room and Lyra loved it immediately.

The great room and kitchen were separated by a long bar of black granite. Atop the bar were crystal glasses, gleaming silverware, a leafy, multi-colored salad, and a steaming loaf of French bread, evidently just pulled from the oven.

A short, squat man came into view. He was mostly bald with a fringe of gray circling his head. He wore a red-checked apron and large red oven mitts. When he saw them his face split in a delighted smile. Harry ran forward and greeted him with an echoing bark.

"My goodness, look at you, big fella. You must be Harry." Jethro tossed his mitts on the counter and approached Harry palms open. Harry sniffed cautiously, then licked eagerly. Jethro must have splattered some sauce on his hands.

Once approved by Harry, Jethro Carsen swiveled to receive Lyra. "Ah, Ms. Grant. I'm _so_ glad you could come. Your parents are delightful; I knew you would be too." He took her hand in both of his and shook it energetically. He was a frank, jovial man.

Carsen led her to a seat at the table. "Sit, sit. What would you like to drink? Such a shame I can't offer you a glass of wine! I have an excellent Bordeaux I was hoping to break open tonight. Ah, well, we'll save it for another time." He spoke lightly and crisply, with no hint of the Southern accent Jonah had.

Harry danced around them, sniffing everything.

"Thank you for having me over, Mr. Carsen. It's very nice to meet you too."

"Oh, I'm so glad you could come even though your parents couldn't. You have no idea how lonely we've been for some company."

As Jet turned toward the refrigerator, Lyra turned in her seat to find Jonah. He was frowning at his uncle.

Jet didn't spare him a glance though. "My dear, would you like a cola, or tea, or perhaps an Evian?"

"Anything is fine, whatever you have," she assured him.

Jonah joined his uncle in the kitchen and, taking a knife from a nearby drawer, began slicing the bread. "Lyra likes tea."

"Then tea it is." In less than a minute Jethro handed her iced tea in one of the crystal glasses.

"Thank you, Mr. Carsen."

"Call me Jet, dear, everyone does."

Lyra sipped her tea and watched them work. Jonah transferred the bread to a plate and brought it and the silverware to the table. He didn't look at her while he set their places. He retrieved the salad, tongs, and dressing, and deposited them on the table too. He still didn't look at her. Lyra began to wonder what the matter was. Next to his exuberant uncle, Jonah seemed even more remote than usual.

In no time at all, Jet was carrying the pan of lasagna to the table. He and Jonah sat down and they dished up the bubbling pasta and passed around the salad bowl and bread. It was delicious. Jonah hadn't been exaggerating; his uncle was a fabulous cook. Lyra rarely got such elaborate home-cooked meals and gratefully accepted second helpings. It was a good thing she'd worn her stretch pants, she though wryly.

Jet kept her busy between mouthfuls answering questions about her parents, school, the town, and herself. Jonah was quiet throughout the meal. His reticence didn't usually bother Lyra; she knew he wasn't the talkative type. In his own home, however, she had expected him to be more open and at ease. She was disconcerted to find him as solemn and distant here as he was at school. She remembered his hesitance in answering her mother earlier that afternoon. Then, she thought back to the night she had surprised him in the back yard. Perhaps he didn't want her here. Was she encroaching on his privacy?

After supper, the three of them worked together to clear the table, put away the left-overs, and load the dishwasher. Except for Jonah's coolness, Lyra felt very much at home. When they were finished, Jethro wanted to take Lyra on a tour of the house. Happy to oblige him, she kept her prior knowledge of the house to herself.

Followed closely by Harry, Jet conducted her across the great room and down a hall which Lyra knew led to a couple of bedrooms. The deep carpet in the front room ran the length of the hall and throughout the adjoining rooms. He pointed out the bath, coat, and linen closets without pause, but stopped at the second door on the left and opened it. He stepped inside and flipped the switch. He had made one of the large bedrooms into his office. The only furniture was a plain, scarred desk situated toward the back facing the door and a couple of worn comfortable-looking armchairs turned toward the desk. Lyra immediately noticed, however, that new, custom-made, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves had been built along two windowless walls. A computer, small scanner, and shaded lamp shared space on his desk with newspapers, magazines, and what Lyra assumed was an enormous dictionary.

Lyra entered the room reverently looking around. "Wow. This is amazing. So this is where you write your column?"

Jet smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yes. This is where the genius is unleashed," he joked, laughing at himself.

Lyra couldn't help herself. She wandered along the shelves glancing at the titles. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to his organization that Lyra could discern. Books on archeology rested beside Shakespeare's tragedies. A "How-To" on plumbing was followed by a tattered copy of _David Copperfield_. "I thought we had an extensive library, but this tops it."

"Do you read the classics, Lyra dear?" Jet inquired, coming to stand beside her.

"Well, I've read a few—some we've been assigned in school and one or two on my own: everything by Jane Austen, _Wuthering Heights, Romeo and Juliet, Jane Eyre_."

"The Romances, of course." He chuckled. "I highly recommend expanding your tastes. Read Dickens, James, Defoe, even Dumas, and above all, everything by Shakespeare."

"Jet," Jonah interjected, a combination of resignation and exasperation in his tone. "Don't start that lecture." Turning to Lyra, "Once he gets started, that's it. Literature is his obsession. He can probably quote every word Shakespeare ever wrote."

"Ah, don't let him fool you, Lyra," Jet rejoined. "Jonah hides his light under a barrel. Except for an abominable penchant for some of the contemporary trash published today, Jonah is well read." He grinned at Jonah and rolled backward on his heels again. "I take full credit for that." His lightheartedness was contagious. Lyra and Jonah both laughed.

Jet pointed to a closed door. "That is a bathroom and on the other side is my bedroom." They walked out of the office and Jet closed the door behind them. Jethro turned and headed back toward the living room. "Jonah, you show Lyra the rest. Harry and I will take a short stroll outside. I'll enjoy the company while I smoke my cigar."

Jethro beckoned Harry to follow him. Lyra watched them go out the sliding glass doors which led from the living room out onto the deck.

Jonah and Lyra had stopped at the foot of the stairs. When she turned back, Jonah was staring at her bemused. She looked at him questioningly and his face cleared. He offered her a small smile and motioned for her to lead the way upstairs.

A loft area overlooked the living room and to the right of the stairs down a short hallway were two bedrooms. The first was obviously a guest room, void of any personal effects. The second room Jonah showed her looked similar. The queen bed, covered in a sage and pearl paisley comforter, was neatly made. A pair of jeans was thrown over the footboard and a tennis shoe peeked out from the half-closed closet door, but otherwise the room was oddly tidy.

"Is this your bedroom?" Lyra asked incredulously. Although tasteful, it was generic. She'd imagined a room like Trevor's, which she'd seen numerous times during sleep-overs with Katie. It was always messy, with CDs, clothes, food wrappers, and the like strewn everywhere. Didn't guys like electronics and video games? Didn't they hang posters of half-dressed women on their walls and leave empty glasses lying around? Where was his _stuff_?

"Yeah. This is it," he answered.

Lyra waited a long moment, but he offered nothing more. Frustrated, she sighed and gave up. _So much for learning anything about him!_

He followed her downstairs and as they reached the living room, Jethro and Harry were coming back inside. Harry jogged over to her and she bent down to pet him. That inexplicable sadness was welling up inside of her again. She buried her face in Harry's neck to hide her expression.

"Burr, it's cold out there. I think we'll be seeing snow in the next couple of weeks," Jet predicted, stomping his feet. "Well, how do you like the house—is it too masculine?"

Lyra stood, her face composed again. "No, it's so warm and inviting. I love the earth-tone décor; it's tranquil, but the deep green and burgundy accents give it interest. It is masculine, but not overpowering."

"And what did you think of Jonah's room?" Jet asked, his tone excited.

Lyra was momentarily confused. Had she missed something? "Oh, well, it's very nice...and...clean."

Jet's face fell. "Jonah, didn't you show Lyra your room?"

"I showed Lyra my bedroom," he said evenly.

"Not your _bedroom_." Jet clarified.

Lyra felt Jonah tense beside her. He replied tautly, "I wasn't prepared to take Lyra downstairs. It's still a mess down there."

"No it's not. You showed it to me this morning and it was fine. Oh, go on. She wants to see it, don't you, Lyra?" Jet's expression was jocular, but Lyra detected a hint of steel in his tone.

Lyra looked from Jet's determined smile to Jonah's rigid face. "Only if he wants to. I don't want to invade his privacy."

Jonah glared at Jet another moment. Lyra got the impression Jonah was doing that telepathic communication thing with Jet, but Jet kept his smile in place, complacently rocking back and forth. They seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills. Finally Jonah exhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, all right."

Lyra wasn't sure what to do or say. She was dying to get a look at Jonah's real living space, but if he was so set against it...

Jet laughed merrily. "Harry, you stay here and keep me company, eh? My old spaniel, The Colonel, died shortly before Jonah came to live with me. I'd forgotten how much I missed having a dog around. Jonah, we might just have to get us a pup." He strolled over to one of the armchairs, eased into it comfortably, and patted his knee. Obediently, Harry followed and rested his massive head in Jet's lap.

Lyra glanced up at Jonah anxiously.

"This way," Jonah directed tonelessly, pivoting toward the kitchen. Lyra followed, but worried about his sour mood. She didn't want to alienate Jonah. Their relationship was precarious already.

They passed back by the table and Jonah reached for the knob of a door, which Lyra had assumed led to the garage. He held it open for her and she stepped into a small, tiled room containing only two more doors.

Jonah pointed to the one straight ahead and told her, "That's the garage." He flipped a light switch illuminating the small room and shut the door behind him. As he reached for the door to his left, Lyra stopped him.

"Jonah, I don't want to go down there if you don't want me to. Of course I'd like to see your room, but not if it upsets you."

Jonah hesitated and turned to face her. "It's okay, really. Jet has very definite ideas about what is good for me; I happen to disagree with him sometimes." He smiled wryly. "He means well, though, and I don't suppose this is a big deal."

He opened the door to his left. The light from the anteroom illuminated a wide strip of carpeted staircase descending into darkness. "Take my hand," Jonah instructed. "You should see it in the dark first."

Lyra placed her hand in his. He laced his fingers through hers. It was as if the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle had been snapped into place; it was a perfect fit. And that feeling of connectedness, and contentedness, filled her once again.

Chapter XI.

Jonah closed the door behind them. They remained on the first step a moment allowing their eyes to adjust to the sudden blackness. Only, it wasn't total blackness. An eerie glow emanated from below. Lyra still could not make out the stairs, but now she had a target to aim for. She placed her free hand on the wall to steady herself as Jonah began to lead her downward. They took each step cautiously and as they did, the strange luminescence grew brighter. Lyra imagined it would be similar to being underwater at night. Jonah stopped. "Okay, this is the last step." He took a deep breath (she held hers) and pulled her around the corner of the staircase.

Lyra was totally disoriented for a moment. She'd fallen off the earth and been instantly transported into deep space. Off-balance, she swayed drunkenly and Jonah put his arm around her. Lyra knew her mouth was hanging open, but could do nothing about it; she was awe-struck. The Milky Way galaxy, with its blinding bands of far-flung stars, shone before her, spiraling like white, blue and pink diamonds.

When she was finally able to tear her eyes away from it, she saw to her left Andromeda swirling in glittering iridescent hues. She looked to the right and another galaxy whose name she did not know shimmered incandescently. Between these celestial mega-clusters were hazy, pastel clouds of phosphorescent gases and blinking stars trillions of light years away. Everywhere she turned, the heavens were spread out magnificently around her.

Lyra didn't know how long she stood there staring mutely, but eventually Jonah, his hand still grasping hers, led her forward into the room. All around and above her there were galactic wonders to see. When they reached the middle of the room, her feet hit something hard. She looked down and could just make out a raised, circular platform with a big round cushion on it. Jonah sat down and gently tugged her hand indicating for her to do the same.

When she was seated, Jonah scooted back onto the middle and stretched out. Lyra followed suit. Directly above their heads was their own solar system in miniature, with the sun blazing yellow-orange and the planets frozen in their rotation.

After several long minutes, Lyra found her tongue. "Jonah," she whispered reverently, "this is amazing. Did you do all this? _How did you do it?_ "

"I painted it," he replied, his voice low. "First, I covered the walls and ceiling in a midnight blue. Everything else I did with glow-in-the-dark paints. When I started, I was just going to do the solar system overhead, but when I'd finished with that, it seemed too lonely up there by itself. So, I just kept going. I think it is complete now. I brought Jet down here this morning. I wouldn't let him see it while I was working on it."

"Its like the stars are all lit from within." Lyra asked wonderingly.

"That's the black lights—there, along the floor."

Lyra's eyes searched the floor and saw long, cylindrical, purple lights placed at intervals around the room.

She turned her head, contemplating him in the other-worldly glow. She'd known from the very first day there was something unique about Jonah, something more than met the eye. She now realized, however, that she had not even begun to fathom the depths of this man. And he was a man. That was the difference between him and the guys she went to school with. There was no youthful immaturity, no foolish revelry.

He turned his head to meet her gaze. Something hot and tingly dropped into Lyra's stomach. Without breaking eye contact, Jonah rolled onto his side and rested his head on his hand. A magnetic field could not have generated more electricity than did his nearness. He peered down at her, searching her eyes, her face—for what she did not know. He reached out slowly and swept a tendril of hair from her neck. Lyra shivered from the gentle caress. His fingers were cool, but her skin felt seared where he'd touched her. Her heart hammered in her chest and a ringing began in her ears. _Is he going to kiss me?_ She was suddenly desperate for him to.

One millimeter at a time, Jonah lowered his face toward her. He stopped when his mouth was almost touching hers, their breath intermingling. His eyes closed and he brushed his lips across hers so lightly she sensed the movement more than felt it. Lyra's breath hitched in her throat, and her body strained with the desire to reach for him, but she did not move. Jonah's lips grazed hers once more and came to rest softly on hers.

When she could not passively endure the tortuous sweetness any longer, she lifted her arms to encircle him. She felt the muscles beneath his shirt quiver. She drew him closer until his chest pressed gently into hers. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly and wrapped his arms around her. Oh, it was heaven. As close as he was, Lyra wanted him closer still.

Far too soon, he tore his lips from hers and buried his face in her hair. It felt glorious to finally be with him this way. Lyra's body shook with repressed emotion and desire.

"I love you, Jonah," she whispered in his ear. His body tensed and he tried to pull away, but Lyra held him close. "I know that sounds crazy. I barely know you, but it feels like I've always known you, like I've been waiting for you all my life but never knew what I was waiting for. She loosened her hold so that he was able to raise his head to look into her eyes once more. "I know that you don't want me to...I know that you don't love me back and...that's okay." She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and blink away the tears, but a few spilled over and dripped into her hair. "I don't expect anything from you, I promise. I just want to be with you, however you'll let me, for as long as you'll let me."

It looked as though he was struggling with some strong emotion, but he did not speak. Eventually, he nodded and touched his lips briefly to hers once more. She dropped her arms and he lay back down beside her. They returned to gazing at the heavenly phenomenon he had masterfully replicated. He took her hand again and Lyra sighed in pleasure; she had not completely scared him off.

"Why didn't you want me to see this?" Lyra asked after a while.

Jonah didn't respond immediately. "You've seen for yourself that I am not...normal."

Lyra sucked in a quick breath to argue, but he shushed her before she could get a word out. He squeezed her hand. "Just listen to me."

She exhaled in a huff and kept her silence.

"You have seen for yourself that I am not normal," he repeated. "I think... _I know_ ...it's best to keep my distance from others as much as possible."

Lyra had to bite her tongue painfully to keep from denying what he said.

"I could hurt people—I have hurt people. Several years ago, I gave up on close relationships, friendships, all together. I have made it my goal to avoid others whenever possible. Up 'til now, I've been very successful in keeping everyone at arms' length. I've been called cold, rude, stuck-up, a bastard...you name it.... No one likes rejection—especially girls. After one or two attempts, they all gave up—everyone but you." He turned his head to look at her and she turned hers. "For some reason I cannot figure out, you persisted. You saw through all my attempts to push you away. You wore down my resistance with your unrelenting kindness.

"It was as though I'd been walking around in the desert all my life—body scorched, throat parched—and then I stumbled upon a cool, shady oasis. I could no more stay away from you than a dying man from the waters of life."

The lump returned to Lyra's throat and she swallowed to keep the tears at bay. Jonah returned to staring at the ceiling.

"But I have tried to protect you, to keep you from getting too close. The less you know about me, the less you care about me, the better off you'll be."

Lyra was shaking her head back and forth. She would never believe that.

He sighed. "But like I said before—you are utterly irresistible. It's become impossible to push you away when every cell in my body screams to hold you tight."

A tear leaked out of the corner of Lyra's eye. It was just as she'd suspected. He was desperately lonely; he needed her. No one should live such a barren existence.

"Hold me tight then, Jonah," she whispered in answer. "Please."

He gathered her into his arms and held her close while she cried for him.

~~***~~

Lyra eventually became aware that she'd had too much tea during dinner. She didn't want to break the spell, but after a while, it became necessary.

She sat up. "Um, Jonah, could I use the restroom?"

"Yeah, there's one down here. They got up and he led her to the far side of the basement. The blacked-out door with stars strewn across it was completely invisible. He opened the door and flipped a switch. The sudden light blinded her and she scrunched up her eyes against the glare.

Jonah chuckled. "It gets me every time too. I need to change the bulb in here to one with fewer watts."

Lyra closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust. The bathroom was pale blue with navy towels and rug. A white wicker laundry hamper stood in the corner. The oval mirror and fixtures were pewter.

While she was in the restroom Jonah had turned on lights in the cavernous basement. When she came out of the bathroom, Lyra noticed shelves had been installed down here too, though not as many. One held CDs, another books. High up along the outside wall were three windows at ground level. Another door which had also been painted blue-black to led outside. In the far right corner were a large flat-screen television and a towering stereo system with speakers of all sizes placed around it. A few DVD and CD cases littered the floor in front of it. A worn leather sofa and ottoman faced the TV and a multi-colored afghan had been tossed haphazardly across the arm and trailed the floor. The Koontz book he'd been reading lay on the ottoman and a soda can was perched on top of it. Here was the clutter she'd been looking for.

Jonah was in the corner adjacent to the stairs where a desk, comprised of an unvarnished pine door and four sturdy tree stumps, held his computer. He was straightening up, shuffling papers into one pile and stacking magazines into another. As she walked toward him, he tossed several items into the round metal trash can beneath the desk.

He turned as she approached and ran his fingers through his overlong hair. "Sorry. It's pretty messy down here."

"That's okay. My room isn't spotless either." She picked up a magazine off the top of the pile entitled _MENSA_. A middle-aged man in a white coat leaned against the counter of what appeared to be a laboratory of some sort. "What's Mensa?"

Jonah looked slightly embarrassed. He took the magazine and tossed it back onto the desk. "Oh, just some group Jet signed me up for—bunch of stuffed-shirt know-it-alls.

"What sort of group is it?" Lyra asked, reaching for the magazine again. She flipped open the first page and read:

MENSA Mission Statement: To identify and foster human intelligence for the benefit of humanity, to encourage research into the nature, characteristics and uses of intelligence, and to promote stimulating and social opportunities for its members.

Jonah pulled the journal from her hands again and guided her over toward the sofa.

"Gotta be pretty smart to be a member?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"How smart?"

"Does it matter?"

They had reached the far end of the room. Lyra turned to him and shrugged, "I'm just curious." Getting any kind of information out of him was like trying to grab a snake by its tail.

"Oh, all right." He rolled his eyes. "It's a society for people with high IQs...people whose IQ is in the top two percent of the population."

Lyra's eyes bulged. "And you are...in the top two percent?"

Jonah nodded.

"Wow. So you're like a genius." Extraordinary strength, extraordinary intelligence—who was this person standing in front of her?

He was watching her anxiously. She decided she'd better not make too much of it. She stepped around him. "Great. Now I know who to call when I'm stumped in Algebra." She smiled casually and tossed the magazine down. She turned away from him, walked over, and sat down on the sofa. The stereo system in front of her lit up and music blared from the speakers causing them to both jump about a foot.

Lyra leapt to her feet and whirled around—she'd sat on the stereo remote. Then, recognition registered. She stopped dead and turned to stare at him in disbelief—the music blaring from the dozen or so speakers was the unmistakable dissonant chords of the introduction to the Overture to Phantom of the Opera.

His face registered shock too. He lunged for the remote, but his fingers were clumsy and it took several seconds to turn it off.

The ringing silence was as deafening as the music had been. Lyra stared at him. He looked everywhere but at her. His earlier embarrassment was nothing compared to now. His cheeks flushed scarlet.

A huge grin split Lyra's face. She couldn't help it—a giggle escaped. Bristling, Jonah's head snapped up and he glared at her. It only made her laugh harder. She knew it was terrible, but it was also hilarious. She fell back on the couch and held her stomach, cackling. Without a word, Jonah stomped across the room and disappeared up the stairs.

Lyra continued to snigger a few minutes more, but sobered eventually. She must have really ticked him off. She was halfway across the room to go find him when he returned. His face was void of all expression and he carried two water bottles. He handed her one. They watched each other warily. Lyra unscrewed the cap and sipped the water.

She struggled to keep a straight face. "I'm sorry, Jonah." She choked down a bubble of laughter, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward uncontrollably. "It's just I don't know too many—actually, I don't know any—guys who like Phantom of the Opera." He puffed up and she hurried on, "But there's absolutely nothing wrong with it. I personally love it. It was just...the look on your face..." Lyra snickered. She saw Jonah's jaw clench and smothered her mirth. "I'm sorry, really."

His looked down at her haughtily. "I only have that CD because of you."

That took Lyra by surprise. "What?"

Instead of answering, Jonah strode back over to the couch and sat down, propping his feet up. Lyra followed him. She racked her brain, but she could not recall the subject ever coming up between them. Yes, she secretly compared him to the Phantom, but had never voiced her ridiculous romantic fantasy to anyone. She sat down close beside him and took another sip of water.

Jonah had the remote in his hand again. He pressed a button and the stereo lit up once more. He punched a couple more buttons and _Music of the Night_ began to play. Jonah's hand dropped to his lap and he laid his head against the back of the couch closing his eyes. They listened to the song play in its entirety. When it was done Jonah lifted his head, stopped the CD, and turned to look at her.

"You heard me play that?"

He nodded.

"And you liked the song?"

Again, he nodded. "The first time was the night we met in the woods. I didn't like the idea of you walking home alone in the dark. I waited for you and followed you home to make sure you were safe. When you went in, the house was completely dark. I knew your parents weren't home so I just hung around for a while outside. When I saw your bedroom light come on, I decided to leave. But then I heard you begin that song. It was very different from the other music you usually played; it grabbed my attention. I returned and stood under your window. It was as though you were dragging your bow across my heart. The melody was heartbreaking, the lyrics mesmerizing. When you finished, I wanted to knock on your door and beg you to play it again. I went back every night to hear you play it again."

He had stood outside in the dark and cold, night after night, to listen to her play. "Oh, Jonah."

He cleared his throat, chanced a quick glance up at her and continued, "Once I figured out what the song was, I was curious to hear the whole soundtrack...so I bought it."

He paused, sipped his water. "I prefer to hear you play it though. In fact, I'd really rather watch you, but your window's too high. You don't know how tempted I've been to climb a tree." He laughed.

Lyra's gaze turned suspicious.

"I haven't, though, I promise."

Lyra breathed in, relieved. She twirled her water bottle debating whether she should tell him that he was the inspiration for her performance. "Since you told me one of your secrets, I'll tell you one of mine. I assume you've seen the movie version by now?"

"Yes," he admitted with a sour look. "I think I would have felt less conspicuous buying ladies' underwear than I did checking it out at the movie rental store."

Lyra laughed imagining him doing just that. "Well, you sort of remind me of him—the Phantom, I mean."

Jonah raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Well, you show up at school—this tall, dark, brooding stranger. You won't talk to anyone; you don't want to make friends; you don't want to get involved. It was like you had turned your back on the world. Yet, I felt this secret yearning in you, a buried pain, a desperate loneliness. You were my own personal phantom—an enigma. And I couldn't just leave you alone, even when you made it crystal clear you wished I would."

Her expression became derisive thinking she must have seemed like a pathetic love-sick puppy—she probably still did. But what could she do about it? Absolutely nothing. She'd jumped off the cliff and now it was either sink or swim.

"I'm glad you didn't give up. It's a mistake for us to be together. I don't deserve someone as good as you, but I can't leave you alone either, even when it's crystal clear to me that I _should_."

"Why do you say things like that? Why can't you see that you are as good as anybody else, better even than most? Whoever told you that you weren't told you a lie."

Jonah didn't argue. He looked at her as if wanting to believe her words, but not quite managing it.

~~***~~

They made their way back upstairs a short while later. Jethro had moved to the couch and Harry was sprawled out beside him getting his ears scratched. Lyra laughed at the sight. Harry lifted his head at the sound of her voice then laid it back down closing his eyes lazily.

"Jet, you are spoiling my dog. And he shouldn't be up there. What if his nails puncture the leather?"

Jet smiled benignly. "Oh, he's fine. He can't hurt anything."

Lyra folded herself into the armchair he'd been in earlier; Jonah took the other.

Jet looked at her expectantly.

Lyra knew what he was waiting for. "It is totally amazing. I loved it. I could have lain there all night."

Jet smiled delightedly, his chest swelling with pride.

Jonah tutted and rolled his eyes.

Jet ignored him. "Would you like some hot chocolate, Lyra, or a latte? I just got a fantastic cappuccino maker. In the city, there was a coffee shop on every corner, but I'm telling you, I could give Starbucks a run for its money now."

"Sure. That sounds great."

Jethro gave Harry's head one more pat and got to his feet. Lyra and Jonah followed him to the kitchen. Jet pulled an industrial looking black and silver machine from the corner of the counter and began pulling things out of the cabinet overhead. Jonah retrieved the milk from the fridge and within minutes they had steaming, frothing cups of delicious mocha cappuccinos.

They took their drinks back to the living room sipped them in front of the fire. Jonah got up occasionally to throw on a log or poke at the coals. Jazz played softly in the background. Lyra felt completely at home. She silently but fervently thanked her mother for arranging this.

Jonah drove her home around ten o'clock. The porch light was on, as was the one that lit stairway, which Lyra could see through the window. Her parents were home.

Jonah walked Lyra to the door. She unlocked it, let Harry in, and turned back to Jonah. His eyes were serious as he watched her. "Thank you for letting me come over to your house. I had a wonderful time."

"You're welcome. I had a good time too."

"Can I see you tomorrow?" she asked, hoping she wasn't pressing her luck.

"Don't you have things to do?"

"Nothing that will take all day. Sundays are pretty laid back around our house. Sometimes we go to church, but I doubt we go tomorrow since my parents went out tonight."

Jonah eyed her curiously. "What church do you go to?"

"Christian Covenant. It's nondenominational. Do you want to go?"

"Um, no, thank you." There was the slightest hint of sarcasm in Jonah's tone.

"Do you ever go?"

"I haven't been to church in years," he answered in a hard voice.

Lyra sensed she'd touched upon a sore subject. She didn't want the evening to end on a bad note so she moved on. "Okay. Well, like I said, we probably won't go tomorrow anyway. Do you want to go for a hike? We could take the trails that circle the town and Mirror Lake, or we could go ice skating. Have you been to the Olympic rink yet?"

His expression had softened while she had been talking. He was evidently relieved she didn't push the church issue. "No, I haven't, but the hike sounds better to me. Do you want to start around eleven?"

"Perfect. We can get to the trail from the one that runs behind our backyards. I'll meet you down there at eleven." Lyra was happier than she ever remembered being. She'd had a fantastic evening with him _and_ she was going to see him tomorrow. Could life get any better?

Yes, if he kissed her again.

But he didn't. "Fine. I'll see you then." And though that sadness behind his eyes never seemed to disappear completely, he smiled down at her, wished her sweet dreams, and turned to leave.

Lyra let herself in the house, flipped off the porch light and headed upstairs. When she got to the second floor landing, her parents' bedroom door opened. Her mom poked her head out. "Oh good, sweetie, you're home. Did you have a nice time?"

Lyra's smile was so wide she wondered her face didn't break. She kissed her mom and hugged her tight. "I had a great time! Thanks so much, Mom."

Olivia laughed and returned her embrace. "You're welcome. I want to hear all about it tomorrow. See you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you too."

Lyra lay awake for a long time afterward going over everything that had happened. She thought that Jethro Carsen liked her. As she was leaving, he had gotten up and, taking her hands in his, urged her, "Come back very soon, Lyra. And bring Harry here. We're old pals now." She had promised she would.

Jonah was still an enigma. Though she had learned several things about him, she felt she had not even skimmed the surface. She'd have to look up some information on that Mensa group—and brush up on her astronomy. Then she thought about him listening to her play her cello from outside. It was getting too cold for him to be standing around out there at night. Surely he would agree to come over to hear her if she invited him.

She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow. _What about that kiss?_ She got goose bumps just remembering it. Jonah was so beautiful. He had the face of an angel. He seemed perfect to her in every way. If he liked her even a tenth as much as she liked him, she would be happy. She had told him she loved him. Cold fear trickled down her spine. She hoped that hadn't been a mistake. She just really thought he needed to hear it, though. She wondered if anyone had ever told him. Jet obviously loved him. He looked at Jonah like a proud papa. Jonah had to see that he was loved by Jet. The comment Jonah had made about his own father that day on the mountain, though, made her wonder if his parents had been cruel to him. It would certainly explain a lot. Lyra couldn't imagine her parents being deliberately mean or abusive to her. She was fortunate indeed to be the daughter of Gordon and Olivia Grant.

Lyra hoped one day Jonah would open up to her completely. She sighed and closed her eyes. Everything would work out. She had to have faith that it would.

~~***~~

Jonah lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He knew sleep would elude him for hours, if not all night. He thought back over the evening with Lyra. She was like no one he'd ever known. She totally put herself out there. She wasn't afraid to say what she thought or felt, even when she was likely to get hurt.

She'd said she loved him. Thinking of holding her while she whispered those words in his ear had his heart pounding all over again. He'd like to brush it off as ridiculous. The girl knew nothing about him. She'd never even seen him until a couple months ago. But Jonah had never met anyone more tenderhearted that Lyra. He didn't doubt she cared for him. She would care for a rabid dog abandoned and starving. The only problem was when that dog bit her, as it surely would.

He should be worried—and part of him was. What would happen to her? What would come of this relationship? He shouldn't be happy. But he was.

Jonah turned over, smiling into his pillow. Damned if he didn't have that warm fuzzy feeling inside. Maybe... _maybe_ ...things would work out.

Chapter XII.

The next morning over breakfast Lyra filled her parents in on the events of the night before—with edits. They seemed genuinely impressed when she described Jonah's basement room. They were even more astounded when she told them he belonged to Mensa and asked if they'd ever heard of it.

"That is a very elite group," her father remarked. "Do you realize his IQ is like in the top five percentile of the world's population?"

"Top two, actually," Lyra grinned.

"It looks like Jonah has a bright future ahead of him. His uncle seems to be directing him well," her mother observed.

Lyra was happy they seemed to think well of Jonah. She told them of hers and Jonah's plans to hike that day and they had no objections. Lyra wasn't sure how good the views would be because the day had dawned cold and foggy and at eleven when she and Harry walked down to meet Jonah, the clouds remained low and mist still swirled along the ground.

Jonah was waiting for her at the trail marker. Miniscule beads of condensation clung to his hair and clothing.

"Hi." She ducked her head as she stopped in front of him, shy after last night's kiss and her confession.

"Hi."

That simple word warmed her all over. Lyra recalled something from a book, _The Mozart Effect,_ she'd once read. Its premise was that music, and all sound really, is vibrations. Some of these vibrations resonate within us and create certain emotions and moods; they can even heal us or make us ill. The author contrasted listening to the music of Mozart with standing in front of a high-powered machine. But what Lyra specifically remembered was an idea that there is a particular frequency that sounds just right to each individual. Lyra thought the timbre of Jonah's voice was her healing tone; she felt better every time she heard it.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Mmm hmm. You?"

"Pretty well."

"Which direction should we go?"

"Let's head east," Lyra suggested. "If the weather doesn't cooperate I know a short-cut to get us back here more quickly."

"Okay. You lead then."

They walked for half an hour or so without talking much. The moisture on the ground required that they pay attention to where they stepped. Lyra had brought her walking stick, and was glad she had; it helped to steady her when her feet slipped on the wet rocks.

When the ground leveled out and the trail widened, Lyra stepped to the side and slowed so that Jonah could walk beside her.

"Jonah?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

No response.

Lyra glanced over at him.

"Yeah. You can ask."

"How do you talk to people in their heads?"

He remained silent for several moments.

"I don't know how, but I've always been able to do it. When I was very young, if I was in pain and called to my mother—mentally, you know—she would come to me. For a long time she thought I'd _verbally_ called her. It took a long time before she realized I wasn't actually speaking.

"Sometimes it would get me in trouble. If I got angry at my father, and didn't control my thoughts, he would hear them." His voice took on an edge. "I learned to control it early on."

They walked a few more paces before she asked her next question. "And animals, you can talk to them?"

"Animals don't understand speech, so it's different with them. I can send a direct thought, like..." _You smell good._

Lyra smiled widely. "Thanks."

Jonah smiled back down at her, "Or I can subtly plant an idea so that the person thinks they thought of it themselves. I can project an image or even just an emotion. When I need to communicate with an animal I concentrate on a feeling, such as calming it down, to let it know I won't harm it. Or, like with the bear that day, I projected the image in her mind of me going over the cliff, bringing back her cub, and delivering it to her."

"That's pretty cool."

Jonah's mouth curved upward as though recalling a secret joke. "It can be."

"What? What are you thinking?"

"Oh, nothing." He laughed.

"C'mon. Tell me," Lyra pleaded.

"You might get mad at me."

"I doubt it."

"Well, I do my best not to force my thoughts or feelings on someone else except when absolutely necessary, but sometimes I am tempted. And occasionally I give in. It has helped me get my way a time or two." He looked sheepishly over at her, gauging her reaction.

Lyra laughed, but then a thought came to her and she stopped. "Have you ever done it to me?"

Jonah definitely looked disconcerted now. He didn't meet her eye.

Lyra came to a halt and flung her arm out to stop him too. "Have you?" She wasn't angry, but she wanted to know.

Jonah sighed. "Not directly."

"What does that mean?"

"I did it recently for something that _involved_ you, but I didn't do it _to_ you."

Lyra waited.

"I sort of gave Ms. Hammons and Mr. Thompson the idea that it would be better if you sat in front of me in their classes." His expression was contrite, but Lyra could see the laughter in his eyes.

"I knew it! I knew something fishy was going on! It was too coincidental for them both to change our seats around on the same day." Lyra tried to get angry, but she only managed exasperation. "Why did you do that? I _liked_ sitting behind you."

Jonah smirked. "Well, _I_ like sitting behind _you._ "

"You know how unfair that is," Lyra pouted.

"That's why I don't do it often," he chuckled. "But that was one time I couldn't resist."

"Why?"

His smile faded and his voice turned serious. "We weren't friends yet. But, I fantasized that we were. I liked watching the light in your hair, seeing you walk into and out of class and your profile when you turned your head. Sometimes I would imagine you turning around in your desk to talk to me—like you do now." He paused and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And your hair smells good." He looked embarrassed having made that revelation.

At Jonah's words, Lyra had begun to feel a warmth in her stomach spreading out inside her. It worked its way up and turned her cheeks pink. She turned and started walking again. "You're forgiven."

"Thanks."

"So can anyone else in your family communicate telepathically?"

"No."

"Can you hear other peoples' thoughts? Read their minds?"

He hesitated. "No...but I am pretty good at gauging emotions. I can tell if someone is really scared or angry or happy. It's like they send out a pulse that I can feel or sense."

"And what about your strength? It's like you are superhuman."

Jonah frowned and his tone turned sour. "Yeah, well, my dad used to have a theory about that."

Lyra decided she didn't want to know what his father's theory was. She transferred her stick to her left hand and reached for his, entwining their fingers loosely. "You are the most fascinating person I've ever met and I feel blessed to know you."

Jonah relaxed and he gave her a small smile.

Lyra didn't press for any more information. Instead, they talked a little about school and Lyra told him funny stories about her friends hoping he might feel more comfortable around them.

Although it never actually rained on them, the mist was so heavy, they were soaked by the time they made it back to Lyra's.

"Will you come inside? Let's get something to drink, warm up, and maybe watch some TV."

Jonah looked unsure. "I don't know."

"Tired of me? I have been running my mouth a lot."

"Oh, all right."

"Don't let me twist your arm or anything."

He grinned. "I want hot chocolate, though—with marshmallows—none of those fancy lattes or mocha cappuccinos for me."

He took her breath away when he smiled like that. "You got it."

After shedding their muddy boots and jackets, and towel-drying their hair, Lyra and Jonah padded into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate. Jonah leaned against the counter and watched Lyra work: pot, milk, cocoa, cups, marshmallows.

In no time at all, they were sitting side-by-side on the couch in the den, their cold fingers slowly unthawing with the warmth of their mugs. Lyra flicked on the television then handed the remote to Jonah. "We can watch whatever you want."

Jonah skimmed through the channels, pausing occasionally to watch a minute of wrestling, a cooking show, old South Park and _The X-Files_ episodes. Finally he settled on an old Elvis movie.

What Lyra liked best about being with Jonah, besides the thrill...that electric current that seemed to run between them...was that talking wasn't always necessary. Neither felt the compunction to fill every space with words. It was enough to just be together. The hair on his forearm tickled hers when he shifted. Their shoulders, hips, and thighs touched and exchanged warmth. Lyra sighed contentedly. Jonah looked down at her; she smiled up at him.

"Do you believe in the supernatural, Lyra?"

The question caught Lyra off guard. "Um, well, I suppose so. What exactly do you mean—hauntings, ghosts, alien sightings?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Do you think all that stuff is just a hoax?"

"Hmm. I don't know. I've never had a paranormal encounter myself, but I think many sincere people are convinced that they have. I think it's narrow-minded for people to believe extraordinary things, or miracles, are not possible just because they've never experienced them. Even though we can't explain something _at the present time_ doesn't mean it's not real. I mean, we didn't know other galaxies existed until a powerful enough telescope was invented. Maybe we just don't have the tools to interpret what we now consider paranormal. And what you do...you know communicating without speaking...that's supernatural."

Jonah scanned her face. "If you go to church then you believe in angels, right?"

"Yes."

Jonah paused again, as if debating whether to ask his next question. "What about demons? Do you believe in them?"

Lyra got the feeling that there was more to this conversation than just mere curiosity. "Yes. The Bible says some of God's angels rebelled and they became demons."

Jonah searched her face for another long moment, then turned back to the movie, evidently finished with his inquiry.

"Why?"

Jonah just shrugged and kept his eyes on the television.

"Do _you_ believe in them?"

"Yes."

"Has anything weird ever happened to you?"

"Yes." His tone was mildly ironic.

Lyra waited—in vain. "So, are you going to tell me about it?"

"Maybe some other time." Jonah got to his feet. "I better go."

Just then, Lyra's mom entered. "Did I hear you say you were leaving, Jonah? I was coming to ask if you wanted to stay for pizza. I am about to order a couple."

"Oh, yes, please stay Jonah." Lyra begged. "I was going to see if you could help me a bit with math before you left. I'm having some trouble with those logarithmic functions."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Lyra smiled back innocently.

"Okay, I'll stay. Thank you, Mrs. Grant."

"Great. What kind of pizza do you like?" Olivia asked.

"I'm not picky. Whatever you all usually get will be fine with me."

"Lyra, you want supreme without the sausage?"

"Yes, thanks, Mom."

Left alone again, Jonah said quietly, "You don't really need help with algebra, do you?"

Lyra grinned, unapologetic. "No, but you can hear me play much better from inside the house."

~~***~~

Over pizza, her father quizzed Jonah. "Lyra tells us you are quite artistic, Jonah."

Jonah shot Lyra an inscrutable look. "No sir, not really. I painted our basement, but that was more due to an interest in astronomy than in artistic ability."

"Ah, I see. Do you have a telescope?"

"A small one, yes sir, but Jet and I pay to use a high-powered scope at an observatory in New Mexico. I can star gaze over the internet."

"Yes, I've heard about that—quite ingenious. Is that something you plan to make a career of?"

"I've been thinking about it, or maybe physics. I'm taking an on-line calculus course through NYU that is really fascinating. I'm sure I will go into one of the sciences."

Gordon and Olivia exchanged a look.

_Calculus_ , thought Lyra, _fascinating?_

"And do you plan to attend New York State?" her father continued.

"I'm not sure. Jet would like me to go Ivy League, but I'll need a scholarship or it will be out of my reach financially."

Gordon nodded. "Well, it sounds like you're on the right track, son."

When they'd all had their fill of pizza, Lyra stood up from the table. "Jonah and I are going up to my room to study."

"Why don't you study in the den, honey," her mom suggested.

"Well, Jonah wanted to hear me play and I don't want to drag my cello all the way down here."

A crease formed Olivia's forehead. "Oh, okay."

She and Jonah turned toward the stairs.

She had one foot on the lowest step when her mother's voice stopped her. "Keep your door open, Lyra."

Lyra smiled. "Sure, mom, no problem." Her parents were old fashioned, but at least they cared. She winked at Jonah and whispered, "Darn. Guess we'll have to behave ourselves."

Jonah walked around her room looking at the pictures on the walls, ribbons and trophies she'd won growing up, her collection of blown-glass figurines, and the books on her shelves—meager compared to his.

He stood for a while at her window. He opened the sill and stuck his head out. He looked down. "Hey, you've got a ladder...you can climb out onto the porch roof."

"Yeah. My fire escape."

"Can you get all the way to the ground?"

"No point climbing out to escape a fire, then breaking my neck jumping from twelve feet up," Lyra joked. "Yes, it picks back up on the left side of the lower roof."

"That's cool." After staring out a minute more, he pulled his head back in and shut the window. "Do you ever climb out there just for the fun of it?"

"Yeah. When the weather is nice, I like lying out there. I listen to the loons and coyotes, and I look up at the...Hey, you could bring your telescope over here. That would be so cool!"

He was smiling broadly. "That's what I was just thinking. It's a perfect platform and you don't have any outside lights to black out. It would be perfect."

"Why don't you go get it?"

"Nah, there's no visibility tonight with all the cloud coverage."

"Oh, that's right."

"Plus, I want to hear you play."

"Oh yeah."

Lyra pulled out her desk chair and took her cello from its case. She sat down, turned on her tuner, and drew her bow across each string, making minor adjustments to the keys. Then she spent a few more minutes warming up. Jonah watched with avid interest from her bed.

At first she was nervous. The only people she ever played for were her parents and Barty. But she'd been playing too many years for the jitters to last. She played _Music of the Night_ with the CD. Lyra didn't look at him while she played because she knew it might distract her into losing her place, but when she'd finished, she lifted her head to see his reaction.

Jonah smiled, his expression serene. "That was magnificent."

"Thank you."

After a moment he asked, "What do you have to play for your audition Saturday?"

At the mention of the audition, a dozen butterflies took flight in Lyra's stomach. "A couple of technical etudes and _Spring_ by Vivaldi _._ "

"Oh, I love the _Four Seasons_."

Lyra was surprised. Not many kids her age had ever heard of it.

"Have you ever heard _The Planets_ by Gustav Holst?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"It's fantastic. It's in eight movements— Mars, Venus, Mercury, Jupiter, and so on. Next time you come over, we can listen to it down in the basement. I haven't done that yet since I finished the room; it'll be awesome."

Lyra's brain was still stuck on the phrase _next time you come over_. A little thrill of anticipation went through her.

He insisted she work on the pieces for her audition, and though that meant him hearing many wrong notes, false starts, and growls of frustration, Lyra practiced; she knew she needed to.

After about forty minutes, she put it away for the night.

"I'd really better get home now."

"Okay, I'll walk you half way," Lyra offered.

"No you won't. You shouldn't be walking around in the woods at night."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I'll be on my own property."

"You think criminals never trespass to commit their crimes?"

They'd reached the stairs and Lyra, not wanting to argue, changed the subject. "Thanks for hanging out with me today. I had a lot of fun."

"Yeah, me too."

Gordon and Olivia were in the living room. Gordon offered to drive Jonah home, but he declined the offer.

"Double standards," Lyra grumbled under her breath as she walked him to the door.

"Superhuman strength, remember?" Jonah muttered back, looking at her pointedly.

"Right."

He flashed her a grin. "See you tomorrow."

Chapter XIII.

"So what did you do this weekend?" Aimee asked as they walked to first period English together.

"Saturday Gina and Jonah came over and we worked on our Government project."

Aimee groaned. "Oh yeah, I still need to write my paper. What a pain! Okay, so what else?"

"I went over to Jonah's house for dinner Saturday night."

Aimee's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "What? Oh my gosh, are you two dating now? I _knew_ you liked him."

Heads turned as they entered the classroom. When Aimee got excited her voice tended to carry. Lyra ducked her head and made a bee-line for her seat. Unfortunately, Aimee sat right across the aisle.

"So, are you?" she asked in a stage whisper.

"I don't know." Lyra whispered back, shifting uncomfortably. She wasn't sure how to define their relationship. He'd kissed her, yes, but he'd never actually asked her out. Every time they'd seen each other outside of school, she'd done the asking—except for dinner Saturday night, when her mom had arranged it for her. Ugh.

"Are you going to the dance with him?"

Lyra grew even more agitated. There again, she'd asked him. "I think so."

"What do you mean, you think so?"

Lyra glared at Aimee. Her curiosity was rabid.

"Come on, Lyra. You've never had a boyfriend in your life. Now you're seeing _Jonah Forrester_ , a complete stranger. What do you expect?"

Lyra sighed. "Well, as far as the dance goes, _I_ asked _him_. He doesn't want to go, but I think I...um...talked him into it. And Saturday, well, his uncle invited me and my parents over. Mom and Dad already had plans so I just went over alone." Lyra frowned and examined her nails. Now that she thought about it, Jonah had not initiated even so much as a phone call with her. "I would have to say no, we are not dating."

Lyra had told herself she was helping Jonah come out of his shell, that she'd even felt sorry for him. But were her motives, in truth, selfish? Had she been pushing herself on him?

The bell rang and Mrs. Garza called the class to order. Aimee didn't have a chance to interrogate Lyra any further, but Lyra continued to question herself.

By the time Lyra got to Algebra, she was miserable. Had Jonah just been being nice to her? Maybe her infatuation had been so obvious _he_ had felt sorry for _her_. She cringed inwardly thinking about how she'd told him she loved him. In the bright light of day, at school where everything and everyone so ordinary and normal, her declaration seemed ridiculous in the extreme (even if it was true). Yeah, he kissed her. So what? Didn't guys do that all the time—to whatever girl happened to be around? She'd seen Trevor make out with one girl at a party over a weekend, then be back to holding hands with Lisa on Monday. A wave of guilt washed through her; she had no reason to think Jonah was like that.

In her peripheral vision Lyra saw Jonah enter the classroom. She kept her head down afraid of what she would see in his eyes. His steps slowed ever so slightly as he approached her, but Lyra didn't look up. He walked past and took his seat behind her.

As soon as the bell rang at the end of class, Lyra bolted. She was half-way to the cafeteria when she felt his hand grab her shoulder from behind.

"Lyra, stop."

She stopped and turned around, but kept her eyes on her tennis shoes.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

Jonah put his forefinger under her chin and lifted. She met his eyes, which were concerned.

"What's wrong?" he repeated.

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed and he studied her for a minute. "Okay," he drawled. "Are you going to eat lunch with me today?"

Not 'will you eat lunch with me?' Lyra noticed, but _are you going to?_ "Do you want me to?"

"Do _you_ want to?"

One side of Lyra's mouth lifted in a reluctant smile; this could go on forever. "I _would_ like to eat lunch with you, but _only_ if you _want_ me to."

Jonah's expression cleared and turned humorous too. "Well, I want you to, but only if you want to."

They both laughed. "Now that's settled, let's get in there before all the food's gone." Jonah tugged her sleeve pulling her toward the cafeteria.

When they'd gotten their food and were sitting across from each other, Jonah asked, "What was all that about anyway?"

Lyra shrugged. She didn't want to sound childish or insecure.

"What happened during the time I left your house last night until this morning?" Then he went completely still and his voice had an edge to it. "You changed your mind about me after this weekend." It wasn't a question.

Lyra's fork clattered onto her tray. "No. _No,_ _Jonah_. I was just being stupid. Aimee was asking me about you, about us, and I didn't know what to tell her. It made me start thinking about how _you_ never ask _me_ to come over, or sit with you, or go hiking, or whatever, and that maybe you wished I'd just leave you the heck alone."

He looked at her incredulously. "After everything that happened this weekend, after everything I told you, you could think that?"

Lyra blushed, picked her fork back up, and began toying with her baked potato.

"Was Aimee asking if you and I were going out?"

"Yeah," Lyra mumbled, her pink cheeks turning red.

"And you said...?"

"I said no."

"What about the dance?"

Lyra eyes shot up to his. "You don't want to go."

"Yes I do."

"No you don't. I asked you, you said no, and then I bullied you into it—sort of."

Jonah laughed. "You think too much of yourself, Lyra, if you think you can bully me into doing anything I don't want to do."

Lyra eyed him skeptically. "So, now you're saying you _do_ want to go?"

Jonah put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. "I'm saying that I want to be wherever you are this Saturday night. If that's back here at the dance, that's where I'll be. If you'd rather go to the movies, or ice skating, or out to dinner...if you want to hunt grizzlies in the woods...that's where I'll be."

Lyra swallowed with difficulty; her mouth had gone dry. "We don't have grizzlies here."

Jonah smiled and leaned back. "Well, we can just mark that one off the list then, can't we?"

~~***~~

Lyra had practice that afternoon so she drove straight to Barty's house after school.

"I'm not supposed to help you with your audition material," Barty told her as she pulled out her music books.

Lyra looked up at him disappointed.

"But, there's no harm in listening to you play through it and offering a bit of advice—one professional to another." He smiled slyly.

Lyra chuckled, relieved. "I'm glad you think so because I need some _professional advice_ about the allegro section in _Spring_."

The rest of the week passed quickly. Lyra was consumed with thoughts and fears of the audition. Before she was ready for it to be here, it was Friday night. Her parents were meeting friends at the club for dinner so she had the house to herself. After a quick walk with Harry and a grilled ham and cheese, Lyra started practicing.

She was having the most trouble with the second technical exercise. She played it perfectly with her metronome set on 85 beats per minute, but the piece was supposed to be played at around 90. She sighed. Better to play it slow and well, than fast but sloppy.

She took a break around seven o'clock and soaked for a while in the tub. Slowly the hot water worked its magic and her muscles began to relax. When the water cooled she got out and dressed in a red jersey pajama set.

She walked back into the bedroom combing her hair and saw a face at her window. She screamed. Harry, who had been dozing on his pillow, jumped up and began barking furiously. Before the scream died in Lyra's throat she realized it was Jonah. She closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart, which was racing ninety to nothing.

Jonah lifted the sill. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

Harry, now barking in enthusiasm to see Jonah, ran over and began licking his face.

Lyra walked over, pushed Harry out of the way, and lifted the sill higher. She would be forever grateful that she'd dressed in the bathroom.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Jonah lithely climbed through the window and shut it behind him. It was near freezing outside. He turned around and looked her over from head to toe. A smile worked at his lips.

"You look adorable."

Lyra blushed with embarrassment and pleasure. "What are you doing here? And why did you climb up to my window? I would have heard the doorbell."

Jonah shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto her bed. "Well, it didn't look like your parents were home and I hated to make you go all the way downstairs just to answer the door." He grinned. "Plus, it was fun."

Jonah sat down on the floor and was nearly bowled over by Harry. They wrestled around playfully. Lyra joined them on the floor, her back against the side of her bed. It was strange having him there, but wonderful. After a few minutes Harry quieted and stretched out beside them.

Jonah met Lyra's gaze. "Do you mind that I came over?"

"No! I'm just surprised. I'm glad you're here."

"I thought you might be nervous tonight and maybe want some company."

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. "You were right—on both counts. I've been practicing, but I can't anymore."

"Are you ready?"

Lyra groaned. "I think so...I don't know." She buried her face in her hands.

Jonah chuckled and scooted back until he was resting against the bed beside her. He patted her knee. "You'll do great. You play as well as any professional I've ever heard. You're going to blow them away."

"Thanks. I don't know about blowing anybody away, but I appreciate the vote of confidence."

Jonah looked slightly offended. "I'm not just flattering you. It's true. You are very good."

"Thanks," she said shyly.

"What time is the audition?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Where is it?"

"At my instructor's house—in his studio."

"Are your parents going?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think so. I didn't even think to ask them." Lyra bit her lip wondering if she should. Barty hadn't said anything about bringing them.

Jonah reached over and took her hand in his. He laced their fingers together. Lyra looked up and he was smiling down at her.

"It's going to be fine."

Lyra's heart melted. "I know. Thank you."

Sitting there on the floor holding his hand warmed her more than soaking in hot water for an hour. It also made her pulse jump. She looked down at their entwined fingers. His were long and the nails neatly trimmed. With her free hand, she ran her fingers over the curling black hairs above his wrist which were visible below the hem line of his shirt. His arm jerked. She glanced up at his face.

He was watching her. "Sorry. That tickled," Jonah said gruffly.

After a few moments, he asked, "What time do you want to go to the dance?"

"Are you sure you want to go?" Lyra asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," he replied in a patient tone. "It starts at eight. Do you want to get there then?"

"No. Why don't you pick me up at eight? Mom will want you to come in and she'll have to take a picture of us."

Lyra saw Jonah's grimace. "Sorry, but I know that's what she'll want to do. Then we can go to the dance. We don't want to be the first ones there."

Jonah nodded wondering what would be worse, enduring the picture-taking or everyone's stares when they showed up at the dance. He was sure he would be required to dance at the dance, and that would definitely be worse.

"Are all your friends going?" he inquired.

"Yes. Aimee and Connor, Trevor and Lisa, and Katie invited a guy she knows from Saranac Lake, Jonathan."

"Hmm. Should I just wear blue jeans, or what?"

Lyra realized he'd probably never been to a school dance in his life. "Yeah. Whatever you want."

After a minute she asked, "Did you tell your uncle?"

Jonah grimaced again. "Yes, and believe me, he's happy as can be. You'd think _he_ was going."

Lyra worked up her nerve. "Is this your first dance?"

Jonah's expression turned wry. He looked sideways at her. "This dance will be my first after school, extracurricular activity ever."

Lyra stared at him in disbelief. "What, you've never been to a hockey game, band concert...?"

Jonah was shaking his head.

"...track meet, club meeting?"

"Nope." He chuckled at the look of horror on her face. "I've always been a non-joiner."

It was Lyra's turn to shake her head. "You've gone through ten years of school with no friends and without being involved in _anythin_ g? You must have been miserable."

Jonah's brow furrowed. "Pretty much."

Lyra nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, stick with me and you'll start having some fun."

His forehead smoothed out and one corner of his mouth lifted.

"Do you want something to drink?" Lyra asked. "Do you want to go downstairs and watch TV?"

"No. I'm not going to stay long. Jet doesn't know I left." He grinned and raised his eyebrows. " _I snuck out._ "

Lyra laughed at him. "Ooh, you are so bad."

"It's not _really_ sneaking out, I guess. I was in the basement and left by the outside stairway. I just didn't tell Jet I was leaving. I'll probably get back and he'll not even know I was gone. But telling myself I snuck out _and_ climbing up to your bedroom window makes me feel like a rebel."

Lyra laughed again. "I won't start worrying 'til I see you ride to school on a motorcycle or catch you smoking behind the gym."

"Yeah, okay."

They talked for about half an hour more and Jonah rose to leave. Lyra got to her feet too.

"I know you're going to make it tomorrow, but will you call me when you get done anyway?" Jonah asked.

"Sure," Lyra said, her forehead wrinkling. For a while, talking to Jonah, she had forgotten about the audition. Her stomach tightened. She hoped she'd be able to sleep tonight.

"Take a deep breath," Jonah instructed.

Lyra looked up at him dubiously.

"Just do it."

Lyra breathed in deeply, her eyes on his. When her chest was full, he said, "Now release it through your mouth and count to yourself—slowly."

Lyra did. She made it to seven before her lungs were empty.

"Now do the same thing again: deep breath through the nose..."

Lyra inhaled.

"...and exhale through the mouth, counting," Jonah finished. "Now, put your hand on your stomach, and when you breathe in, make sure your stomach expands—you want to breathe from your diaphragm."

Lyra repeated the exercise a couple more times.

Jonah smiled, satisfied. "That's good. When you start feeling anxious go back to the deep breathing. And if you want, instead of counting, you can repeat a mantra like, 'I have nothing to fear,' or 'I am calm and relaxed,' or whatever phrase works for you."

"Where'd you learn that?" Lyra wanted to know. "It's cool. I think it started working already."

Jonah shrugged. "It's just a basic meditation/martial arts technique. It will help you stay calm and focused."

"Did you learn that from a book?"

Jonah chuckled. "No, though I suppose you could. No, I took martial arts classes at a studio when Jet and I lived in New York."

"Like karate?"

"Mmm, well, the master I learned from had studied many methods and incorporated them all: karate—of which there are many schools of thought, Tai Kwon Do, Tai Chi, Kung Fu..."

"So, are you like a black belt?" Lyra asked, half joking.

Jonah was silent. He dropped his gaze and turned away from her.

"Are you?" Lyra persisted, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'm a second degree black belt," Jonah admitted reluctantly.

"Second degree black belt? Is that even higher up than a regular ole' black belt?"

Jonah nodded, his expression was sheepish. "I had a lot of free time; I practiced a lot."

Lyra stared at him in wonder. Now she understood how he'd gotten so muscular, yet stayed lean.

Jonah laughed. "Remember the breathing. It really will help." He put on his jacket and turned to the window.

"You don't have to go back out that way," Lyra said.

Jonah grinned. "That's okay. Like I said before, it's more fun."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Okay, Tarzan."

He lifted the sill and stuck a leg out. The cold air blew into the room raising goose bumps on Lyra's arms. Jonah climbed onto the ladder so that only his head and shoulders were visible, as when she'd first seen him.

"Call me tomorrow when you're done."

"I will. And thanks for coming over tonight."

"You're welcome. Bye," he said, and dropped out of sight.

Lyra was shivering, but she poked her head out and watched him make his way down until she lost sight of him in the darkness. She withdrew her head and shut the window.

Chapter XIV.

When she woke the next morning, she was surprised that she had slept so well. She had thought for sure she would toss and turn all night. Once she heard her parents stirring below and knew they were up, she began practicing.

After about an hour, her mom knocked on her door. "Lyra, I've made you some breakfast. Will you come eat?"

"Yeah, thanks, mom." Actually, Lyra felt a little queasy with nerves, but maybe putting something in her stomach would settle it.

Her dad was waiting for them at the table with waffles, hash browns, and bacon. It smelled wonderful and Lyra's stomach growled in response. She ate a little bit of everything.

"Do you know who is on the panel you'll be playing for?" her father asked her.

"No," Lyra answered, finishing her orange juice.

"Do you know how many members of the Board you'll be auditioning for?" he continued.

"No."

"Lyra," Olivia began, "I wondered if you would like me to go with you?"

Lyra chewed her lip. She wasn't sure how to say this without hurting her mom's feelings. "I would love for you to be there with me, mom, but how would that look? I mean, I'm auditioning for a professional orchestra—wouldn't I appear more grown up if I went by myself?" Her eyes pleaded for her mother to understand.

"Well, honey, everyone there knows you're only sixteen; Masters will have told them. If they thought you were too young, you wouldn't even be auditioning for them. Whether or not you get it is going to depend on your performance, not your age."

Lyra considered. "That's true. I hadn't thought of that...It _would_ kind of be nice having you there."

Olivia clasped her hands together. "I'd really like to come. And," she continued excitedly, "I was thinking that when you are through, we could celebrate by going shopping for a new outfit to wear to the dance tonight."

Lyra laughed. "How do you know we'll have something to celebrate? I may be coming home to cry in my pillow all afternoon."

Her parents were both shaking their heads. "I doubt it," they said in unison, causing them all to laugh.

Lyra looked at her watch. It was nine o'clock. "Okay. I'm going to go finish getting ready. I want to get there early. Will you be ready by nine-thirty, mom?"

"I'll be ready and waiting on you," her mother promised.

Lyra dashed back upstairs. She put on a pair of black pants and a white button-down top trimmed in lace that made her feel classy. She brushed her hair and applied a little more make-up than she normally did. She added mascara, eye shadow, and blush to her standard lip gloss. Despite what her mother said, Lyra thought it had to help to look as grown up as she possibly could.

When she was finished, she lugged her cello downstairs. Gordon and Olivia were waiting for her in the living room. They both had their jackets folded over their arms and Lyra's was lying across the sofa.

"Are you going too?" Lyra asked her dad, a bit ungraciously.

"No," he replied with a chuckle. I'm going to the office. I have a client coming in today to read over a draft of his will. But I may meet you and your mom for lunch. Is that okay?"

Lyra felt ashamed of herself. "Of course, Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I don't want you there."

"Even though you don't," he returned dryly.

"Well, I'd love the moral support, but this isn't a concert, you know."

"I know, honey." He hugged her tightly. "You look beautiful and you're going to do great."

"Thanks, Dad."

They left at the same time and got to Master's house at 9:45. Lyra noticed there were no other cars in the driveway yet. Good. She'd hoped to be the first one there.

When they went inside, Barty was waiting for them. Lyra noticed he had rearranged the room. At the far end were one chair and a music stand. Closer to the door he had set out four chairs.

"Hello, Olivia," he greeted happily.

"Is it okay that I came with Lyra?" her mom asked.

"Yes, yes. Perfectly fine. I'm delighted you came."

He turned to Lyra and his smile softened. "How are you, Lyra?"

She nodded—something was stuck in her throat.

"Come here." He took her cello from her, put his arm around her shoulders and guided her to one of the nearby chairs. "The others will be here any minute and we'll get this over with. You have nothing to worry about, I promise."

She nodded again.

Barty and Olivia began talking quietly of other matters and Lyra tuned them out. Her heart was beating fast and she felt a little light-headed. Then she remembered Jonah's instructions from last night. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking, _I can do this, I can do this._ After repeating the sequence a couple of times she felt better. She was going to have to remember that at exam time. It definitely helped.

She went over to "her" chair, unzipped her case and began warming up. Though she'd really done enough of that at home; it calmed her as well.

She heard a car drive up, stop, and two doors slam. Immediately, another vehicle pulled in and Lyra heard one door shut. Muted voices floated into the house. Olivia and Barty had stopped talking. Barty walked to the door and, looking out of the front glass, waited for the party to make it up the front steps before opening to the cold wind outside.

They entered in a flurry, everyone talking, shedding their coats, and greeting each other. Barty introduced them to Olivia first, as she was the closest. A statuesque woman with silver hair named Katherine Kendall shook her mother's hand regally. Sylvia Miller, small, stooped, and Lyra guessed anywhere between 70 to 90 years old, was introduced next. She had a squeaky voice and sprightly manner and Lyra loved her on sight. The gentleman, Edward Doyle, was the youngest of the three. With a mass of unruly brown hair and animated expression, he exuded an energy that was contagious. He was the only one Lyra recognized; he played violin and was the orchestra's concertmaster. Lyra repeated their names in her head memorizing them.

In unison, they turned to Lyra, who had risen from her chair and taken a couple of steps in their direction.

"Ahh, here she is," Edward Doyle enthused. He was the first to step forward. He shook her hand. "Such a pleasure. I feel I know you already, Barty has told us so much about you."

Lyra blushed. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you too."

Sylvia Miller was next; she grasped Lyra's hand in both of hers and peered up at her through thick glasses. "Sylvia Miller. Lovely to meet you, dear."

"Thank you. You too."

And finally, Katherine Kendall, moved forward and greeted her austerely. Lyra knew immediately that this was the one person she should worry about.

"Good, good," Barty proclaimed. "Now if everyone wants to take a seat, we'll get this show on the road. Let me grab another chair. Olivia, you go ahead and take mine. There you go."

Lyra took her seat again and waited for instructions. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. _I can do this. I can do this._

Barty returned with another chair. "Whenever you are ready, Lyra, you may begin. Start with the exercises, then Vivaldi last," he told her.

Lyra played through each of the etudes, while not perfectly, without any major mishaps. No one spoke as she pulled out the sheet music for _Spring_ and arranged it on her stand. She stretched her neck, flexed her fingers, and began. This had a melody and it was easier to get caught up in the music. Lyra's playing became more relaxed and natural. She even began to smile a little as she played through her favorite parts. She played it well, and as she drew her bow across the strings on the last note and raised her head, she saw friendly expressions on everyone's faces except Katherine Kendall's—hers was impassive.

Barty was beaming. He was the first to stand. "Very good, Lyra. That was excellent."

Edward Doyle stood and nodded enthusiastically.

Olivia got up, walked over to Lyra, and hugged her. "You did great, honey. Just perfect."

Lyra got to her feet shakily. She still had her eye on Katherine. The woman was completely emotionless.

"Olivia, Lyra," Barty addressed them, "Why don't you go on back to the kitchen? I've laid out some refreshments. Please help yourselves. We'll join you back there after a quick meeting."

Lyra packed away her cello and followed her mother to the back of the house. On Barty's table they found sliced fruit and pastries, plates and napkins. Olivia poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. Lyra got a glass of water to wash the metallic taste from her mouth.

Olivia stood looking out the back window. Lyra paced the kitchen; she was glad her mother wasn't one to chatter.

The clock above the sink indicated only five minutes had passed, though it had seemed much longer, when they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Lyra and Olivia turned. Barty appeared at the door.

"They are all very complimentary of your performance, Lyra," he began. "You played beautifully, and I really don't think there's any question you've got the position, but..." he cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable. "A question has been raised as to whether you would do as well unrehearsed. Will you oblige us by playing one more piece?" His expression was apologetic.

Lyra would have bet her cello that Katherine Kendall had been the one to question her ability. But that was fine. Lyra was up to the challenge. "Of course," she said, walking toward him. He led the way back to the front room.

The three board members had resumed their seats. Veronica Miller looked mildly confused, Edward Doyle perturbed, and Katherine Kendall wore a haughty but satisfied smirk.

"What would you like me to play?" Lyra asked Masters while she picked up her cello.

Masters turned and looked at Katherine who only raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"You choose something, Lyra. Anything you want."

Lyra tried to think. Her mind didn't seem to be working at normal speed. "What about that Mozart concerto?"

Barty's brows knit together. "Yes, but it's..." He turned and addressed the others. "Does anyone object to a duet? I think Lyra's skill can be just as easily determined if I play with her, and the Mozart concerto has alternating parts and is best played together."

After getting everyone's ascent, he moved to take his own cello from its case and pulled his chair forward to sit beside Lyra.

"I didn't bring my sheet music for that," she whispered, though everyone could hear her.

"That's okay. We can share my copy. I'll turn the pages; you just keep playing."

Lyra glanced over the pages fixing the melody in her head and praying her fingers would remember what to do.

Barty counted them off and they began. Lyra fumbled a couple of times but continued on, praying her slip ups were not too obvious. The further they got into the piece, the better Lyra performed. She concentrated on the music and, as usually was the case, absorbed the feelings and emotions the composer intended. Mozart's style was impish and lively, and Lyra's mood lifted accordingly.

They reached the romping conclusion, and Lyra looked over to a grinning Barty. Applause erupted from their audience. She caught her mother's eye and Olivia gave her a discreet two-thumbs-up. Edward Doyle and Veronica Miller were both clapping and smiling happily. Katherine Kendall was looking at Barty and Lyra saw her nod imperceptibly.

"Congratulations, Lyra. You're in," Masters said beside her.

Barty confided to Olivia and Lyra after the others had left that Katherine had, as Lyra suspected, been the reluctant one.

"It wasn't you though, Lyra," Barty assured her. "She and Susan Bourke are close friends and she's taken Susan's illness badly. She's been driving Susan to her chemo treatments and will be staying with her after her surgery next month. She just can't stand the thought of Susan not returning to the Sinfonetta—or of anyone else filling her shoes. It's nothing personal, I promise."

Lyra's ill feelings toward the woman dissolved. How could she blame Katherine for resenting her?

As Olivia and Lyra walked back to her mother's Volvo, a few snow flakes drifted down around them. While they let the car warm up, Olivia called Gordon to tell him the good news. He suggested they meet for lunch to celebrate before the girls went shopping. On the way to the restaurant, Lyra called Jonah.

She dialed his number and heard it ring once before he picked it up.

"Congratulations," he told her in his velvety smooth voice.

Lyra laughed. "Thank you."

"How do you feel?"

"Fantastic. I'm so glad it's over. I can't wait 'til our first practice—and our first concert! It's going to be totally awesome."

"Are you on your way home?" he asked.

"No. We're meeting my dad for lunch and then my mom and I are going shopping."

"Oh, your mom went with you after all?"

"Yeah, and I'm so glad she did." Lyra glanced over at her mom gratefully.

"Good. Well, I'll just see you tonight at your house. Eight o'clock, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. See you then. Bye."

"Bye," Lyra returned.

Chapter XV.

Olivia and Lyra made it home late that afternoon laden down with bags. Lyra couldn't remember when she'd been happier—or more exhausted. She supposed it was due to having spent the entire week in a state of high anticipation. She honestly didn't know if she had the energy to make it to the dance. Olivia helped her upstairs with all their purchases. Lyra fell back on her bed in silent relief. Harry, who had followed them up, jumped onto the bed and settled in behind her.

Olivia chuckled. "You poor thing. What a day you've had! You lie down and take a nap. I'll come wake you up in a couple hours." She took the throw blanket at the end of Lyra's bed and draped it over her. Lyra smiled gratefully and closed her eyes.

At six o'clock, true to her word, Olivia came and gently shook Lyra awake. Lyra's head ached—it always did when she slept during the day. She stumbled to the bathroom, undressed, and stood under the hot shower until she felt human again. She dried her hair and carefully applied her make-up thinking about the coming evening. Jonah had mostly been relegated to the back of her mind during the last week while she prepared for the audition, but now that it was over, he was back to consuming all her thoughts. Her stomach did little flip-flops thinking about being with him tonight. Knowing how foreign it would be for him, she wondered how he would act at the dance

Lyra returned to her bedroom and noticed her mother had hung up her new clothes. At Van Heusen, an upscale clothing store Lyra had never shopped at before, she'd bought a black all-in-one pantsuit. It was form-fitting, but not tight. It had a jewel neck with long sleeves that tapered down to her slender wrists. The narrow waistline accentuated her gentle curves while complimenting her slim figure. Lyra slipped on the new soft, black leather ankle boots they had gotten to go with it.

Her mother suggested, and Lyra had immediately agreed with her, that she should wear the amethyst necklace and earrings she'd gotten last year for her birthday. The flower-shaped clustered gemstones were spaced evenly apart on a delicate white-gold chain and came to rest at the base of her neck. Matching violet flowers twinkled at her ears.

After eating dinner with her parents, running back upstairs to brush her teeth and reapply her lipstick, Lyra took a seat in the living room to await Jonah. He arrived and looked spectacular in charcoal slacks and grey v-neck sweater. Pictures taken, overcoats donned, and goodbyes said, they headed to the school.

At a red light he turned to look at her. "You look amazing. I didn't say it before because I got kind of tongue-tied when I first saw you."

Lyra glowed. "Thank you. You do too. You got your hair cut."

He ran his fingers through it. It was still longish, but he'd had a trim. "Yeah. Jet insisted on that—and the new clothes."

They could hear the bass pounding from the parking lot when they stepped out of the car at the school. Few people were milling around outside. Snow flurries had continued to drift down throughout the afternoon and evening and it was cold. Jonah bought their tickets at the door and they headed to the cafeteria where the dance was being held. A couple of teachers loitered at the doors holding plastic cups full of soda and trying to talk above the music.

Multi-colored lights bounced off the walls, ceiling, and floor and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. They could see bodies all around, but it was harder to make out faces. Jonah grabbed hold of Lyra's hand and led her over to the wall where they hung their coats on pegs along with dozens of others. Taking hold of her hand once more Jonah began wending their way through the crowd.

A multi-faceted mirrored ball hung from the ceiling in the center of the dance floor illuminating the area more brightly than the perimeters. Lyra caught sight of Aimee and Connor dancing. Aimee was dressed vintage-Madonna in an off-the shoulder top, multi-layered tulle mini-skirt, fishnet hose, and high-heeled ankle boots. She looked great, but only Aimee could have pulled that outfit off.

They continued circling the room, when suddenly Katie was beside Lyra snagging her sleeve.

"HEY! OVER HERE. EVERYBODY'S OVER HERE," Katie shouted. They followed her to a group over by the wall who had assembled chairs into a semi-circle. Lyra recognized Katie's date, Jonathan, slouched in his seat looking bored. Lyra smiled to herself. He was a rocker, dressed in leather pants, a spandex sleeveless shirt, and biker boots. He was good looking, but his shoulder-length hair looked a little greasy to Lyra.

Trevor and Lisa were nearby. Lisa looked beautiful in a sequined dress, but she also looked mad. Trevor was sitting beside her gesturing expressively, but she stared out at the dance floor feigning deafness. She caught sight of Lyra and smiled. Trevor looked over and waved. Lyra, now leading Jonah, headed their way. Lisa jumped up and came toward them.

"LYRA, HI. LET'S GO DANCE."

Lyra shook her head. "NOT YET. WE JUST GOT HERE."

Trevor had come over and shook Jonah's hand, then introduced him to Jonathan.

"YEAH, YOU GIRLS GO DANCE," Trevor urged. "WE'LL HANG OUT HERE,"

Lyra shook her head no again. She felt Jonah squeeze her hand and looked up at him. He put his mouth close to her ear, but he spoke to her telepathically—Lyra heard him perfectly but he wasn't shouting. _It's okay. Go ahead. I'll be fine._ He leaned back and stared into her troubled eyes.

Lyra didn't want to desert him. He had only come because of her. She couldn't abandon him now.

He squeezed her hand once more, released it, and turned toward Trevor and Jonathan. Katie and Lisa were thrilled and pulled Lyra out onto the floor. When Aimee saw them she squealed and hugged Lyra. Connor, relieved to be let off the hook, raised a hand to Aimee and pointed to the guys. Aimee didn't even see him. She had already started dancing again.

Lyra moved her body automatically, but she kept her eye on Jonah. If he appeared to be in any distress she would go get him. He seemed to be conversing easily, even smiling occasionally. Eventually, Lyra relaxed and started having fun. When she started to get hot, she motioned to the others she was going to get something to drink. Katie followed, but Aimee and Lisa remained on the floor.

Carrying drinks for themselves and for their dates, Katie and Lyra made their way back to the guys. Trevor, who had been sitting between Jonathan and Jonah got up and took the seat on Jonah's other side. Lyra handed Jonah a cup and he when he took it, smiling up at her, Lyra's heart skipped a beat. Good grief, he was beautiful.

He and Trevor resumed their conversation, but when Lyra sat down, Jonah took her hand and held it in his lap. Lyra couldn't hear their whole conversation, but it sounded like they were arguing over music. She caught words, seemingly unrelated like "elbow," "awesome," "muse," "rockin," and what sounded like "vampire weekend," but she was sure she hadn't heard that right.

The DJ came on in a little while, "All right, you crazy cats, it's time to slow things down. Gentlemen, take your lovely ladies by the hand (and let me just say there are some mighty fine looking ladies here tonight—Mmm hmm), lead them out here onto the floor, and hold them close.

A ballad began playing at a slightly lower volume and the strobe lights disappeared leaving only the revolving mirrored ball casting white specks of light around the room. Trevor jumped up and went to find Lisa. Katie and Jonathan put down their cups and she led him out onto the floor. Lyra glanced over at Jonah. He was watching her with a smile.

Tipping his head down to hers, he asked, "May I have this dance?"

Lyra nodded, her heart beating furiously.

Encircled in his arms, swaying to the music, Lyra thought she could have died happily right then. It was one of those perfect moments. She felt his shoulder muscles ripple under her hands and her thighs brushed his occasionally. Her face was close to his chest and she breathed in his unique scent.

She heard him in her head.

" _You look so beautiful_." He sighed and pulled her ever so slightly closer. " _And you feel wonderful_."

Lyra smiled and closed her eyes. "You too," she whispered.

He stiffened and his step faltered, but he caught himself immediately. Lyra wondered if he'd meant for her to hear him. Maybe he hadn't. She tilted her head back to see his face. His expression was sardonic. He lowered his head until his lips were at her ear. His warm breath sent tingles down her spine.

"I didn't realize I was thinking so loudly."

He straightened back up and they stared into each others' eyes. Jonah's were black in the low light. She felt his hands tighten at her waist and her stomach did a couple of somersaults. He slid them down a couple of inches pressing her hips into his and Lyra forgot to breathe. Her skin zinged with electricity and she knotted her fingers into his hair. She wanted nothing more than to pull his head down and press her mouth to his. But barely, she kept hold of her self-control and resisted.

Lyra said a fervent, silent thanks to the DJ when the first ballad faded into a second one. She enjoyed a few more minutes of bliss before Jonah was forcefully pushed by someone from behind. He staggered into her and they were nearly knocked over. He whipped around and Lyra saw Kyle with his date, Celia, a snooty, pug-nose blond Lyra had never cared for.

"Oh, so sorry about that, guys. Lost my balance," Kyle drawled, his eyes glinting maliciously. He whirled Celia around and they saw her snickering over his shoulder.

Jonah looked ready to kill, but he carefully rearranged his features into a controlled mask. "No problem, Douglas," he said evenly.

Jonathan, who was dancing with Katie beside them had stopped and was glaring at Kyle's back. He'd evidently seen the whole thing. He gave Jonah a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. Jonah shook his head imperceptibly. Jonathan shrugged, looking disappointed, and resumed dancing.

Jonah put his arms back around Lyra and tried to do the same. His jaw remained clenched though, and all pleasure went out of the moment. Why did Kyle have to be such a jerk?

The pace picked up again after the second ballad ended. This time the guys stayed on the floor. Lyra tried to relax and have fun, but she noticed Jonah's eyes constantly scanned the crowd.

After a while, they took a break, got fresh drinks, and returned to their chairs. Trevor and Connor grouped around Jonah and Jonathan discussing the incident with Kyle. Lyra smiled at her friends' loyalty in coming to Jonah's defense. She heard Jonah telling them he didn't want any trouble.

After more than an hour without any other trouble from Kyle, Jonah and Lyra began to loosen up. Their group, keeping close together, was dancing to a Goo Goo Dolls remix when Gina appeared next to Lyra, her eyes wide. Her date, a shy boy named Brad, was one step behind her, a look of terror on his face.

Gina was looking at Jonah and trying to speak. "K...k...k...Kyle." She took a deep breath and started again. The others had stopped dancing and were huddled around them.

"O...o...o..." Tears welled in Gina's eyes as her tongue refused to cooperate.

Jonah placed a hand on each of Gina's shoulders and looked intently into her eyes.

Gina took another breath and her shoulders sagged. She licked her lips, looked into Jonah's eyes, and without one stutter said, "I overheard Kyle telling his friends to follow him out to the parking lot. They're going to slash your tires."

"The hell they are," Jonah muttered, and immediately turned and headed toward the doors, the others trailing him. He'd let the pushing incident go, but he'd be damned if he would stand by and let Kyle do damage to his car.

Once outside, he realized Lyra and their friends were behind him. He stopped them. "Get back inside." He looked first at Lyra, then the others.

Trevor, Connor, and Jonathan protested loudly.

"We're not letting you go out there alone."

"No way, man."

"Forget it; we're coming with you."

Jonah looked like he wanted to argue, but seeing the mutiny on their faces, he relented.

"All right, come on." He looked at Lyra again. "But you girls get back inside. Now!"

He turned and before she could get a word out, he had rounded the corner. Trevor, Connor, and Jonathan were only a step behind.

Lyra looked at Aimee, Katie, and Lisa. Aimee spoke up. "No way I'm going to miss this show-down."

Lyra bit her lip. She didn't want to infuriate Jonah any more than he was already. She'd been on the wrong end of his temper before. But she couldn't just calmly go back inside and wait either.

"Okay," she relented. "Let's stay back though."

They edged to the corner of the building and peeked around. They could see the guys jogging out toward Jonah's car, where a few shadowy figures huddled.

"C'mon," Aimee whined, taking a few steps forward. "We can't hear or see anything from here."

They started forward more slowly than the guys had. Lyra kept her eyes on Jonah as he approached the hulking shadows around his car. They must have heard, or been on the look out, because as Jonah and the others approached, Kyle and his gang came around the front side of the car to face them.

As the girls got closer, Lyra heard Kyle's derisive laugh. His voice carried in the clear night air. "Well, you're just in time, Forrester. You can watch while I get the other two." Kyle ordered his cronies, "You hold them back while I finish. I'm getting all four tires." He grinned spitefully at Jonah and turned back to the car.

Lyra couldn't believe it. Kyle was actually going to slash Jonah's tires while he watched? Kyle's hockey buddies flexed their muscles and moved forward. Lyra was close enough now to see Trevor and Connor exchange a look of unease. They did not want to fight the bullies, especially when one of them had a knife. Jonathan, though, looked ready to take them on.

Jonah shot Jonathan a warning look. "Stay back."

From the look on his face, Lyra know Jonah was about to do something. She kepther eyes trained on Jonah, but even still, his movements were a blur. He landed a lightening fast punch with his left fist to the stomach of the first guy, a simultaneous gut-punch with his right fist to the second one. It looked like Jonah jabbed the third one in the nose. It was so quick, that the first two were still falling when the third went down. They crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Before her eyes could catch up with him, Jonah was on the other side of his Audi towering above Kyle where he knelt at Jonah's front left tire.

"Drop it, Douglas."

Kyle lurched up and around to face Jonah, knife held menacingly in front of him. He stole one quick look over his shoulder to see what had become of his friends. His face registered shock, but he recovered quickly and he raised the knife higher. "Want to play rough then, do you, Forrester? Let's see how pretty your face is when I'm through with it." Kyle lunged for Jonah, aiming high.

In less time than it took Lyra to blink, Jonah had Kyle up against the car, his arm twisted behind his back. Jonah must have squeezed Kyle's wrist because Kyle let out a shout of pain and the knife clattered to the ground. Kyle struggled against Jonah's hold. He kicked back with his legs, but Jonah sidestepped and Kyle feet made no connection. He twisted and writhed, his face distorted with rage, spittle flying from his mouth.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you, Forrester? Too good for this place, Big Man from the City. You've even got Little Miss Perfect over there following you everywhere like a cat in heat..."

Standing only one car length away, Lyra heard a sickening crack of breaking bone. Kyle screamed in agony and Jonah jumped back, a look of horror on his face.

"YOU BROKE IT." Kyle writhed in agony, clutching his arm. "YOU BROKE MY ARM, FORRESTER." Kyle choked out a dry sob, stumbled over to his closest buddy who was still on the ground, and kicked him. "GET UP. GET UP YOU MORON." The three black lumps on the ground began to move sluggishly.

Lyra stole a look at the others faces. Shock and disbelieve was mirrored in each one. Lyra knew what was going through their minds. _How in the hell had Jonah single-handedly taken down four muscled athletes in less time than it took to blink?_ Lyra knew what Jonah was capable of, but the others were dumbfounded.

The guys on the ground got to their feet and staggered around. Kyle, cradling his arm, kept shouting at them to get up and take him to the hospital.

As they moved off, back toward the building, Kyle looked back at Jonah. "YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, FORRESTER. YOU JUST WAIT."

Jonah turned toward Lyra and locked eyes with her. She had seen him angry, furious even. But she'd never seen him frightened. It turned the inside of her mouth to sandpaper and her legs to jello. Facing a gang of angry bullies, one with a knife, had not scared Jonah, but having actually hurt one of them did.

Lyra was at his side in an instant. He looked down at her. "I broke his arm," he whispered, disbelief and fear still clouding his eyes.

"It's okay," she whispered back. How would they explain to their friends what they had just seen? No normal person could move that fast, bringing down four opponents in a matter of seconds.

She turned to face their friends. As she suspected, all eyes were on Jonah, all mouths agape.

The first to recover was Jonathan. He shook his head as if to clear it and a slow grin spread across his face. He pointed a finger at Jonah, "Damn, brother. I've never seen anything like that. You _will_ teach me how you just did that, and I want the name of your martial arts instructor."

When Jonah didn't respond, Jonathan looked around at the others. Seeing their still awe-struck faces, he clapped his hands together loudly. It released them from their stupor and turned everyone's eyes to him.

"Okay, everyone," he said in a take-charge voice. "Katie and I will take Lyra and Jonah home. Trevor, Lisa, Connor, and Aimee, you all get on home now too before that buffoon calls the police and there's more trouble. We can meet up tomorrow for lunch at Casey's to talk about this. It's freak'in freezing out here and none of us even have our jackets on."

When he said that, Lyra realized her teeth were chattering and immediately clamped them together firmly.

Jonathan steered Katie, Jonah, and Lyra to his van. Jonah followed him woodenly. He would not look at Lyra. Jonathan stopped at the front doors of the school and Katie jumped out and ran inside to get their coats.

As they waited, Kyle came stumbling back outside, Celia sobbing hysterically beside him and made their way around the building to the parking lot. Kyle's friends trailed behind them. They glanced at the van, but couldn't see into the back seats where Jonah and Lyra sat.

A moment later Katie came out, barely visible over the pile of coats. She passed them around, buckled herself in, and Jonathan took off.

Jonah stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched, his eyes bleak.

Katie gave Jonathan directions to Lyra's house.

"Dude," Jonathan addressed Jonah, trying unsuccessfully to catch Jonah's eye in the rearview mirror. "I don't know what you did back there, but that was some serious butt-kicking." After a moment with no comment from Jonah, he continued. "I didn't even see what you did and I'm impressed. I've been to every karate and jujitsu master in a hundred mile radius of this place and they've got nothing on you."

Lyra felt Jonah flinch involuntarily beside her. She took his hand and entwined their fingers, but his remained cold and limp.

He roused a little when they pulled up in front of her house. He slid across the seat beside her as she got out and followed her to her door. His expression had turned despondent and he gazed down at her sadly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry!" Lyra insisted. "It's all my fault. I..." but Jonah put a finger over her lips.

"Shh. I knew better than to go. I knew better than to try to have friends...to try to have a normal life. This is no one's fault but my own. I'll deal with the consequences." His mouth turned down in a grim line.

Lyra felt a panic welling up inside her. _Deal with the consequences? What did he mean?_ Before she could question him further, he touched his lips to her forehead and turned back to the van where Jonathan and Katie waited to take him home. He climbed in without another look back and Jonathan maneuvered down the snow-laden drive.

Chapter XVI.

Lyra let herself inside. She hung up her jacket and went to the kitchen to get a drink and turn off the light her parents had left on for her. She saw on the kitchen table a plate of chocolate-chip cookies covered with plastic wrap. Two glasses had been set out. Evidently her mom had thought she might invite Jonah in for a snack after the dance. That had been exactly what Lyra had hoped to do. Her heart sank thinking how the night could have ended—should have ended. Hopes of a long kiss goodnight wrapped in Jonah's arms had just been wishful thinking after all.

Her stomach twisted and she grimaced at the cookies before turning off the kitchen light and heading upstairs.

In her room, Harry greeted her by lazily lifting his eyelids and thumping his tail twice before drifting back off to sleep on his oversized pillow. Lyra envied him. There was no way she would be able to sleep any time in the near future.

Lyra paced back and forth and wondered what Jonah was thinking, what he was planning. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed his number. After one ring it went directly to his voicemail. She didn't bother leaving a message.

Lyra went into the bathroom, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, thinking. By the time she was through, she'd made up her mind. She changed out of her dance clothes and into a thick sweat-suit.

There was no way she could wait to talk to him until morning. He'd had a desperate sort of look in his eyes when he left her. It frightened her. What if he just left? What if she never saw him again?

Lyra tiptoed back downstairs. From the coat closet she grabbed her gloves, scarf, wool hat and an old care-worn jacket. She snuck back upstairs, turned off her bedroom light, and donned her outerwear.

Silently she slid open her window and shimmed out and down the ladder. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. The moon was bright overhead, lighting the thin clouds from behind making the sky look gray rather than black.

Lyra jogged across her property, through the patch of woods, and into the moonlit clearing that was Jonah's yard. His backyard was illuminated by the floodlight attached to the tree—the same one she'd seen him under chopping wood a few weeks back. It seemed like years ago.

Until she reached the yard, she hadn't thought about how to proceed. Would Jethro mind her knocking on his door at midnight? Jonah didn't have a ladder leading up to his second-story bedroom. She stood at the back of the house staring at the upstairs windows. Every window was dark.

The basement! Maybe he'd go to his basement room tonight.

Butterflies tickling her stomach, Lyra skirted the yard and rounded the corner of the house.

Bingo. Light shown from behind the black curtains hung from the basement windows. She held on to the railing and carefully descended the icy stairs.

Lyra made it to the bottom and stopped to listen. A few muffled movements, but no voices. She took a deep breath and knocked gently. The shuffling inside stopped abruptly. Then, a quiet curse, and the door swung open.

Jonah towered above her glowering. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

Lyra opened her mouth, but before she could answer he yanked her inside and shut the door behind them.

"Are you crazy?" Jonah continued. "What would possess you to walk through the woods all alone in the middle of the night?" Don't you know how dangerous it is?"

Lyra, her temper rising too, lifted a hand and pushed at his chest in an attempt to make him back up. He didn't budge. Huffing in irritation, she sidestepped him.

Now able to view the room, she saw it was in disarray. Papers from the desk littered the floor. It looked as though someone had ransacked his book and CD shelves. A large duffle bag occupied the sofa, clothes and personal items visible from the open flap.

Lyra turned slowly around to face Jonah, one eyebrow arched in query. "Going somewhere?"

Jonah's expression closed down. "I asked you what you are doing here," he said icily.

"Yeah. And then you asked me if I was crazy and some other stuff you didn't give me a chance to answer. So since you feel like doing all the talking tonight, tell me, _are you going somewhere?_ "

Jonah strode by her angrily. "As a matter of fact I am." He went into the bathroom, rummaged through the drawers, took a handful of toiletries over to his bag, dumped them in, and zipped it up.

Lyra watched him in silence. He took another slow look around the room and finally his eyes rested on her.

"I'm going to get my coat from upstairs. I'll be back in a minute and I'll walk you home on my way out of town.

Lyra immediately began unbuttoning her own jacket. "Oh no, you don't." She marched over to the sofa and plopped down, her legs stretched out in front of her, feet resting on his duffle. "We aren't going anywhere anytime soon." Her gaze turned steely. "I want some answers from you before you just up and run out on me _and your uncle_ , who will be devastated, as you well know."

Jonah folded his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together as though in mute defiance.

"What are you running from anyway?"

Jonah exhaled loudly and his arms fell. "From arrest, most likely. Don't you imagine Douglas is going to go to the police about his arm? I can't bring that kind of trouble upon Jet." He combed his fingers through his hair then shoved them in his blue jean pockets.

He was just as achingly beautiful in his distress. It made Lyra want to get up and comfort him, to smooth the worry lines from his forehead. Distracted, it took her a minute to process what he'd said. She stared at him incredulously. " _Arrest?_ The guy was in the process of slitting your tires. Then he turned the knife on _you_. He isn't going to go to the police. And even if he is that stupid, there are five witnesses to his three that saw exactly what happened."

"I can't take the chance," Jonah replied, but his eyes slid away from hers. He walked over to the shelves across from where Lyra sat and stood with his back to her. "And what about those witnesses? What they witnessed was a freak show." He pulled a hand out of its pocket and he rubbed it roughly across the back of his neck in frustration. "Damn it. I knew I shouldn't have gone to that stupid dance. Years of trying to blend in and I blow it just like that." He snapped his fingers.

He turned to face her and saw her stricken expression.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're right. This is all my fault."

Jonah exhaled wearily. "It's not your fault, Lyra. You were just being nice by asking me to go."

Lyra grimaced. She had definitely not been trying to be nice. Her motives had been purely selfish. She thought of the feel of his arms around her as they danced, her body molded to his. It sent shivers up her arms just thinking about it.

"Anyway," Jonah continued, bringing her back to the present, "I've blown it now. I don't really care to stay around and be treated like a circus exhibit...freak-boy." His bark of laughter was dry and harsh.

Lyra jumped up from the sofa, her hands on her hips. "Is that what you think you are? _A freak?_ " She eyed him in exasperation. "Jonah, I've seen you do a lot more impressive stuff than what you did tonight and I don't think you're a freak. Superhumanly strong, yeah." She paused and shrugged. "Superhumanly brilliant...and superhumanly gorgeous...with superhuman telepathic abilities..." She paused. "Okay, so you're freak-boy." Lyra laughed, but sobered immediately when she saw his dark look.

"Honestly, Jonah, Kyle's thug friends never knew what hit them. And I'd bet my Toyota that when Kyle calms down, he will decide to keep quiet about it too. I mean, the guy's a star hockey player. You whipped him and three of his friends—all seniors. You think they're going to be anxious to reveal how you kicked all their butts?"

"Our friends won't say a word if we ask them not to—which we will tomorrow at lunch. _It is going to be okay_."

"Nothing is ever okay when I'm involved," Jonah sighed. He shoved his duffle off the sofa and sank down, his head in his hands. "I wasn't even trying to hurt him, Lyra," Jonah said in a strained voice. "I was angry, yes, but I was holding him as gently as I could—I thought. He just kept jerking and twisting around..." He raised his head and looked up at her with a stricken expression. "I ruined your evening and have, no question, completely alienated your friends."

"They're your friends now too," Lyra informed him. "And you didn't alienate anyone. Couldn't you tell how awe-struck they all were? You're their new hero, especially Jonathan."

Jonah looked at her derisively. "More like villain."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Don't go anywhere, Jonah," Lyra begged, turning to face him. "Where would you go anyway?"

"I have someplace else I can go—a home, if you will—any time I want it. I just haven't ever wanted it."

This revelation surprised Lyra, though she didn't know why. Jonah was still practically a stranger to her in many ways.

"Do you want it now?" she asked fearfully.

"Not really."

Lyra held the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. "I'm sorry about your tires. I'll pay for you to get some new ones. That _was_ my fault. Kyle was only being spiteful to you because of me."

Jonah shook his head. "No. The guy never liked me. It was only a matter of time before he started some trouble. I'm not letting you buy me new tires."

"Well, you can ride to school with me 'til you get them."

Jonah nodded distractedly and Lyra's heart leapt with hope. Maybe he wouldn't leave.

After a moment of mutual silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, Jonah pushed to his feet and turned, his hand held out to help her up. "It's late. Let's get you home."

"Oh, c'mon, Jonah," Lyra wheedled. "It's not that late and I'm not the least bit tired." She wished she'd thought to bag some of the chocolate chip cookies her mom had made. That would have been a good excuse to hang around.

She leaned back on the sofa and patted it in invitation. "I'm already here." Lyra could see the indecision on his face. "Unless you really want me to go." She thought again about the trouble she'd caused him. "I...I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore." She held her breath.

Jonah dropped his arm. "I guess our date _was_ cut short."

Lyra smiled brilliantly. Jonah returned hers with a tentative lift of his lips.

He bent down, rummaged in his duffle bag a minute, pulled out a CD and set it to play in his stereo. Then he went over to the far wall where the light switches were located. He turned off the overhead lights and flipped the switch for the black lights. A wave of vertigo hit Lyra as it had before. The sense of falling off the earth was the same. She was glad she was sitting down this time.

Jonah came back, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. He reached around her to the back of the couch and grabbed the chenille throw. He led her to the round platform in the middle of the room. They laid back on the cushion and gazed at their own personal universe. Lyra was once again amazed at his brilliance and artistic talent. It appeared as if the stellar bodies were actually revolving overhead.

They lay beside each other, their arms brushing against each other lightly. Heat radiated from Jonah's body and warmed her more than the blanket, but she could tell he wasn't totally relaxed. He continued to hold himself stiffly. Lyra knew he hadn't completely shed his worry about what had happened tonight. She racked her brain for some non-painful subject to distract him.

"So..." she began quietly. "You have other family besides your uncle?"

Jonah didn't answer right away. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you said you had someplace else to go if you didn't want to live with Jet. I assumed you meant other family."

"Oh." Jonah was silent again for a while.

Lyra guessed she had touched on another off-limits subject after all. She decided she better not push her luck tonight. She was insanely curious to know everything about him, but she didn't want him to think she thought of him as...what had he called himself? A circus exhibit...a freak show.

Several minutes passed. Then,

"There are others like me. Well, not exactly like me, but with...unusual talents and abilities. There are...schools, if you will, where many of us go. Some, whose parents can't stand their abnormality send them away to keep them out of sight. Others," he continued, his voice now mocking, "thrilled with their supernatural child, send them to be educated and trained. One is in northern California, another is near Houston, Texas, I think, and then there's one outside of Ontario, Canada. The U.S. government runs the two here in the States, but a specialized branch of Mensa, and one of its foremost members, Dr. Quinton, heads up the one in Canada. I lived at the one in Canada briefly. It wasn't bad...the doc is a good man, but I...Well, I wasn't happy there. When Jet came to visit, he took me back to live with him."

Jonah turned his head and looked over at Lyra. She'd been staring at his profile while he talked. She reached over and interlaced her fingers with his. She smiled at him encouragingly.

"Did you have friends there?" she asked.

Jonah's face took on a faraway look. "Sort of. There were some good kids there. A lot of them were just confused—like me. A couple of them, mostly the older ones, seemed to have made peace with themselves. They were cool."

Jonah's eyes turned cold. "Then there were some who were...not right." He flashed a look at Lyra. Her peaceful expression must have soothed him because he continued. "You know the way Kyle is all puffed up with himself because he's rich, popular, and good looking—well, there were kids there who were the same way—bullies. They looked down on those who weren't _special_ like them and tormented the younger ones when they could get away with it." He sighed. "I guess you've got bullies everywhere—even among the freaks."

Lyra squeezed his hand. "Quit saying that. You are _not_ a freak."

Jonah unlocked their fingers and raised himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "If you knew the whole story you wouldn't think so."

Lyra's heartbeat accelerated. She remembered their kiss the first time she'd been here. He'd been leaning above her then just as he was now. She worked hard to concentrate.

"Why don't you tell me the whole story and we'll see?" she whispered.

Jonah took a deep breath. He'd never wanted to confide in someone so much as he did with Lyra. But if he told her his history he would surely lose her forever.

He lifted his hand and traced her cheekbone with his fingertips. She was so soft and delicate. He heard her breath catch in her throat. He saw her pulse throbbing rapidly at the base of her neck. How he wanted to press his lips there and taste her delicious skin. He knew she would taste every bit as good as she smelled, and felt, and looked.

Jonah controlled the impulse, but just barely. He gazed into her waiting eyes. Yes, she was waiting for him to answer.

He tore his eyes from hers and his thoughts from their impure train and tried instead to decide where to start.

Chapter XVII.

"I suppose it all starts with my mother, Celia Carsen," Jonah began. He continued to stare across the room, his eyes unfocused and distant. "She was very beautiful and from what Jet tells me, their parents obsessively sheltered her growing up. She had few friends and, when she was older, she was rarely allowed to go out with them. She'd never been out on a date. Despite these restrictions, she was happy, even a little spoiled. Jet says their father, an upper-middle class banker, was indulgent with his children."

"The summer before Celia was to start college she attended a church revival with a girlfriend. There she met a charismatic preacher and guest speaker, Jerald Forrester. Celia was eighteen; Jerald was 37."

"Jerald Forrester was good looking, but more than his that, he had a way about him. He...drew people in. He was charismatic...not just his preaching style, but his personality. He was the best con man I've ever seen. People ran to the alter to be 'healed' by him, they emptied their wallets of their week's grocery money when he passed the offering plate, and they left feeling like they'd been touched by the very spirit of God." Jonah's tone turned sour. "The night of the revival, my mother 'got saved' from her sinful, selfish life course and became one of Jerald Forrester's newest devotees."

Jonah's breath came more rapidly. His eyes took on a hard look. Lyra could feel the anger rising in him.

"Over the next couple of weeks Celia was at church every time the doors opened and socializing with the _Reverend_ Forrester whenever they were not. Celia's father didn't like it, but her mother calmed his worries. After all, Celia wasn't out at the country club dances, she was with _Christians_. What harm could come of that? _Brother_ Forrester extended his visit in our town. The church was considering adding him as an associate pastor."

"It wasn't until Celia began losing weight and then suffering with morning sickness that her mother too began to worry. A doctor's visit confirmed the worst and Celia reluctantly admitted she was carrying Jerald Forrester's child. Furious that his innocent, naïve daughter had been violated and knocked up by a two-bit preacher, Celia's father went out, found Jerald, and probably would have beat him to death had he not been stopped."

"Celia Carsen and Jerald Forrester were married within a week. Her father bought them a house and Jerald became grounds-keeper and general maintenance man for the church where he'd hoped to pastor."

"Jet had been working as an apprentice for a newspaper that summer, and only came home for a short visit before he was to return to college in the fall. Though Jet thought what had been done to Celia was despicable, he had liked Jerald nonetheless. The man was adept at deceiving people. He cloaked himself in humility and seemed to worship the ground Celia walked on. Jethro returned to school confident that everything would work out for the best."

Jonah shifted to a sitting position. He glanced down at Lyra. She tried not to appear as rabidly enthralled as she was. She remained lying down, but reached over to squeeze his hand and smile encouragingly.

"By the time Jet went home over his Christmas break, the situation had deteriorated beyond anyone's imagining. Jerald had quit his job at the church claiming his God-given talent and calling to preach was being wasted by the narrow-minded, self-righteous hypocrits of the town. Celia, now heavy with child, had stopped leaving the house and refused visitors, not being able to explain away her black eye and cut lip as easily as she'd done the bumps and bruises which had first appeared on her arms and legs."

"When two other girls—one only sixteen—turned up pregnant, both adamantly refusing to name the father, Jerald Forrester took his wife and quietly left town in the middle of the night."

"Jethro didn't see his sister again for six years. It took him that long to track her down. He found her living in a run-down duplex in rural Arkansas where Jerald was preaching. Their parents had died and Jet had come to deliver her half of their inheritance. Under those circumstances, Jerald welcomed Jet with open arms. Jet said he stayed over a week and tried his best to convince Celia to leave with him, but she refused."

"At some point in those six years Jerald had apparently realized that having a pretty, devoted wife on his arm opened more doors for him than a scared, bruised one. He stopped hitting her...mostly...and, when it served his purposes, was still able to charm her. His charade worked well enough to keep her hopes up and with him." Jonah's voice turned even more acrid. "Because his penchant for new and younger women inevitably landed him in trouble with his parishioners or the law, they moved often and lived on the brink of poverty."

"By the time of Jet's first visit, my father had already grown to detest the very sight of me. My mother had learned how to keep me out of his way and he had learned how to ignore me when others were around."

Lyra rolled over on her side to face him and propped her head on her elbow. Jonah glanced down at her. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, barely grazing her forehead. It was enough to send goose bumps down Lyra's arms. It was insane what his casual touch did to her.

"Jet finally left, but he and my mother wrote occasionally. She let him know when we moved and sometimes he would visit. Jerald wasn't nearly as accommodating to Celia's brother on those occasions. Jethro had no more inheritance to hand out and he seemed to want to interfere in Jerald's private family life. Jet was outspoken about the way Jerald disciplined his son, disapproving of the way he handled money, and suspicious of the bruises he still sometimes saw that Celia couldn't explain to his satisfaction. Jet was too smart to ever completely alienate Jerald. He knew, as long as Celia remained faithful to Jerald, he had no hope of coaxing her away and would not risk total estrangement. Though Jet held my father in contempt, he kept his opinions as much to himself as he could. As the years went by, Jerald's resentment and jealousy of Jet grew. In the last couple of years Jerald refused to allow Celia to write to her brother and kept our whereabouts a secret so he couldn't come around."

"Jethro invited me to spend summers and Christmas vacations with him, but my father always refused. Even when my uncle came to visit, we were never allowed to be alone together. That wasn't anything unusual to me—I wasn't permitted any friends or recreational activities. When I wasn't at school—and I wasn't there regularly—or at church, I was at home, alone in my bedroom."

"My father resented any attention my mother gave to me which he thought was due him. He couldn't stand it when the women at church oohed and aahed over me—even as a baby. From the time I was born he ignored me completely. And that was good. It kept me safe the first couple of years of my life."

"But soon enough my...differences...from other children became obvious. I did everything much earlier than most babies—spoke, walked, potty-trained. I was reading and writing by the age of three."

Jonah began to fidget and, though it was dark in the room, Lyra thought his face seemed flushed. He took no pleasure in these admissions.

Jonah's hands, which had been worrying a button on his shirt, clenched into fists. "My first beating came when I was around two or three. I was lying on the sofa—sick with some little virus or fever. My mother had let me lie there to keep an eye on me. My father came in and, if he wasn't already angry, seeing me still up certainly would have done it."

"Something about his dinner didn't please him and when he grabbed my mother by her arm and flung her onto the floor, I screamed in my head for him to stop. He heard me—just as my mother had been hearing me for months."

"After than night my father never ignored me again. He scrutinized everything I did and everything I said. It didn't take him long to see my abnormalities. He tested my abilities, mentally cataloging them, I guess. Once he knew the full extent of my capabilities, he punished me any time he saw or even thought I was using them. Sometimes he would whip me with a long stick he kept, sometimes I was forced to stand out in the cold, go without eating, or memorize chapters of scripture. He prayed over me for hours, trying to exorcise the demon he was convinced possessed me. When that didn't work, he came to believe that I _was_ a demon...or part demon anyway."

Jonah paused as he glanced down and saw Lyra's look of horror.

"Actually, his reasoning is not as far fetched as it sounds. If you buy into the whole God thing, angels and demons, then you know that Satan and his demon followers rebelled. For a time, they took human bodies and mated with women here on earth. Their children were called Nephilim or the mighty ones of old. Down through history, there are a lot of legitimate accounts that a superhuman race existed. David slew a Philistine giant named Goliath. When the twelve Israelite spies entered the promise land, they reported back to Moses that the land was filled with giants. The Israelite spies said they appeared as grasshoppers compared to the inhabitants of the land.

"And it wasn't just the Nephilim's size. We still wonder and marvel at the abilities and intelligence of certain ancient cultures. The Egyptians built pyramids that required inhuman strength and knowledge of mathematics, physics, and architecture that far surpassed the nations around them. Then there are the Mayans who had a fully developed written language and an advanced understanding of astronomy, thousands of years ahead of their contemporaries. The Aztecs are famous for their artistic and architectural accomplishments. Where did they get the knowledge to do these things?

"The existence of Nephilim, is one way to explain it all. It's the explanation my father came to believe and it fed his growing religious fanaticism. In his eyes, I was evil, spawn of the devil. The evil in me had to be overcome. He would rant and rave until my own mother became afraid of me. Or maybe she feared my father's anger should she show any kindness to me, one of the damned.

"She did her best to keep me safe, though. She sent me out the back door every time she heard his car in the driveway. She tried to keep him occupied, to divert his attention from me. Sometimes it worked. But most often, he would call me in and the tirade would begin. It infuriated him that I was strong enough to endure the beatings and smart enough to memorize the impossibly long scriptures he assigned me. Those things just fed his convictions."

He sighed and lowered his head to his chest. Lyra reached out her hand to stroke his knee as he sat cross-legged beside her. Lyra could hear the despair in his voice as he continued.

"I used to fight it, denying that I was wicked. I _wanted_ to be good. I _tried_ to be good. I told myself that my father was wrong, that I wasn't bad."

His voice dropped to a whisper and Lyra strained to hear. "But the day I killed my parents I realized that I was."

Lyra jerked upwards to a kneeling position before him and grabbed his arms. Her voice thick with unshed tears, she gasped, "What?" She searched his face for the truth.

"It's true," he looked at her, hopelessness written in every line of his face. His eyes were bleak.

"I don't believe you," Lyra declared.

They stared at each other for an endless moment.

"What happened exactly?"

Jonah heaved in a breath. "I was ten years old. One day, my father came home and, as usual, my mother sent me out into the backyard to play out of sight. She was cooking dinner. I remember her chopping onions to put in a roast. My father came in and started on her. I went to sit under this shrub that grew in our yard. I could crawl in from behind it and watch the house without being seen.

"That day my mother argued with him. I couldn't hear what they said, but their voices carried through the thin walls of the house. I saw through the kitchen window my father slap my mother. She started crying and yelling at him even more. I heard things being knocked around the kitchen, him screaming at her.

"The fury just welled up inside of me. I was so sick of living in fear, of seeing my mother worn down by his incessant verbal abuse. My hatred of him completely consumed me. I didn't mean to do it, but as the rage rolled over me and I stared at the house wishing—willing—him to just stop..." Jonah paused, tears now falling from his eyes. "The entire house exploded."

Lyra stopped breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest as though trying to escape. Tears streamed down her face as well, and a sob escaped her lips. Jonah looked so broken, so hopeless. She couldn't stand it. She didn't know what to think about his story. It was too much to take in. But what she did know was that she loved him and had to comfort him.

She was still kneeling in front of him. Now she leaned in, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. She couldn't help the tears that fell but she repeated over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I love you and I'm sorry." She held him tightly and finally she felt his arms encircle her. He bent his head into her neck. His body shook with his own sobs.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I didn't mean to."

Lyra's tears dried first and she stroked his back as he cried. "Shhh. It's okay," she told him softly. "It will be okay."

Finally, he calmed down. He lifted his head and she lifted hers. They were still wrapped up in each other's arms and were so close their breath mingled. His eyes were red, his eyelashes wet and clumped from his tears. They stared into each others eyes for a long moment. Then his gaze drifted to her lips. Lyra knew what he was thinking and she desperately wanted the same thing. Her fingers dug into the shirt on his back and she pressed closer still. His eyes snapped back up to hers and an instant later his lips crushed her own. It was a kiss unlike Lyra had ever imagined—one of desperate need and longing. Jonah's hands moved up from her back to cup her face. He tilted her head and his mouth slanted over hers. He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue across the seam of her lips.

Lyra opened them in surprise and his tongue slid inside her mouth. It was the most delicious, erotic sensation she had ever felt and her body jerked in response. He kissed her deeply and passionately. She couldn't get close enough. She had no idea such feelings even existed. It was as though lightening flowed in her veins and her skin tingled everywhere. She wanted to touch him, more of him. She was drowning in a whirlpool of desire. She found the hem of his shirt, slipped her hands underneath, and ran them up his sides and around to his back. At her touch, it was Jonah's turn to jerk in response.

He broke off the kiss and pressed his cheek against hers, their chests heaving while they tried to catch their breath. "My God, Lyra. I love you. I want you so much."

Lyra's heart thrilled. Her spirit soared and she felt a prickle behind her eyes once more. She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted him. She cleared her throat and whispered, "I love you too, Jonah. Always. Forever."

Jonah tried to disentangle them. He gripped her upper arms and leaned back a little to put some distance between them. Lyra's arms were still wrapped around him inside his shirt and as she pulled back, her fingers trailed along his sides and brushed his belly. She felt the muscles ripple in response. As much as she wanted to press her hands into his hot skin once more, she withdrew them.

She smiled up at him sheepishly. He looked down at her and the barest hint of a smile touched his lips.

He leaned in and dropped a kiss on her nose. "C'mon. We need to get you home." They glanced at the digital clock in the corner by the desk and saw that it was after 4 a.m. They got to their feet and Lyra began searching in the dark for her coat.

"You aren't going to leave after I'm gone, are you?"

Jonah sighed. "No. I need to be here to face the music if Kyle does go to the police. I can't leave Jet holding the bag without even so much as an explanation. He and I will discuss whether I should go back to Edenvale.

"Where?"

"Edenvale. The school in Canada I told you about," Jonah answered distractedly, his eyes on the ground, brow furrowed.

"Jonah, please! You can't..."

Jonah came to her and put his finger over her lips. "I won't leave without telling you goodbye."

"But..."

"I need to talk to Jet—tell him what happened. We'll discuss it and make a decision. I promise it won't be a hasty one. Together we'll decide what's best—for everyone." Jonah's eyes roved her face and he pulled her to him for a last, brief embrace.

Jonah walked her home, and watched her climb back up to her room.

Back in his own bedroom, he tossed and turned. When he saw daylight peeking in behind the curtains, he got up, showered and dressed, and went downstairs to wait for Jet.

Chapter XVIII.

Lyra slept the dreamless sleep of one completely drained and exhausted. She woke around 10 a.m. and wandered downstairs to find her parents. All she found was a note from them saying they'd gone to church, and had plans to eat at the club afterwards.

It reminded Lyra that her friends expected Jonah and her to meet for lunch. The Harvest dance and the fight with Kyle seemed a long time ago. She called Aimee and put them off, asking Aimee to contact the others.

After she was showered and changed, she took Harry and headed over to Jonah's.

Jet answered her knock. His face seemed to have more lines than the first time she'd come over. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah, Lyra. Come on in." He stood back and she and Harry entered.

"Jonah went out for a walk a little while ago. I don't imagine he'll be back any time soon. But I'm glad for the chance to talk to you alone."

He led her into the kitchen and motioned for her to sit at the table.

"Would you like a cup of coffee or some hot tea?"

"Hot tea, please," Lyra answered. Her heart was racing. She had to know. "Is he leaving, Mr. Carsen? Is he going back to that school?"

"Call me Jet, Lyra dear." He sighed and finished the preparations for tea in silence.

He walked over and sat down while the kettle heated on the stove. "We are staying put for now."

Lyra let out the breath she'd been holding and leaned back into her chair, limp with relief.

"Mr....Jet, I really don't think Kyle's going to go to the police..."

Jet held up his hands, shushing her. "It's less to do with that, I'm afraid, than it is to do with you." His voice was kind rather than accusatory.

Lyra's breath caught. " _What?_ What did I do? Jet, whatever it is, I swear..."

Jet raised a hand once more to silence her. "I don't mean it that way. What I mean is, it's more to do with Jonah's feelings for you, his worry for you, than any trouble last night's incident might cause."

"I don't understand." Lyra's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I'm in love with him, Jet. I know that may sound ridiculous to you, but I do. I would never hurt him. I'm not going to tell anyone—if that's what he's afraid of—about his abilities." She looked up at his uncle, pleading with her eyes for him to understand.

He smiled kindly. "I don't find your loving Jonah a bit ridiculous. Jonah believes he is unworthy of love, but he is not. He has so many good qualities. I'm so happy that someone else has broken down his walls and figured it out as well."

Lyra smiled back at him, but then her eyes clouded over again. "Then, why? I still don't understand."

Just then the kettle whistled and Jet got up to make her tea. He returned a moment later with a tray containing a cup of tea, spoon, sugar bowl and creamer. He waited until she'd begun fixing her tea before he continued.

"Jonah told me that the two of you talked last night and what you talked about."

Lyra felt a moment of panic and it must have shown in her eyes.

Jet chuckled. "Don't worry. I won't tell your parents you were over here last night. But," he added sternly, "don't make a habit of it. You are welcome anytime. You know that. But sneaking over in the middle of the night is not smart." Jet looked down his nose at her, waiting for her agreement. She nodded her head in assurance.

"Good. Okay. Now you know that Jonah believes he is responsible for his parents' death—believes he murdered them."

Hope made Lyra's heart leap. "But you don't?"

"No," Jet scoffed. "It's completely ludicrous." He got up from his chair and paced the kitchen.

"Jonah has many special abilities, but instantaneous combustion is not one of them. Of course the police were called out and an investigation made into the incident.

"Jerald and Celia were living in an ancient rundown shack. The wiring, pipes, even the old gas stove were all original to the house. Jonah himself remembers that his mother had been in the middle of cooking dinner when Jerald came home and they'd started arguing. There is no doubt in my mind, or in the minds of the investigators, that a gas explosion occurred. Jonah had nothing to do with it. He's got a bad case of survivor's guilt...and an appalling lack of self-worth thanks to his father."

Lyra felt relief wash over her as she listened to Jet's explanation. Believing someone was capable of blowing up an entire house on the strength of their mind, even Jonah's enhanced mind, now seemed absurd.

Lyra's relief was short-lived, though, as Jet continued.

Jet sat back down wearily. "The problem is convincing Jonah. Believing he is capable, and guilty of, that atrocity, he has always refused to let anyone get close. His father never allowed him any friends as a child, and since the accident Jonah has believed he was justified. He doesn't trust himself."

Jet exhaled loudly. "And he sees what happened last night as validation of that belief."

Lyra stared at Jet in despair. If Jonah was convinced he was a danger to others, she could understand— _finally_ understand why he was so determined to remain detached from her and everyone else. And how, based on that conviction, he might decide to leave Lake Placid. But he was wrong. Lyra just knew it. Joy and panic warred within her.

"What can we do, Jet?"

Jet was roused from his own inner musings at Lyra's question and his smile returned. "Well, Jonah has agreed to stay here through the end of the semester."

" _The end of the semester?"_ Lyra jumped up from her chair, knocking the table, and sloshing her still full cup of tea. _"And then, what? You're leaving?"_ Lyra tried to breath around the lump rising in her throat. _"You can't."_

"Sit back down and let me finish, Lyra."

Lyra sat, took a shaky breath, and tried to swallow back her panic.

"We have talked it over and made a deal. Jonah agrees to stay here and finish the semester. When school lets out for Christmas break, he and I are going to head up to Edenvale for a couple of weeks. I'll be making a call tomorrow to the doctor who runs the place and have him set up a battery of tests. Jonah wants a comprehensive study of his abilities performed. He will be giving one hundred percent effort this time around. He hadn't wanted to do that when he was there before. He deliberately held back because he really didn't want to know.

"But now," Jet paused and smiled at her, "because of _you_ , Jonah _does_ want to know. If it is determined that any of his powers could potentially cause harm, he will stay at Edenvale."

Lyra didn't like that idea at all, but before she could draw breath to protest, Jet continued.

"If, after all the tests are run, Jonah feels he is not a danger to you or anyone else, he will return with me to Lake Placid."

Lyra tried to find a hole in that argument. She didn't like any scenario in which Jonah did not come back.

While she tried to work it out in mind, Jet assured her, "I do not believe those tests will turn up anything dangerous in Jonah, Lyra dear. If Jonah were a threat to others, I would know it by now. But he's not."

At that moment, the back patio door opened and Jonah walked in. He didn't look surprised to see Lyra, but he didn't necessarily look pleased either. Harry scampered up and over to him, nudging his hand to be petted. Jonah petted Harry absently as he walked over to where Lyra and Jet sat at the table.

"Hey." Jonah's voice was low and rough.

"Hey." Lyra returned, smiling tentatively.

Turning his attention to his uncle, Jonah asked, "Did you tell her?"

"Yes." Jet got up, picked up the tea things and turned toward the kitchen. "She knows the plan." Setting the tray on the counter, he started digging through the cabinets. "Now why don't you two go on into the living room for a while, hm? I'll make us some lunch."

Lyra and Jonah went into the living room, sinking into the comfortable sofa. Lyra sat as close as she could without actually sitting on his lap. She took his hand and laced their fingers together and stared into the coals smoldering in the fireplace, the remnants of last night's fire.

"I don't want you to go," she complained quietly.

I have to.

Sigh. "You won't be here for Christmas."

"I've never been here for a Christmas, so you really can't miss what you never had," he murmured into her hair.

She looked up, their faces inches apart, and whispered, "Wanna bet?"

The corners of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile and he squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

~~***~~

The police never showed up to question Jonah about Kyle's broken arm, just as Lyra had predicted. And school Monday was uneventful, with the exception that Jonah sat with her at her regular table. Trevor and Conner were of course, agog with questions about, and praise for, Jonah's martial arts training. Jonah answered their questions quietly, but showed no enthusiasm for the subject. Eventually they got the hint and moved on to other subjects.

Kyle was conspicuously absent, but his cronies sat across the cafeteria shooting daggers their way. When Kyle did return a few days later, he completely ignored Jonah and Lyra both, much to their relief.

~~***~~

Winter arrived with a vengeance and the quiet town of Lake Placid was once again transformed into a tourist hotbed as skiers, snowboarders, and the like flocked to its lodges, inns, and B&Bs. Traffic became congested, restaurants crowded. Business was brisk in all the area shops and though their firm could hardly be considered a tourist attraction, even the Grants' business inexplicably picked up, as it always did that time of year.

Jonah and Lyra, both averse to the crowds and noise, settled into their own quiet, private routine. They rode to school together every day except when Lyra had her cello lessons. They avoided town as much as possible, preferring to spend evenings and weekends at one another's house doing homework, watching movies, or just enjoying a crackling fire while watching the snow. They didn't always even talk much; just being together seemed to be enough for either one of them.

Though they were spending all their time together, and were closer than they'd ever been, Lyra felt that Jonah was still holding back from her. It was like he was keeping his feelings and fears locked inside. She knew that the upcoming trip to Edenvale must be weighing heavily on his mind and she wished there was something she could say or do to reassure him. Lyra thought that if Jonah could just get past _that_ , he might open up to her completely.

Lyra's birthday was a quiet event. Her parents took her to dinner at the country club and gave her a pretty, flower-shaped amethyst ring which completed her necklace and earring set.

Jonah invited her over for dinner the following evening. Jet pulled out all the stops and had prepared a feast including her favorite walnut brownies. Jonah's gift to her was a matching cashmere scarf and pair of gloves in cream and caramel. She absolutely loved it.

Jonah and Jet spent Thanksgiving with the Grants. Lyra's parents and Jonah's uncle genuinely enjoyed each other's company, laughing and talking hours after the meal was cleared away and they'd settled in the living room with their pie and coffee. Jonah and Lyra escaped to the den and watched _Miracle on 34th Street_. It was a wonderful day and Lyra wished she could just stop time right there.

~~***~~

Friday, December 21. School was out until January 2.

Lyra and Jonah had stopped by to pick up Harry and they were all now at Jonah's house—Harry upstairs with Jet, Lyra and Jonah down in the basement. They were sitting on the sofa and the lights were on, muting the cosmic landscape around them. The basement was colder than the rest of the house, so Lyra and Jonah were huddled close together under the afghan. They weren't saying much. Tomorrow Jonah and Jet were to get up early and drive to the Canadian Edenvale branch. So far, they'd avoided talking about it, but now it was all either of them could think about.

Lyra sighed unhappily.

I don't want to go.

"I know," Lyra nodded.

I have to know once and for all what I'm capable of. I don't ever want to hurt you.

"I know...It's just going to be the longest two weeks of my life." She smiled ruefully up at him.

"For me too," Jonah murmured softly, his eyes roving her face, as though to memorize it.

Lyra held her breath. Their faces were so close. Would he kiss her?

Jonah had been keeping his guard up physically as well as emotionally these past couple of months. Other than holding hands, sitting close, and the perfunctory goodnight kiss, he'd not touched her since the night of the dance.

He seemed to know what she was thinking and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She could see the desire ignite in his eyes. He lowered his head a fraction about to give in to his want. Just as Lyra was closing her eyes, he pulled back. He turned away from her and exhaled loudly.

Lyra sighed again, and returned to staring at the opposite wall.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing the frustration in her expression made him grin.

She punched him in the arm. "Don't you even smile, you sadist. Why won't you kiss me?"

Jonah's grin widened. "Do you _want_ me to kiss you?" He teased.

"Hello!?! Yes, I'm dying over here."

Jonah chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to know I'm not the only one."

"Well?"

"Well, what happened to you being a liberated woman? You haven't put any moves on me either."

Lyra leaned away from him and scowled. "Some things are just supposed to be initiated by the guy. And anyway, I thought I was making it pretty obvious. If I sat any closer to you, I'd be in your lap. You know I want you too...to kiss me, I mean."

Jonah lifted the arm she'd been leaning against, put it around her, and pulled her closer. He kissed the top of her head and began running his fingers through her hair. Lyra felt the goose bumps all the way down to her toes. She sighed and relaxed against him once more.

"So, what are you going to have to do up there? Pull a couple of semis? Run from there to Florida? Break blocks of cement with your bare hands?

"Ha ha. Very funny. Actually, I wish it _were_ all physical. That's the easy part of it. It's the mental stuff that's hard. It's been a few years since I was there so who knows what sort of tests they've got for wackos like me now."

Lyra jabbed him in the ribs. "Don't say that. You are _not_ a wacko or freak."

"But what if my dad's theories were right?" he continued more seriously. "What if I'm the descendant of a materialized demon a thousand generations back?"

Lyra detangled herself from him and the blanket until she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him. His expression was guarded, but she could see fear in his eyes too. She took a deep breath. She'd been thinking about that a lot over the past several weeks, she'd even prayed about it. She knew what she wanted to say, but wasn't sure if she could get it out right, or how Jonah would take it.

"Jonah," she began slowly, "You're a lot smarter than me. You've studied the universe much more in depth than I have. And you've said you believe in God. When you look out into this vast cosmic world, do you see where God has made any mistakes? Like, oops, God sure got that wrong."

Jonah looked at her warily. She could tell he was wondering where she was going with this.

Finally, he answered, "No. We certainly don't know everything. We don't even understand the 'why' of what we _think_ we know. But the precise tuning of our universe—earth included—is perfect. The laws of nature and physics are exact."

"Okay then," Lyra continued, a little more confident, "back to your question. Let's just assume, for the sake of argument, that your father's theory is correct and you are the descendant of a fallen angel who came to earth, materialized, and mated with human woman. And based on the opinion you just gave me that when God created the universe, He got all the big things right. Planets aren't bumping into each other out there; earth hasn't erupted into a ball of fire because we're one-hundredth of a degree closer to the sun than we should be, etc, etc... Don't you think He knew what He was doing when He created us?"

Jonah was silent.

"I mean, do you think He was really surprised when Satan and his demons rebelled and then led humans into rebellion too? Surely the One who was smart enough to bring this entire universe into existence, and who continues to hold it all together, knew ahead of time that not everyone was going to go along with His rules. After all, He created us with free will. He had to have known that some of His creatures would misuse it.

"According to the Bible—if you believe the Bible—God sent his perfect son, Jesus, to die in our place so that, if we accept him, we are redeemed from our sins and have the hope of eternal life"

Jonah continued to stare at her wordlessly.

Lyra knew that as Jonah's father had been a preacher, he was very familiar with all that. But still, it was leading up to her point.

"So, if God doesn't make mistakes, and if He knew ahead of time all that would happen...you, Jonah, are a part of God's plan." Lyra took his hands in hers and continued earnestly. She so wanted him to get this. "You are not a mistake, Jonah. You are a _miracle_!"

Jonah's expression became skeptical. He regarded her for another long moment. Lyra wondered if he was working up his counter-argument.

Finally he responded. "You have a...um...very _unusual_ way of looking at things."

Lyra realized his hesitation had not been because he wanted to argue with her, but because he hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings. She could tell he wasn't buying it. Well, maybe he would think about it. She knew she couldn't, in one conversation, undo the years of mental, emotional, and _spiritual_ abuse Jonah had suffered at the hands of his father.

She sat up on her knees, put her arms around his neck, leaned in, and kissed gently him. "You are my miracle, Jonah Forrester."

Jonah wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He smiled down at her. "You've got it all wrong. _You_ are _my_ miracle. I had no life until the day you walked into it. I existed, but I had not lived."

He lowered his head and kissed her. _Finally_ , she thought.

His lips lingered on hers, their breath mingling. His lips trailed across her cheek to her ear, where he nibbled seductively. Lyra's fingers dug into his shoulders and she pressed even closer. Jonah's hands moved restlessly over her back as his lips grazed a fiery trail down her neck. He flicked his tongue where her pulse beat erratically and gently sucked the sensitive flesh in the hollow of her collar bone. Lyra thought she would go mad at the pleasure/pain it sent rocketing through her system.

Jonah reached around and pulled the afghan up onto her shoulders so that they were cocooned once more. Then he slid his hands under her sweater. Lyra's breath came in little pants as he pressed his palms into her sensitive skin. His fingers inched up and her sweater bunched just below her breasts. Then he slid them around to her back, pressed her to him, and crushed his mouth to hers once more.

In a movement so fast it barely registered, Jonah had her on her back underneath him. His body pressed into hers and his knee parted her legs. She gasped in surprise and his tongue invaded her mouth. She gloried in the feel of him, all of him, as she strained up toward him and he pressed down onto her, needing to be closer, and closer still. His hands, still under her sweater, inched up until they met the silky fabric of her bra. He stopped there, but ran his thumbs along the underwire.

Lyra was crazy with desire. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and slid beneath to touch his flushed skin. His muscles rippled under her feathery touch. She ran her hands along his sides and across the span of his wide shoulders. Tension—passion—radiated from their bodies like a force of its own. It wrapped itself around them and held them in its steely grip.

Lyra ached for something, she didn't know what. All she knew was she couldn't get close enough. Kissing only fueled the hunger inside her. She knew they were about to cross a line. Her mind told her they needed to stop, but her body and heart overrode reason and danced on the edge of that forbidden boundary.

Finally, Jonah tore his mouth from hers. He stared at her, unseeing, his eyes glazed with passion. They were both completely out of breath and it was several long moments before their breathing and heart rates returned to normal...or close to normal anyway.

Jonah tried to speak, couldn't, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I got so carried away. I'm really, really sorry, Lyra."

He tried to lift himself off of her, but Lyra tightened her arms around his back. "Please don't move. Just don't."

Jonah relaxed and, after a moment, scooted her over and shifted them onto their sides facing each other. He pulled the blanket up over them, which had gotten tangled around and between their bodies. He searched her face, but could find no accusation there.

"I didn't want you to stop," Lyra whispered, laying her head on his bicep.

Lyra.

"I still don't."

"Don't tell me that. My self-control is still just hanging on by a thread," he answered gruffly.

"Sorry."

"You make me feel things, want things...things I have no right to feel or want."

"I want them too," she admitted.

"But I don't want to be that guy."

"What guy?"

"A user. Someone who has no respect for girls. You are too special, too perfect. You are innocent and beautiful and the last thing I want to do is ruin that."

"Jonah, you could never be that guy." She traced the lines of his face tenderly.

"I very nearly was," he answered in an agonized voice. "You deserve better. A hell of a lot better than me."

Lyra shook her head. "Even if... _that_ ...had happened, it wouldn't be because you _used_ me. I know you better than that, Jonah. Things just got a little out of hand, that's all. And, well, it wasn't like I was pushing you away."

Jonah swallowed visibly and shut his eyes for a moment.

Lyra blushed in embarrassment hoping he wasn't remembering just what she _had_ been doing. "You're right, though," she continued, wanting to get past the awkward moment. " _That_ is something very special, sacred even. Not to be rushed into in the, um, heat of the moment." She flushed scarlet again. So much for getting past the embarrassing part.

In unspoken agreement, they dropped the subject. However, acutely aware of their limited time together and fear of what the future held, they stayed on the sofa, snuggled close under the warmth of the afghan until Jet called down the stairs for them to come eat.

Jonah drove her home around ten. He walked her to her door and kissed her briefly on the lips. When he stepped back, she smiled at him ruefully.

"Am I being punished for earlier?"

He chuckled. "No, but I don't want a repeat here on your doorstep. Your parents would chase me away with butcher knives."

She smiled, then sobered. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

She grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and looked stern. "Promise me you'll come back."

" _I want to_ ," Jonah answered earnestly. "But I have to do what's best for...everyone. If I am a danger to others, if I lose control when I'm too angry or upset or ... excited," he looked at her bleakly, "I can't come back. What happened to Kyle is nothing compared to what could happen."

Lyra didn't want to get into another argument about Kyle. Jonah was convinced he'd used too much force, and nothing Lyra said could change his mind.

"Will you call me?"

Jonah shook his head.

Lyra tried to conceal her disappointment. "Will you text me?" Even she could hear the whine in her voice.

Jonah's brow wrinkled. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but when I leave tomorrow and especially after I get to Edenvale, I want to be totally focused on the tests. If I'm thinking about you...well, I _will_ be thinking about you...but if we are calling or texting back and forth, it'll just mess with my concentration. I really need to give this my full attention."

Lyra nodded. She understood. But that didn't stop the lump from rising in her throat at the thought of not seeing or speaking to him for two whole weeks—especially on Christmas.

She looked at the ground, trying to blink away the sudden moisture in her eyes before it spilled over.

Jonah stepped closer and lifted her chin. The traitorous tears slid down her face.

He caught them with his thumbs, then cupped her face. "I love you. I will always love you. The past couple of months have been the best of my entire life. I will never forget you, no matter what happens."

Lyra couldn't speak. She just closed her eyes to the pain of possibly losing him forever. She felt his warm lips on hers once more and then he was gone.

Chapter XIX.

The trip to Edenvale took five hours due to closed mountain passes and icy roads. Jet and Jonah arrived in time for lunch, but Jonah, not wanting to socialize, passed. Plus, it felt like a nest of snakes had been loosed in his stomach.

Dr. Quinton met with them that afternoon to go over the various tests the staff would be putting Jonah through, beginning the following day. First, he would receive a complete physical exam including blood work. The first several days would consist of strength and endurance work-outs in the morning, analyses of his psychic, telepathic, and telekinetic abilities in the afternoons. They would take off Christmas Eve and Day, then resume with a reversal of the morning/afternoon schedule. Jonah was not happy with that news. He did not want to just sit around for two days drinking wassail and joining the Christmas carol sing-a-long.

Jet, sensing what Jonah was thinking, sent him a warning look. Jonah scowled, but kept his mouth shut.

Jonah was also surprised, and disgruntled, to learn that mandatory psychological evaluations had been instituted since he was here last. Before, only kids who were obviously disturbed went to see the shrink. Now, everyone who came to the institute had to undergo an evaluation.

"We've found that, for the most part, kids who come to this institute fall into two categories, Jonah," Dr. Quinton stated. "Those who are ashamed and afraid of the powers they possess..."

Jonah squirmed in his seat uncomfortably.

"...and those with a God complex," he finished.

At Jonah's curious look, Dr. Quinton explained. "The latter individuals think that their enhanced mental and physical strengths put them above the average human being. They use, manipulate, and even harm others to get what they want or simply for their own twisted amusement.

"Discovering and controlling your abilities is not enough, Jonah. How you view yourself—your life beliefs, your attitude toward and relationships with others—will determine your future. We want you—and all the students here at Edenvale—to have the best possible future and use your special gifts for the betterment of yourself and world we live in."

Dr. Quinton continued to gaze at Jonah when he'd finished speaking. He seemed to be waiting for Jonah to question or comment on what he'd said.

Jonah simply nodded. He got it. He didn't like it, but he got it.

"And let me mention one last thing before you leave," Dr. Quinton said as he stood to walk them back to the common room. "This won't be unfamiliar to you, Jonah, because of your extensive martial arts training. I want you to practice your relaxation techniques when you wake up in the morning and before bed each night. You will learn some new ones while you are here as well. Before all of your psychic analyses, the instructor will walk you through one."

Jonah had stood and they were walking toward the door.

"I'm sure you'd agree," Dr. Quinton continued, putting an affectionate hand on Jonah's shoulder, "that living out among regular people, you have to keep your guard up. You've probably repressed more of your extrasensory abilities than you realize.

"But you are safe here. You are free to let loose and test the limits your true potential."

Jonah nodded and escaped Dr. Quinton's perceptive eye. The thought of 'letting loose' and giving free reign to his 'true potential' terrified him. What if that true potential caused houses to explode and people to die?

Well, that's what he was here for, right? To find out.

After the meeting and having settled into their rooms, Jonah and Jet walked around the facility. The location was remote, miles from any town or even other residences. The main building, an older estate home (donated many years ago), remained unchanged. There were several new outbuildings which housed the examination/class rooms. Everything was connected by cement walkways above-ground and corresponding tunnels below.

The grounds were deserted. All that could be heard was the wind whistling through the trees and the crunch of their steps on the recently cleared path. The stark landscape of white and gray, and the black of tree trunks, was broken only by the low-lying red brick buildings they passed.

They hadn't spoken since leaving Dr. Quinton. "Thanks for bringing me, Jet," Jonah said, finally breaking the silence. "I'm sorry you have to spend your Christmas here."

He stopped, a thought occurring suddenly. "Of course, you don't have to stay here the whole time. I won't get my feelings hurt if you want to go back..."

"Jonah," Jet interrupted, holding up a gloved hand. "You are my family. Who else would I be spending Christmas with? No one. I'd be alone. This is not an inconvenience to me at all." He paused; then continued hesitantly. "And, if the truth be known—forgive me, Jonah—I'm actually quite thrilled to be here."

Jonah searched his face. Yes, he could see it now. Either he hadn't been paying attention before, or his uncle had been trying to conceal it, but Jet's eyes danced with excitement.

Jonah turned and resumed walking, not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry, Jonah," Jet continued, his voice imploring. "I know this is difficult for you. I do not find pleasure in your trials. But...it's like being invited to tour Area 54 in Roswell, New Mexico. Imagine having a free pass to see all those frozen alien bodies and their wrecked spaceship."

Jonah laughed. He couldn't help himself. "So now I rank with aliens, huh? I'm glad to know your opinion of me." He chuckled again. "That may be a very appropriate comparison, actually."

"You know what I mean!" Jet huffed. His voice was exasperated, but Jonah heard the relief too.

They had reached the farthest buildings comprising Edenvale and the path circled back to the main house. They discussed the things they'd each observed, what had changed and what had remained the same. When they got back, Jonah left his uncle to go to his room.

Dinner that night was not as bad as Jonah had feared. A long table ran the length of the formal dining room where adults and children ate together, but it was all very casual. Dr. Quinton was not strict on etiquette. The room was filled with the exuberant chatter and laughter of the twenty or so students in residence, ranging in age from seven to nineteen. It seemed everyone was excited about Christmas. A few of the older kids eyed him curiously, but most were unconcerned with the presence of guests.

When the long day was over, Jonah lay in the unfamiliar bed and stared at the ceiling. He was anxious about the testing, but oddly at ease too. It had been so long since he'd been around others like himself. It _was_ kind of liberating.

Remembering the scene in the dining room, he understood that the kids here were all just a motley group of typical youths...with very atypical capabilities. They were neither good nor bad. They simply _were._ Perhaps his father had been right in his theories. Or maybe there were no explanations. Either way, they were human beings who wanted to belong somewhere, who wanted to be accepted and loved. And to have some fun, it appeared. Over dinner, challenges had been issued and bets taken. There was to be a colossal snowball fight the next day after lessons were over. Remembering some of the more bloated claims and inventive threats, Jonah chuckled, rolled over.

If he condemned himself, he had to condemn every one of those kids there. And he couldn't do that. For the first time that he could remember, Jonah drifted off to sleep with a feeling, if he had to name it, he might have called hope.

~~***~~

Over the next few days, Jonah's strength and endurance were tested in various ways. No doubt was left that he was qualified to compete in (and win hands-down) any 'Strongest Man' competitions, were that his thing. _It wasn't._

Learning to control and gauge his strength was also taught. In one session, he was given fragile, blown-glass globes to carry while he pulled enormous weights using a chest harness. The first time, his fists automatically clenched and shattered them. Once he'd mastered that, the globes were put in the crooks of his elbows, under his chin, and even between his knees as he performed weighted squats.

The psychic and telepathic exercises and experiments alternated between fun and exciting to a dead bore. A couple of afternoons were taken up with Jonah transmitting messages to people, various distances away. Some of the people he knew—like his uncle, Dr. Quinton, or other instructors he'd met, some were strangers; sometimes he knew their location, other times he didn't.

Another few sessions were spent trying (and failing) to read other peoples' minds. The most absurd test, in Jonah's opinion, was where he had to try to "see" the images on the back of flash cards. He really did try, but no matter how hard he concentrated, the random images that came to his mind never matched those on the cards.

The mental work-outs may have produced some results, though. Jonah began to pick up on other peoples' emotional states. For instance, he could feel the flash card guy's frustration building as the test wore on and Jonah's guesses got wilder and wilder. At first, he'd brushed off the notation, assuming he was projecting his own aggravation. But then, on Christmas Eve morning, he passed a little redheaded girl in the hall whose joy rolled over him and had him grinning stupidly. So startled was he that he turned and followed the girl to a front office, where he glimpsed her launching herself into her mother's waiting arms. He learned later that her name was Annabelle and she'd been told she was not going home for Christmas only to be surprised when her parents showed up unannounced.

He reported the phenomenon to Jet and Dr. Quinton. He still could not _read_ minds, but due either to the relaxation techniques or psychic-stretching exercises (or both), he was becoming more attuned to others' emotions, at least when they were pretty strong emotions. Dr. Quinton was very excited, said that this new ability could be heightened and honed, and hurried off to arrange a whole new set of experiments for after the holiday.

_Great_ , Jonah thought disgustedly. _More tests. I should have kept my big mouth shut!_

Dr. Quinton, who was half-way down the hall turned back, laughing, "I heard that."

~~***~~

After Christmas, the rigorous schedule resumed and Jonah was glad. All he'd done for two days was think of Lyra and wonder what she was doing or if she was thinking of him. He came close to caving in and calling her, but he didn't. He was beginning to feel hopeful about returning to Lake Placid and he knew that was dangerous. Until he knew for sure, he didn't want to give her false expectations.

~~***~~

On the last day, Dr. Quinton approached him at breakfast.

"Jonah, you will not be going to Building 3 again today."

Jonah nodded, "Okay."

"You'll be in Building 6. It is the one farthest out, as you know. I'll explain what we'll be doing today when you get there." Dr. Quinton turned to walk away, then, "Oh, and I'd suggest taking the tunnels today. It is miserable outside."

"All right," Jonah agreed. He'd heard the wind howling and the ice pelting the window when he'd woke that morning.

As he got up from the table to make his way to Building 6, Jet got up and followed.

"Oh, are you coming with me?" Jonah asked him.

Jet, suddenly intent on buttoning his cardigan sweater and fiddling with the cuffs, answered, "Um, well yes. I thought...I mean, Dr. Quinton suggested...um, we agreed I should sit in on this session."

"Ohh-kaaay." Now Jonah was really curious. Obviously today would not be the same exercises and experiments he'd been suffering through.

They arrived at the door of Building 6 and took the stairs up to ground level. Jonah stopped dead when he entered.

It was a cavernous space—like a warehouse. A group of firefighters milled around. One was checking the short flame coming from a portable propane tank. Another appeared to be testing air quality, holding some sort of meter in his hand. Some were moving furniture to the edges of the room. Others stood about talking in low voices.

Dr. Quinton came hurrying over with another man following in his wake, both wearing what appeared to be fireproof jumpsuits.

Jonah began to get a very bad feeling.

"Jonah. You're here. Oh, good, Jet. You are as well." Dr. Quinton stopped before them.

Jonah's mind was screaming for him to run. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. And a rush of adrenaline hit his system like lightening.

They must have seen the panic in his eyes. Jet laid a hand on Jonah's arm. "Jonah, look at me."

Jonah did. Jet's face was set in determination, but Jonah saw the compassion in his eyes.

"This is why you came, son. You want to know once and for all what happened that day your parents died. This is it."

Jonah felt his head shaking back and forth in silent denial.

"Just listen to what Dr. Quinton has to say. Okay?"

Jonah just stared at his uncle.

Dr. Quinton cleared his throat. "Jonah."

Jonah turned to him.

Dr. Quinton gestured to the man on his right. "This is Dr. Lowe. He is an expert in his field. He is a psychiatrist who specializes in guiding patients through traumatic experiences in their lives through hypnotism.

"He can help you go back to that day and relive those crucial moments. We have set up some flammables not far away, as you can see," Dr. Quinton indicated the set up a few yards away.

His mind screamed "run." Every muscle was bunched to flee. He never, ever wanted to relive the horror of that day. But Lyra's face flashed before him. He had to know. He had to find out once and for all...Had he murdered his parents?

Jonah noticed the firemen had all stopped in their tasks and were watching the exchange. It helped him to get a grip on himself. Those people were going to think he was a lunatic. Of course, given the circumstances, they no doubt already did.

Having been caught eavesdropping, the firemen looked away and shuffled around looking busing once more.

Jonah tore his gaze away from them and focused once more on Dr. Quinton. He swallowed, trying to stimulate some moisture in his mouth. "What do I have to do?"

The relief in their faces at his acquiescence was almost comical.

Dr. Quinton led him over to another door. Jonah hadn't noticed but along the back wall was another room, like that of a sound room in a studio. The vertical walls were composed of plexi-glass with a steel frame, roof, and door.

Inside were an upholstered lounge chair facing out into the main room, a straight back chair beside it, and two more chairs a few feet away.

Dr. Lowe spoke for the first time. "Jonah, come over here and sit on the lounger." His voice was low pitched and modulated.

Jonah did as he was told. Dr. Quinton and Jet took to two chairs behind him.

"Lie down," Dr. Lowe instructed.

Jonah obeyed, staring out on the scene in front of him.

"Dr. Quinton tells me you have been practicing mental relaxation techniques and I'm going to walk you through some of those first. Once you are more at ease, I will take you under."

_That sounded ominous_ , Jonah thought.

"There is nothing to fear," Dr. Lowe continued. "Once you are under, we will go over the day of the accident together. I will guide you through what you saw and heard, and the emotions you experienced leading up to, and during, the explosion.

"If you psychically caused the explosion which killed your parents, I am certain that the phenomenon will be repeated and the propane tank over there, which represents the gas stove your mother was using that evening, will explode as well."

Jonah looked at him like he was crazy.

"All precautions have been taken. We cannot be harmed in here. Bullet proof glass. The firemen out there have on their suits and can certainly contain any resulting fire or flying debris."

Jonah sucked in a deep breath and wished vehemently he had not eaten the scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast that now threatened to come back up.

"When I release you from the hypnotic state, you will remember everything that has happened. Either way this ends, Jonah, you will finally have closure."

Jonah nodded, uttered his first prayer in over seven years, and closed his eyes.

Chapter XX.

Lyra blew the hair out of her eyes and ducked under the rack of coats for one last check. Yep, that was it. She'd gotten everything. Now she began the process of replacing _orderly_ everything that was staying and making a pile of shoes, scarves, hats, and other detritus to be taken to the Salvation Army. The coats to be donated were already folded and placed in the box.

This was Lyra's third closet. She'd gone through hers, the one upstairs that held the linens, and the kitchen pantry. Well, she thought. Technically, the pantry wasn't a closet, it was a pantry. Still, it was a small, enclosed space used to store various items...a closet...for food. Okay. She was really losing it.

It was ten o'clock New Year's Eve and Lyra was home alone. Her parents had gone to a party at a friend's house. She'd told them she had plans with Aimee, but she didn't. She knew if they thought she was staying home alone on New Year's Eve, they would have cancelled their plans—or worse, forced her to go with them. And Lyra really needed the solitude right now.

It had been a very trying holiday—ten days since she'd said goodbye to Jonah. Pre-Christmas wasn't so bad. She'd been with her mom shopping, cleaning, and cooking. There had been presents to wrap, baked goods to deliver, friends dropping by. She'd been busy.

Christmas itself was nice, though quiet. No extended family had come so it was just the three of them. Her mom and dad had been very generous again this year. She'd gotten some new clothes, a pretty red dress coat, a new iPod, and a gift card to the iPod online store.

They went to church on Christmas Eve and it was a beautiful service. She always enjoyed singing the traditional carols and they listened to a couple of solos from members of the worship team. There was a short drama in which the shepherds were visited by the angel declaring the birth of the Christ child. And finally, Mrs. Donovan, who had an amazing voice and taught choir at school, sang "Mary, Did You Know?" It was one of Lyra's favorites. During the song, another young woman dressed all in white with long, dark hair danced. It wasn't one particular style, but she'd incorporated some sign language, and her gestures and movements were so expressive, the dance told a story all its own. It was the most beautiful thing Lyra had ever seen. And for a little while, she forgot all of her own concerns.

After the service, as they were making their way to the door, Lyra heard someone calling her name. She turned and saw her youth pastor, Greg, struggling to make his way to her. Her parents went on out to warm up the car and Lyra waited until the crowd thinned a bit and Greg was able to reach her.

"Lyra!" Greg beamed and wrapped her into a hug. He was an energetic man in his mid-twenties. He'd come to their church a year or so before and had breathed new life into their youth group.

"I haven't seen you in ages. I've missed you!"

Lyra ducked her head, ashamed. She hadn't been to Youth in months...since school started...since Jonah. "Greg, I'm sorry...I..."

"Don't apologize. I know how it is. Four out of five of kids leave Youth when they get their driver's license. It's just an occupational hazard for me." He grinned again. There was no censure in his expression, he truly was just glad to see her.

"It's not that. I just...um, well..." How could she explain? She couldn't. She looked up into Greg's understanding face and shrugged.

"Invite him to come with you, you know how laid back we are."

Lyra blushed at his dead-on guess and Greg continued. "We've put together a youth band and they are fantastic! Kevin Michaels is playing drums, Josh Grubbs is on lead guitar and vocals, little Rachel Thomas is playing bass guitar—if you can believe it, and I'm on keyboard...just until we get someone else. You gotta come check it out! You're going to love it! It adds a whole new dimension to our worship on Wednesday nights. We still meet in the rec room next door at six."

His excitement was contagious. "Okay. I _will_ be back," Lyra promised.

Just being in Greg's presence for a few minutes lifted her spirits. He was genuine, not a fake. His faith was strong, but he knew how to have fun and keep teenagers engaged. It was a great idea to start a youth band to play contemporary Christian music on Wednesday nights. She was sorry she'd stayed away so long and truly looked forward to getting back again.

Lyra smiled as she thought back to that conversation. It had been one of the highlights of her holiday.

On the 26th, however, her parents had gone back to work and the house had become as still and quiet as a tomb. For six long days she'd been alone with her anxiety and fear. New Year's Eve or not, she was just lousy company for anyone.

Jonah was due back tomorrow, so if she could just get through tonight... _If he's coming back,_ a little voice whispered.

"Stop it!" she said out loud. "He's coming back." She wiped the perspiration off her forehead and placed her rubber boots to the right of her mother's. Dad's, mom's, then mine—all in a neat row, as they should be. More than once over the last few days she had wondered if she had a touch of OCD. Or possibly a raging case that needed medication.

Next she began matching gloves together and placing them in the closet cubbies. Busy work was the only thing that kept her from going crazy. She couldn't concentrate long enough to read. She'd played her cello until her back ached. She'd dusted and vacuumed and cleaned windows until she fell into bed exhausted each night.

The house was spotless. There wasn't anyone to cook for, not a dirty sock remained to be washed, and Harry had already had two baths this week. He wouldn't come near her for fear of getting dragged out to the tub in the garage again.

She'd had the idea of the closets this afternoon. She figured once she was through with this one, she'd tackle the junk drawer in the kitchen. Hopefully, by the time she was through with it, the noisy fireworks would be over and then she'd get a bath and go to bed.

On her hands and knees, she leaned way into the back of the closet to stick a pair of snow shoes in the far corner. She heard a pounding on the door and Harry went crazy barking, scrabbling his way to the front door. Startled, she jerked up, hitting her head on a corner of the built-in cubicles.

"OW!" Tears came to Lyra's eyes and she rubbed her head vigorously. Who in the heck was stopping by at this hour on New Year's Eve?

Still rubbing the tender spot, Lyra went to see who was at the door. Through the glass she could see someone standing with their back to the door. She knew that back, that jacket, that head. _Jonah!_

She fumbled in her hurry to unlock to door. She finally managed and jerked it open. Icy air washed over her, but she didn't notice. There he stood. He looked awful. He looked wonderful.

"Jonah _._ Oh my gosh! You're here! I can't believe it."

He literally swept her off her feet, twirled her around and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Lyra. Lyra. Lyra.

She started crying. She just couldn't help it.

He put her down and cupped her face with his hands. His eyes devoured every inch of it.

"I love you. I missed you so much!"

"I love you too," Lyra managed through her tears. "You came back."

"Yes, yes. I came back. I couldn't stay away from you another minute."

Lyra tried to dry her tears so she could get a good look at him. What she saw shocked her. His expression was happy—exultant even, but his face looked haggard. His bottom lip was cut and scabbed with dried blood, and splotches of red stained the white of his eyes. What had happened to him?

"Are you okay?" She asked. "What happened? Were you in an accident?"

Jonah looked confused, then laughed, and hugged her to him again.

"No, no" he reassured her.

Another blast of cold air swept in from the open door. Jonah walked her backward farther inside the house, and shut the door behind him with his foot.

He kissed her again, this time slowly and thoroughly. Lyra felt the blood heat in her veins. He was real, solid, and as usual making her head swim with desire.

Finally, he pulled back. "I have so much to tell you. I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, come in and take your coat off. Hang on."

Lyra rushed back to the hallway, shoved everything into the closet, including the donation box, shut the door on it all, and flipped off the hall light.

Lyra led him into the living room. Coals glowed in the fireplace, but otherwise it was dark. Jonah asked Lyra if she wanted him to rekindle the fire. Taking that to mean he planned on staying a while, she said yes, and said she'd go make them hot chocolate.

With the fire blazing and their mugs on the table in front of them, Lyra and Jonah faced each other on the couch. She clasped his hands and inched closer. She knew he would tell her what happened in his own time, so she waited patiently. She could afford to be patient now with him here with her.

He started at the beginning and told her about the tests he underwent at Edenvale. He talked for a long time, Lyra occasionally interrupting him with a question. He told her about how each day his mental and psychic abilities had been stretched and pushed to the limit. He told her about the relaxation techniques he learned. Lyra listened, fascinated, as he related how, little by little, his guard had been lowered. He saw it now: all along they'd been preparing him for the final test. When he told her about walking into Building 6, seeing the firemen with all their gear, and the propane tank and flame, she gasped and clenched his hands tighter.

"Dr. Lowe took me through every moment of that evening from the time my mother and I heard my father's car in the drive. It was so intense. I _was_ 11 years old again and hiding under the bush in the yard. I _saw_ my parents arguing through the window, heard again every word they said. The window was big and from my position I could see the entire length of the kitchen.

"All of the hurt, the anger, and the helplessness were _so real, so tangible_. It all welled up inside of me, just as it had that night. For me, it _was_ that night. Everything in me screamed for them to stop."

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "And as I sat there in the dirt, shaking with the fear and fury raging inside of me, I watched as my mother took her oven mitts off the counter, her back to my ranting father, and open the oven door to check the roast." Jonah stopped, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts far away.

Lyra waited.

He shook himself slightly and his eyes returned to hers. "That was it. The second the oven door cracked open, the kitchen exploded. I felt the force of it, the heat scorching my skin—just like before." He paused again.

"Dr. Lowe brought me up from the trance then. All was fine in Building 6; the propane tank was still intact, the flame still flickering. The firemen were still looking on, hoping for something to catch fire so they could put it out. Jet was laughing and crying at the same time. The doctors were shaking hands and congratulating each other." The corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile.

"It was the weirdest feeling, though," Jonah continued more somberly. "I was still in the middle of the shock I'd felt all those years ago. It was so disorienting to go from 11 to 17, from the destruction of my home and family in Arkansas to a quiet building in rural Canada. It took a while for my brain to catch up with reality, you know? And then I was just so relieved to know once and for all: _It wasn't me!_

"Once I'd processed that, my next thought was, 'I gotta get out of here! I gotta get home.' I couldn't wait the whole rest of today, tonight, and half the day tomorrow. I begged Jet to leave then. He didn't want to because a Northern front was blowing down on us pretty heavily. Dr. Quinton wanted me to have a physical exam, but I said no way. I'd been through enough tests and exams to last a lifetime. Finally I persuaded Jet to leave right away." He finished with a sigh and leaned back into the corner of the sofa.

"And here you are."

"And here I am," Jonah smiled and when he did the cut on his lip began to bleed.

He winced and touched a finger to the cut.

"What happened to your lip and your eyes..."

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting about my eyes. No, this wasn't due to a car accident. This happened while I was under hypnosis. Reliving that night...Like I said, it was very intense. At some point I bit down hard on my lip and some blood vessels in my eyes broke. I'm sorry. I must look awful!"

"You look wonderful. You just look like you've been in a fight or something. And me! Ugh. I've been cleaning closets all day." She gestured to her old sweatshirt and pants. She had on no make-up and for the first time that day she wondered if she'd remembered to put on deodorant.

"Actually, you don't look that great. Have you been sick?"

Lyra grimaced.

Jonah hurried on, "I mean, you've lost some weight and you've got dark circles under your eyes."

"Oh well, you know, the frenzy of the holidays and all..." Lyra wouldn't meet his eyes.

Jonah looked at her dubiously, but didn't push her.

"This was one rough Christmas, huh?" he said instead.

"You're not kidding," Lyra sighed. "But it's over now and you're back."

Just then they heard fireworks going off in the distance, soon followed by the grandfather clock chiming the hour.

Jonah looked surprised. "It's New Year's Eve, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Lyra grinned. "Happy New Year, Jonah."

"Well, Christmas may have been a lesson in slow torture, but at least the New Year is starting out perfect." He opened his arms and she scooted up into them, her cheek resting on his chest. They listened to the fireworks, the crackle of the now dying fire, and each others' hearts beat.

They heard Lyra's parents arrive around twelve-thirty.

Lyra reluctantly disentangled herself and sat up.

"You'd better smooth your hair down or they'll think we've been making out. It's sticking all up in the back." Jonah chuckled, as he straightened up too.

"Oh!" Lyra's hand flew to her hair, trying to comb through the tangled strands. She remembered rubbing the back of her head vigorously when she'd hit it earlier. It must have been sticking up the whole time. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she accused.

"Because you're so cute when you're rumpled."

Lyra was scowling at him as her parents walked in. They were a little startled to find Lyra home and Jonah visiting. Lyra explained that she'd changed her mind at the last minute about going over to Aimee's and Jonah had unexpectedly made it home earlier than planned. Lyra could see the questions in her parents' eyes as they took in Jonah's rough appearance. As far as they knew, Jonah and his uncle had been visiting relatives in the south. Thankfully though, they kept their inquiries to themselves.

Jonah, making his way to the door, apologized for staying so late, and especially while they weren't home. They knew him well enough now, and his manners were always so polite, they waved off his apology good-naturedly and headed upstairs.

At the door, Jonah kissed Lyra goodnight. It was a feathery kiss, full of hope and promise. He told her she and Harry were invited over, but _only_ after she'd gotten at least eight hours of sleep.

"I think I'll be able to now," she told him. "You need it too, though."

Jonah smiled. "I guess we look like a couple of refugees fleeing a war-torn country."

Lyra nodded and laid her head on his chest. "But we've crossed the border into safety now."

~~***~~

The next morning, Jonah, Lyra, and Jet celebrated. Jet was in the kitchen when Lyra arrived. He had coffee brewing, bacon frying, cinnamon pancakes browning, and eggs scrambling. Lyra's stomach rumbled in appreciation. She felt like she hadn't eaten in days.

Jonah came downstairs, his hair still damp from a shower, just as Lyra was helping Jet dish up the plates. They ate and talked more about what had happened at Edenvale. Lyra was fascinated with everything.

After they insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, Jonah and Lyra went into the living room and sat on the floor, throwing a toy for Harry. Jet, his usual companion and playmate, had gone to work in his office.

Jonah looked more at ease than Lyra had ever seen him. He looked content.

He took her hand and laced their fingers together. "Lyra," he began. "I want to thank you for what you've done for me."

She shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about? I haven't done anything."

"If it hadn't been for you, I'd still be stuck in my self-made prison. I was completely alone and completely miserable. Your friendship and kindness, your _tenacity_ , broke through all my barriers. If it weren't for you I'd never have had the courage—or even the incentive—to go back to Edenvale and face my worst fears. If it weren't for you, I still wouldn't know the truth about that night. Lyra, you gave me my life back."

Lyra shook her head. "You're giving me far more credit than I deserve, but I am so happy that you finally have that weight lifted off your shoulders."

"You have no idea," Jonah replied.

"I'll never be able to look back on my childhood as a happy one," he continued. "But at least I can let it go now. What I discovered doesn't change the fact that my father was cruel and my mother was weak. Somehow, in my mind, being responsible for their deaths also made me responsible for their failures. Now it's all gone. I know it sounds crazy, but I don't even feel the anger toward my father I did before. He was a warped man. That wasn't my fault."

Lyra closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Jonah had not only come back to her, he came back whole.

EPILOGUE

Lyra shut the door and met Jonah at front of the car. Taking his hand, she led him forward a few steps, but he was dragging his feet. His reluctance made her stop and turn back to him.

"You said you wanted to come tonight," she reminded him.

"I know...I'm just...nervous."

The sound of a live band carried to them on the cold air.

Lyra stepped closer to him and took hold of his other hand. "What are you nervous about?"

Jonah shrugged and shuffled his feet.

"When we talked, you said you weren't going to let your father's bad example prejudice you against church anymore."

Jonah nodded in agreement.

"You said you were willing to give God _and_ church another chance."

Jonah nodded again.

Lyra sighed. She had kept her promise and returned to Wednesday night Youth Group. She'd been coming for about a month now and really enjoying it. Jonah politely declined her invitations, but listened when she told him all about what they did, the topics they discussed, and the music the band played.

He'd asked her after school today if she was going again tonight. When she said yes, he surprised her by saying he wanted to come too. Lyra thought he would come around eventually, but was surprised at how quickly he had.

Then again, maybe it was still too soon. After all he'd been through, she understood his misgivings.

"So, do you want to go home?"

Jonah looked down into her eyes for a long moment. She could see the indecision warring within him. She smiled, letting him know it was okay either way.

Her acceptance and unconditional support decided him. _What did he have to fear with Lyra by his side? She was his own personal miracle. Perhaps a gift to him from a loving God?_

He took a deep breath, clasped her hand more tightly, and nodded his head. "I'm ready."

~~***~~

About the Author

Pam Tribble is a part-time author and full-time Legal Assistant with a local law firm in Southeast Texas, where she resides with her husband, Randy, two dogs, a Cockatoo named Allie and a Cockatiel named Levi. She is currently working her second book. For updates, be sure to check out her book page at <http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/pamtribble>.
