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on her empty wallet. A large mochaccino at Ozzie’s cost over three bucks. Her friends thought nothing of buying two of them a day. Heather couldn’t keep up, and she refused to let anybody else buy one for her. The old Gannis pride kicked in triple strength when it came to shallow displays of fortune. Or lack thereof.
    Besides, she had something important to do this afternoon. Something she’d put off for too long.
    Heather stood and smoothed her long, slim, blood-colored skirt. She strode out of the classroom, and her friends followed close behind. “Can’t make it. Sorry,” she said breezily.
    â€œOh.” Carrie hovered at Heather’s locker, taking a moment to regroup. “How about Dean & Deluca? They have those excellent caramel brownies. We can go to Tower Records after and get started on Christmas shopping.”
    â€œYou all go. Maybe I’ll catch up later,” Heather said noncommittally. “I’ve got something I need to take care of this afternoon.”
    Melanie and Carrie stared at her in silence, obviously hoping she would elaborate. She didn’t feel like it. She slammed her locker shut. She pulled on her black nylon jacket and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “See ya. Leave your cell on, Carrie.”
    Once Heather was rid of them, she slipped into the bathroom. She got weirdly obsessive about her appearance every time she was about to see Sam, although she knew her boyfriend was even more oblivious to her subtle efforts than most guys.
    She studied her face and her hair. She applied a coat of lip gloss and ran a brush through her long, smooth hair. No perceivable difference. Staring at the high neck of her white T-shirt under her soft, black V-necked sweater, she suddenly had an idea. Ever since “the incident” — the slashing that had put her in the hospital late in September — she’d worn a scarf or a shirt or sweater with a high neck every time she left her apartment. Now she discarded her jacket, dropped her backpack on the floor, and pulled both the sweater and the T-shirt over her head at the same time. She pulled the two garments apart, folded the T-shirt neatly into her backpack, and put the sweater back on.
    She spent another minute gazing at her reflection. Yes, that was a good idea.

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    SAM TIPPED BACK HIS HEAD AND rested it on the top of the park bench. He closed his eyes and soaked up the low, late autumn sun. For the end of November, the air was sweet and warm. Probably almost sixty degrees.
    Wednesdays were his favorite days. His classes ended early, so he allowed himself to hang out at the chess tables. That was one of the great things about college — those one or two class days that left you lots of time to waste. He’d already hustled twenty bucks off an unwitting stranger, then given it right back to Zolov in a rout. It was a weird form of charity, but whatever. Hustle from the stupid and lose to the smart. ’Twas the season.
    â€œHey, handsome.”
    He lifted his head and blinked open his eyes. Heather was bearing down at twenty feet, beautiful as ever in her red skirt and whispery black jacket. He heard the dry acorns cracking under the heels of her boots.
    â€œHi,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “How’s your day?”
    â€œOkay,” she said. “The usual high school plundering of spirits. How ’bout you?”
    He laughed. Heather was so cool, so together. Never awkward or at a loss for words. “Oh, you know. Wasting some more of my youth at the chess tables.” He paused. “Looking forward to tomorrow.”
    Instantly he felt annoyed at himself for having gilded the truth like that. He was looking forward to the gauntlet of the Gannis family Thanksgiving in the very plain sense of the phrase — observing that it would take place in the near future. He wasn’t looking forward as in eagerly anticipating it.
    â€œOh, yeah?” She angled