Moms still do that, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I took mine real seriously. That's about all I ate for a while after college. It

was kind of a mission for me at the time. I thought that if I made myself look beautiful on the outside, it would make me beautiful on the inside, too. But after a while, I realized that was pretty much a lie.”

“Well, you are beautiful.” Stacy smiled shyly.

Kate touched her new friend's shoulder. “I was always beautiful, Stacy. And

so are you. I mean true beauty, not the stuff people see on the outside. That doesn't always mean it's true. Believe me, once people get to see the real beauty

you have—the beauty it takes time to see—it means a lot more. And lasts a lot…

longer.” She found her eyes staring at the photo of Peter the class had pasted on

the bulletin board, his blue eyes dancing over his joyful smile as the class clowned around him. She sighed.

“So, Kate…so…you like Mr. Clark, right?”

Kate was jolted out of her thoughts. “Hmm? What?”

Stacy was staring at her. It was obvious Kate had been gazing at the photo

for a few seconds. “Mr. Clark. He says you went to school together.”

“He does? Yes, we did. A long time ago.”

Stacy turned back to the table and began organizing her notes. “What was he like? Back then, I mean?”

Kate laced her fingers together, thinking. “Well, let's see. He was tall and skinny and wore glasses. Some of the boys called him 'Peter Clarker'—you know, like Spiderman?”

Stacy giggled.

“And, umm…oh yeah—he was into rockets back then, too.”

“Really?”

Kate nodded, then whispered. “Almost burned down his treehouse once.”

That got a wide-eyed, open-mouthed smile. Stacy seemed to remember

something. “Oh, yeah—once Mr. Clark was showing us inert gasses and he lit a

bag on fire because he thought it was helium, but it was really hydrogen.”

Kate nodded. “Okay, I have no idea what that means, but I'll assume

something blew up.”

“Yeah. There was this big ball of fire.” She pointed to a dark spot on the ceiling tiles over one of the tables. “You can still see the smudge on the hanging light.”

Kate pursed her lips. “Hmm. I'd only heard about the one where he mixed two things together. Red-something and phosphor-something?”

“Oh, yeah. That wasn't my class, but I heard about it. The school made him

paint the ceiling.”

Kate leaned forward, warming to these bits of Peter gossip. “Okay, what else

you got?”

“Oh, this one time, he was mixing something in a beaker and it slipped and

dropped and spilled on the table and sprayed on him.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “He looked like he had wet his pants for the rest of the class.”

Kate laughed. “Okay, that one I'm definitely remembering.”

“Yeah.” Stacy folded her hands in her lap. “He's the best teacher in school. I

wish he was an art teacher.”

Kate nodded. Stacy continued before she could speak.

“I was just wondering if you thought that maybe he—well, not him, of

course…” She looked down. “But someone like him could be…” She pushed

some hair back from her eyes. “Could like someone? Like me?”

Kate drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Oh, Stacy.” She touched her

shoulder again. “Of course someone could and someone will.”

Stacy smiled broadly. “Okay.” She seemed to have a thought because she sat

a little straighter. “You should go to the Homecoming Dance with him. Mr. Clark

goes every year.” More giggles. “He's a good dancer.”

Peter? “Really? It'd almost be worth seeing that.” Then she remembered.

“But I doubt if I'll be here. I live in Chicago.”

“Oh. I thought you lived here.” And with that, the girl turned on her stool and flopped open her chemistry binder.

Kate observed her for a moment, then hopped off her own stool. “Okay,