Infomericals were slowly giving way to more substantial programming, and Gabrielle was curled up on the couch, wide awake. She was brooding, perhaps for no better reason than lack of other diversion. Or because of too heavy thoughts.

Today was an anniversary: the day of her adoption into the Caplan family. Her eighteenth anniversary. One she had always looked forward to, because she always figured that by now she'd at least know who her birth parents were and why they gave her away. In truth, she knew little more than when she started searching. If it were possible, she'd go so far as to say she never had been born. With no birth certificate to back it up, the only evidence was the fact that she was sitting there. And sometimes even that didn't seem strong enough.

She sketched her name in block letters on the tablet of paper in her lap. Then drew a big "X" through it. Below, she started a list of other names, crossing them out as fast as she wrote them. None sounded right. She felt she'd know her original name when she found it. The trick was finding it. She worked her way through all the first names she could think of, trying to fit each one to her mental picture of herself. Common names held more power; it was easier to think of herself as a Jennifer than as a Brittany, but they still all felt sour.

Her younger sister Rachel spoke from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. "You don't like your name?" Gabby jumped. She didn't know Rachel had been standing there.

"It's not that. My name is fine." Gabby dismissed the notion with a wave of the tablet. She automatically responded in the patois of sign language and speech that had evolved in the family so no one would be too left out of any conversation." It sounds like a movie star name. Can't you see it? Scrolling up the movie screen: Gabrielle Caplan. I just wonder if I had another name, before . . . you know." Before her adoption -- one of those family things that everyone knew about but no one would admit to without whispering, not unlike Rachel's deafness.

Rachel nodded and leaned against the doorjamb. She was dressed for a hot day in shorts and a plain white t-shirt, and it seemed as though she'd get her wish. The room was growing more muggy with each minute, despite dawn being only a few minutes passed. "I had another name," she said, crossing her arms. Her eyes drifted to the television as the opening credits for "Night Court" started.

"You didn't."

"Andrea," Rachel answered, her eyes glued firmly to the television.

"That wasn't your name. Would you look at me?" Gabby flipped the tv off and on, to get Rachel's attention. "You're not listening."

Rachel crossed the room to stand directly between Gabby and the tv. "Happy?" she asked. "I don't have to look at you to hear you."

"Since when?" Gabby retorted.

"Mom said she was going to name me Andrea." Rachel brought the subject back, without seeming to notice the question. This was the Rachel she was familiar with: one who occasionally appeared to ignore things. Not because she wasn't paying attention, but because she didn't hear them. The behavior was normal enough that Gabby's guard went back down. It never occurred to her that the question really was being ignored.

"Was," Gabby emphasized. "But she changed her mind." She resketched her own name, this time in bubble letters ending in a big bubble question mark. The page was beginning to fill up.

"Even if you had another name, what does it matter? At least you can pronounce your name."

Gabby snickered. Despite Rachel's phenomenal progress at learning to speak, she still hadn't mastered 'r'. Which resulted in her pronouncing her own name with something akin to a Bronx accent. "I hate to break it to you, but 'Andrea' has an 'r' in it also."

"It does?" Rachel slowly finger spelled the name in question. "Yeah, I guess it does. Oh, well."

"You know," Gabby said, growing serious, "that's the first thing you've signed this entire conversation. What's going on?"

Rachel shifted from one foot to the other. "Nothing. Just practicing talking." She signed the last, as though trying to deny any occurrence of strange behavior by showing that it had stopped.

"Lie." Gabby set the tablet aside. With Rachel standing there, she wasn't able to keep her mind focused on the introspection. "What's up?"

For a second, she thought her sister might provide a real answer. Rachel had closed her eyes and turned partially away, as though gearing up to say something important. Then the moment was gone. Turning back, she responded again, "Nothing . . . Really . . . . I think I'm going to go for a bike ride." She left without waiting for a response.

Gabby wondered about the direction of the conversation for only a moment before her thoughts turned to other, more important, matters. She already had enough to think about, enough puzzles to assemble, even knowing that most of the pieces were missing. She switched the television off and went to bed.

****

Aaron Davidovich was feeling the effects of a late night and little sleep, and wanted nothing more than a very large, very hot coffee. Instead, he found himself two steps from the bottom of the stairs -- unshaven, unfed, and mostly unclothed -- facing three concerned-looking parents. He grabbed the towel around his waist to prevent it from falling off.

"What did I do this time?" he asked, looking from one set of unamused eyes to another. A search of his recent memories dredged up nothing that could cause those distinctly parental looks of disapproval. Past memories welled up with quite a bit of fodder, none of which he wanted to consider.

"Aaron," his mother began, reaching out with one hand to touch his arm. He could hear apology in her voice, and something . . . else. He turned to the other woman flanking his father, and noticed for the first time that she had been crying. She brushed a hand through her graying hair. "It's Jamie," she said. "She's in the hospital."

"Yeah?" He didn't know why they thought he cared. Jamie Schrader mattered to him in the same abstract way as any distant relative. Though they talked on occasion, he never could figure out what he found so fascinating about her the first time they'd met. Granted he was exceedingly drunk that first time, but he still thought he had better taste than that.

"She took some pills," Mrs. Schrader continued. "A lot of pills."

From what Jamie had said in the past, he knew this wasn't the first time she'd tried that stunt. "Is she going to live?" Aaron asked. He felt his shoulder muscles clenching up; the hand gripping the towel started to tingle. Sunlight shone through the glass door, bathing the foyer and its occupants in an otherworldly glow.

"Probably," his mother stated. "But . . ." She turned to his father for support; he pulled her close. "Social Services isn't going to let her keep Hannah."

"There's some question over her fitness as a mother." His father interjected. He tightened his hold on his wife and looked to the floor.

Aaron waited for them to say something else. They didn't. It was plain that he was filling in the blanks just fine. It was also plain that he wasn't happy with the results. If Social Services took Hannah away from Jamie, then he'd never see the baby again. Unless they made him take care of her.

Altogether, he wasn't sure which was worse. Jamie mattered to him not at all. If she disappeared from his life, he'd likely never notice. Hannah was a different matter. She was the unexpected consequence of a New Year's Eve party. A consequence Jamie hadn't even bothered to mention until well after it was too late to do anything about it. She'd called one day, shortly after school started. Her voice echoed over the phone line, and she was clearly crying.

"If you had a daughter, what you name her?" she managed to choke out after a couple of minutes of unintelligible sobbing.

He wasn't listening to her at all, only holding the phone to his ear until she decided they were done speaking. He knew from experience that if he hung up on her, she'd just keep calling back, and he'd get no peace. It took him a couple of seconds to register that a question had been asked, and another couple to remember what it was. "Hannah," he answered, without a thought. His paternal grandmother's name, and the first name that popped into his head.

"Middle name?"

"I dunno," he snapped. "Why?"

Jamie fell silent. He could hear some activity in the background, footsteps and people talking. Then Mrs. Schrader came on the line. "Congratulations . . ." she began. He didn't remember what happened next. All of a sudden, he was a father. Which was probably the last thing on the list of things he wanted to accomplish in his life.

He didn't like anything about the situation, but his parents flat out forbade him from walking away from it. So, he kept as much distance as possible and tried not to think about it.

As the months passed, he found the distance becoming a lot shorter and the time spent thinking about the baby a lot longer. Recently, he'd even caught himself thinking of Hannah not as "the baby" but as "his daughter".

But that didn't mean he'd started to like the situation. And it absolutely didn't mean he had to accept it.

"Where is she now?" he asked, inquiring of the toddler.

"Aunt Sarah is watching her," his mother whispered. "I thought it might be easier."

"Easier for who?" he asked, looking from one parent to another.

His father looked about to make some snap remark, when Mrs. Schrader spoke. "I can't take her. I have too much to worry about already. And now, with Jamie . . . ." She shook her head and left the sentence unfinished.

"Now with Jamie," he repeated, adding the note of finality. Of course. It had been Jamie's decision alone to have the baby. Her own mother had had less to do with the infant than Aaron, himself, and now seemed to be jumping at the first chance to erase that sorry passage from the story of her life. Not that he could blame her, but she could at least work on her excuses. "Ya know," he said, retightening the grip on the towel, "I'm going to take a long shower. Then I'm going to Aunt Sarah's. If any more life changing decisions need to be made in the next couple hours, you haven't seen me." He turned and walked up the stairs.

****

The knife hit Gabrielle's foot and clattered to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, one hand holding closed the damp terry cloth robe that was her only attire. When she arose, she pointed the knife at her cousin and demanded that he repeat his last statement.

She hadn't been surprised to find Aaron, her cousin, sitting at her kitchen table. He often ate meals with the Caplans. Meals which typically coincided with him not being able to face his own parents for some reason. She had scowled in his general direction upon entering the room and set about fixing something to eat. With his usual sense of tact, he didn't even wait for the water to boil before making his announcement. It was enough to ruin her day before it even started.

Aaron looked across the counter-island at her. He was sitting at the kitchen table, feet propped on a chair and seat balanced on two legs. "I can't keep her," he stated, in the same tone in which he'd comment on the weather. "I'm going to give her up for adoption."

The knife threatened to fall from Gabby's grasp again. She set it down next to a partially buttered piece of toast. "Let me guess," she said. "You're too young. You can't give her the life she deserves. You can't handle the responsibility. How did I do?"

"Three for three," Aaron replied. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jean shorts.

"Bullshit." She turned to the fridge, opened the door, peered inside long enough for the chill to begin raising goose bumps, and closed the door without removing anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aaron's chair thumped to the floor, followed by his feet. She heard him stand up.

"You're nobility is frightening," Gabby responded. "Don't you even wonder how Hannah feels about this?"

"She'll never know. She's too young."

"You don't think she'll find out?" Gabby stepped to the pantry and retrieved a box of cereal. She walked back to the refrigerator, opened the main door, closed it, opened the smaller inset door, closed it. "No milk," she said, glaring at the cereal box as though it was somehow the cereal's fault.

"It's not a big deal." Aaron came to her side, his unlaced sneakers clomping on the floor with each step.

"Adoption is too a big deal."

"I was talking about the milk," he responded. "Eat the cereal dry, from the box. I always do."

"Pay attention," Gabby snapped. She was not amused, and growing more annoyed by the minute. She couldn't decide if she wanted to smack him one or storm out of the room. "You want your daughter to grow up deprived of an adoring family who is willing to do anything for her: deprived of roots, customs, genetic history? She looks just like you, ya know? She'll never know that. She'll never know that she was the last person who grandfather saw before he died or that she was named after her grandmother."

"Those things aren't important," he argued.

"Maybe not to you. But she'll grow up wondering what she did that was so horrible that her parents couldn't stand to have her around."

"It's not like that. I can't afford to support her."

"At the risk of repeating myself," Gabby began. She let the sentence hang for a second. "Your parents support the both of you willingly. I don't see how you can bring money into this."

Aaron opened the fridge, took out a carton of orange juice, and drank from it. He set the container down on the island. "What do you care?"

Gabby felt her face pale. "You may not care about anyone but yourself, but don't you ever think I have the same narcissism." Her voice was cold and flat, the words clipped. She reached around Aaron and set the cereal box in the fridge in the space formerly occupied by the juice. Grabbing her toast, she headed to the table.

Around a mouthful of bread, she added, "What're you going to say to her when she comes looking for you in seventeen years? I'm sorry, dear, weekend parties at the frat house were so much more important than my own flesh and blood." Gabby felt herself growing incensed again and gulped deep breaths of air to calm down, almost inhaling a mouthful of crumbs. Her heart was thundering in her head.

"Shut up," Aaron spat. "You don't know anything about it." His face had gone livid. Gabby wondered which of her words had struck the nerve. Aaron ran a hand through his brown hair, teasing the shorn hairs at the neckline with his forefinger. It turned into a neckrub and he tilted his head back against his grip until the vertebrae popped.

Gabby leaned against the table, wiped the crumbs from her mouth. "Taku," she said beneath her breath, then demanded, "Look at me." She waited until she had his attention. "Do you honestly think I look like a Caplan?"

"No more'n I do," Aaron responded with a laugh. In a family of blondes, he and Gabby were the only two brunettes. It was a running joke between them that he, for some reason, had always found funnier than she.

"I'm serious. I don't look like a Caplan or a Davidovich," she said, emphasizing the 'or' to forestall any more smart-alec comments. "There's reason for that, ya know."

"What?" He took another long swig from the juice container.

Gabby stuffed the remainder of the toast in her mouth, holding her silence.

The clock on the mantle in the adjoining room marked the one-o'clock hour. Gabby wondered how long it would take for him to put the pieces together. The day was late enough -- late even by her schedule -- and she didn't want to waste the rest of it arguing. She was about to tell when she heard him whisper, "No way."

"But I've known you my entire life," he finally argued. He stared at her as though daring her to refute his conclusion; the juice container dented in his grip.

"Minus one year," she amended.

"Wow . . . I never considered . . . wow. Have you met your real parents yet?" He seemed to have forgotten why they were having this conversation.

"No. But we're not talking about me," she said, all but yelling. The moment of calm that came when revealing her already open secret passed quickly. "Work with me, here. We're talking about your daughter. Does that word mean anything to you? Because it sure as hell didn't mean anything to my birth parents."

"You don't know that."

"Maybe my mother tried to kill herself when raising me got too tough. Maybe my father didn't feel he could 'handle the responsibility'. Maybe they were just a couple of kids who had a bit too much to drink on New Year's Eve. But you're right, I don't know. That's the worst part. I don't know. Is that what you want to do to Hannah?"

"You're against adoption?" Aaron asked. He lifted the container to take another swig, discovered it was empty, and tossed it easily into the garbage can on the other side of the counter-island.

Gabby brushed some stray crumbs from her mouth. "No. I'm not against it. But adoption isn't something to do lightly. It's not like taking your unwanted puppies to the pound. It should be a last resort, not a first. Nobody understands that. You're capable of giving Hannah everything she deserves, but you don't want to because it'll shave a few years off your childhood. Guess what, Aaron, it's too late. You were an adult when you made the decision to go to that party and you were an adult when you decided to hop into bed with Jamie. You made the mistake. Not Hannah. Don't punish her."

She saw Aaron blanch. "Look, I'm sorry," she continued, "but this is not just your life we're talking about. Hannah may be a baby, but she's old enough to recognize her world turning upside down. And someday, she'll come back asking questions. Will you be able to face her when that time comes?"

Aaron's response was to lean casually against the counter, his eyes blank. If she didn't know him, Gabby would have thought he'd phased out of the conversation. But, despite years of attempts, he'd never been able to shut off his inherent intelligence. This posture was one he had perfected in school so that none of his friends would recognize that ability. Not, she figured, that any of his friends knew what a thought was, much less had experienced an original one.

She turned to leave the room, to give Aaron some time to ponder what she'd asked. No sooner had she stepped through the door when she heard him speak again. "That's your question, isn't it: Why did they give you up?"

"They're all my questions," she answered, without looking back at him.

****

To say that Gabrielle was in a bad mood was a statement of the obvious that failed to take into account anything but the obvious. In truth, her conversation with Aaron had allowed her the opportunity to put into words all the thoughts and questions that she'd never had the nerve to consciously address before. And what she had heard herself saying scared her.

As far back as she could remember, Gabrielle had been a member of the Caplan family, but she'd never really been a Caplan. That's the thought that drowned out all others as she stormed up the stairs to her room.

Like every teenager, she struggled to define herself. Most teens started by striving to be anything other than like their parents. Gabrielle didn't have that starting point. The parents who gave her life were unknown quantities, and it's impossible to rebel against an unknown. To allow Sarah and Gabriel Caplan to be the point of resistance felt sacrilegious because she wanted to be like them; she admired them, admired the family they had allowed her into.

She felt as though she owed them too much to dishonor them. Yet, they had been the principle guiding forces in her life -- her parents of spirit if not of flesh.

And that led to a feeling of resentment for all sets of parents involved. One set had denied her all those things she had accused Aaron of wanting to deny Hannah, and the other had done their best to make up for it. That was the ironic part: she resented the Caplans for giving her a name and a religion and values and a moral code because she didn't know if they were her name, religion, values, and moral code.

But they were all she had.

The Caplans had provided love and a home and a family to an abandoned baby girl. To rebel against them was to rebel against those who took her in after those who were supposed to love her gave her up.

She felt incredibly selfish for wanting more, and ashamed that she had voiced that desire. She wanted to simultaneously deny everything the Caplans had given her and to be everything they had ever expected of her. The acknowledgment of those feelings is what caused the mood.

Aaron couldn't have fueled the fire better if he tried. Rachel, on the other hand, happened to just have horrible timing. She was sitting at the desk in their shared bedroom, a dictionary open, a letter in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, circling her heart with her fist. "I was just . . ." she gestured helplessly at the dictionary. "I didn't know."

Gabby froze in the doorway, taking in the letterhead and Rachel's expression and the haltered signing in one of those moments of observation that feels a hundred times longer than it is. The two sisters shared a room. Normally is wasn't a problem because of their different schedules. Still, they had an understanding about privacy issues, and Rachel had just violated it. "What're you doing?" she finally asked.

"Looking up a word."

"In my Japanese dictionary?"

"It's a Japanese word," Rachel responded. "The letter just fell out." She did look guilty, but how much was due to the letter she had found over the fact that Gabby had caught her at it was indeterminable.

"So you read it."

"I saw who it was from . . . when were you going to say something?" Rachel glanced again at the letter, folded it up and slid it back into the book.

"I hadn't yet decided if I was going to," Gabby answered. She went into her closet, rummaged among the pile of clean laundry on the floor for something to wear, emerged with an ankle-length black skirt and a bright yellow oversized T-shirt, and began to dress. The few seconds of search were enough time to get composed and to prepare a partial explanation, in case it was needed.

"Congratulations," Rachel ventured, twisting the chair around to face her sister when she emerged, partially dressed.

"Don't say that!"

"Why not?" Rachel replied. "You deserve it."

Gabrielle sat down heavily on the end of her bed, put her socks on before answering. "I can't go."

"Do you really think Mom and Dad will stop you?"

"No." Gabby emphasized the sign with a shake of her head, and didn't look back to meet her sister's eyes. "They've been on my case to go away."

"Then who?" Rachel's hands fell motionless, her thoughts caught up with Gabby's. She pointed to herself in question, finishing the unspoken 'but' that Gabby had left dangling. "How could I . . . oh . . . ."

Robbie, their brother, had always been Rachel's protector. Since his accident two years ago, Gabby had stepped into the role. It was a ridiculous notion, Rachel thought, that she even needed a protector, but one in which she didn't have any say. Her older siblings were determined to keep her as safe from the evils of the world as possible. It wasn't until recently that she realized this attitude had little to do with her deafness, and more to do with her status as the baby of the family.

She leaned back in the chair and stared at the green on purple poster of the Mandelbrot fractal set taped to the ceiling. It was an exercise in futility trying to focus on the fractal, but it made for a good distraction.

At the beginning of the ninth grade, Rachel announced that she was going to transfer from the Deaf school to the local public high school. Everyone in the family had pitched in to make that transition as smooth as possible. The State hadn't been quite so helpful. Vocational Rehabilitation had had some trouble finding an available interpreter on such short notice.

Fortunately, Gabby happened to be in need of a job after her own high school graduation. She was still working on getting certified, but the State had granted her temporary emergency credentials. Interpreting high school classes for Rachel paid well enough and still allowed her time to take night classes at the community college.

It also provided a modicum of protection for Rachel from the other students, who were not at all comfortable with the new girl. No one, least of all the teachers, knew how to handle the Deaf girl and her peculiar needs. They fell into the trap of deaf equals stupid and treated her accordingly, if they bothered to notice her at all.

While Rachel appreciated her sister's help, Gabrielle shouldn't have to keep the job at the expense of living her own life. She didn't need the money that badly. Especially now, with a letter promising at least two free years of education at North Central Indiana folded in a dictionary.

It hurt Rachel that her sister even considered not going away to college because of her, much less considered it seriously. If Rachel ever needed proof of her sister's love, this was more than anyone could ask.

When she looked back, Gabrielle was dressed and huddled back against the wall, a pillow scrunched in her lap. The girls slept in bunks that were arranged perpendicular to one another; the shadow of Rachel's top cast a shadow on her sister, making it hard to read her expression. "Gabby," Rachel signed, using the name-sign of G-sister, "Don't stay here because of me."

"I'm not staying because of you."

"Then, why?"

"Because . . ." Gabby stared down at the pillow, kneaded it into a shapeless mass. She wasn't sure why she was staying. It seemed like the right thing to do? "Because," she finished, as though that explained everything.

"Go to NCIU." Rachel waited a moment, but no response was forthcoming. "I want you to."

Gabrielle looked up, jaw muscles working. "Really?" She had never expressed any desire to move on, go away to college, even as she saw her old friends leave one by one. She had dreamt of it on many occasions. But family was more important than anything. She found it difficult to distance herself from Rachel and Robbie, thinking of them as blood even though logically she knew better.

Rachel swallowed. For once, Gabrielle was going to get what she really wanted. "Please." The word was simple and concise, but meant everything from gratitude to apology to desire. Spoken, it seemed to echo through the room, becoming powerful and undeniable. She was pushing Gabrielle back onto her own track.

Gabby felt muscles she hadn't known were clenched relax. "Thanks," she replied, with an expression that she hoped contained the same amount of meaning as Rachel's 'please'. The pillow slipped from her grip.

"What are you thanking me for? You're the one who earned a full-ride through university. You'd have to be insane to waste that . . . wait, look who I'm talking to."

"Ha-ha."

"Don't worry about me, no matter what Mom and Dad say. I'll be fine."

"I always worry about you. I couldn't handle it if --"

"I'm not Robbie. What happened to him won't happen to me."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am," Rachel stated with a faint smile, lying to her sister for the second time that day. She wasn't at all sure. She couldn't be. No one knew what happened to Robbie; no one could know if it would happen to anyone else. All anyone knew for sure is what they saw on television: Robbie disappeared from the field in the middle of a tournament soccer match, and reappeared days later, unconscious. He had yet to wake up.

"I, uh, can't start until January," Gabby said, chewing on her lower lip. Tuition might be paid for, but she still had to worry about living expenses. And she wanted to make sure that no bridges were burnt.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you," Rachel replied. "But if you need help packing . . . ." She smiled, then stuck her tongue out at Gabby. The tension in the room dissipated.

"Save your sucking up for November," Gabby responded with a laugh. "You'll get a better birthday present."

"I'll remember that," Rachel said, ducking the pillow thrown at her.

****

He heard the laughter through the door, but missed the joke, and assumed that his cousins were talking about him. That didn't stop Aaron from opening the door and sticking his head into the room.

"If anyone cares, I'm leaving now," he said.

Rachel was still facing her sister on the opposite side of the room and didn't hear or respond. Gabrielle met his eyes and held the gaze wordlessly.

"What?" he finally responded, after a full ten seconds silence.

"You know what," she said, eyes narrowing.

Rachel turned around, then, following Gabby's gaze. "Hi, Aaron," she signed, flashing him a big smile. He waggled his fingers at her, but his gaze stayed locked with her sister's. Rachel turned back and forth between the two, waiting for one or the other to make some move. Finally they did, when both pairs of eyes settled on her. Sighing, she rose from her chair. "Bye, Rachel," she added.

Aaron grinned, and held the door for her as she walked past.

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to come in?" Gabrielle asked.

"That depends if you're going to kill me," he responded with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm . . . not quite yet, I think. Of course, that's subject to change depending on what you're going to say next."

Crossing the threshold, he took a seat on the desk, feet on the seat of the recently vacated desk chair. His hands were clasped loosely between his knees. "You're damn good."

"Absolutely," Gabby stated with conviction. She smoothed her skirt across her legs, then looked back at her cousin. "At what?"

"Guilt trips."

Her features smoothed; understanding lit her eyes. "Practice," she said. Sprawling onto her stomach, she fished beneath the bed for her sandals, tossing them towards the door, then propped her chin on her folded hands and looked up at Aaron. "So?"

Aaron looked blank for a moment, then started to speak. "So you've made me feel sufficiently guilty --"

"Hmm . . ." Gabby interjected, kicking her feet against the wall. "I made you feel guilt? I am damn good. Don't worry, I won't tell." The words were spoken with a humorous lilt that didn't translate into body language.

"Knowing that sister of yours, it'll probably be printed in tomorrow's Tribune."

"Probably," Gabby agreed with a grin, then prompted the conversation back to before her interjection with a repeated, "So?"

"Are you going to let me finish this time?" Aaron waited for Gabby's nod before continuing. "So," he began, his thumbs suddenly becoming interesting, "I saw your mom playing with Hannah outside. She looked so . . . and the baby . . . ." He flexed his fingers against each other, steepling and unsteepling them. "I'll give it a shot. I mean, I can always change my mind later, right?" he concluded with a rush.

"Try," Gabby challenged.

"You realize what this is going to do to my social life, don't you?"

"Oh, come on," she said, "You have to know that the quickest way to get a girl's attention is with a puppy or a baby. Don't you ever watch Prime Time?" Her foot changed from hitting the wall to striking the springs of Rachel's bunk rhythmically until a nasty glare from Aaron made her stop.

"Unlike you, I have a life," Aaron retorted.

"Not anymore," Gabby responded in an off-key sing-song. "But it'll be worth it."

"You say that like you know what you're talking about."

"Hey, I do want a family someday."

"Want one now?"

"Admirable try, but no." She climbed off the bed, almost hitting her head on the bunk as she stood up. "I have to go to college first."

"Away?" He knew that she already attended community college and that she hated it. Said it was just like high school all over again.

"North Central," she confirmed, a note of bragging creeping into her voice.

"Nice," he whistled under his breath.

"It'll be something different," she agreed. "Good different, I hope."

Settling back on the desk into a more relaxed position, he made a show of smoothing back his hair. "So, now what?" he asked.

She drew a deep breath and focused on her cousin. "I have no idea," she replied.

END