The Rebel

A surprised laugh escaped Liz. She wiped away her tears again, and this time they stayed gone.

Her papa smiled at her. "See, I know you. Rosa liked red sauce, Liz likes green sauce. Rosa liked to color, and Liz played Roller Derby in the driveway. Rosa always said, 'Papa, tell me a story.' And Liz always said, 'Papa, I have a question.'" He shook his head. "You used to ask me the most amazing things. 'Papa, I have a question-do butterflies remember that they used to be caterpillars, or do they look at caterpillars and just think, eww, gross?'"

"I don't remember that," Liz admitted.

"I do. I remember everything about you," her father answered. He walked over and took her hand, the way he used to when she was a little girl. It almost made Liz start to cry again.

"I know you're not Rosa," he said, meeting her gaze squarely and directly. "You have never given me any reason to think that you were getting yourself into the kind of danger she was." He squeezed her hand. "But I didn't see it in Rosa. I was her papa, and I didn't see it. I have to live with that. But I don't… I can't…"

"I know, I know," Liz answered. She squeezed his hand back. "You won't have to. I promise."

They started toward the house, then Liz's father paused and pointed up to the flying pig weather vane on the top of their house. "Remember how Rosa used to say that I bought that just so she'd be too embarrassed to have any of her friends come over?"

Liz smiled. It was like now that he'd finally started talking about Rosa, he couldn't stop.

"Yeah, she even had a name for it. What was it?" Liz asked.

"It kept changing. Mr. Sausagestuff was one of the less raunchy ones," he answered. He led her to the sliding door, and he didn't drop her hand when they stepped inside.

"Papa, I have a question," Liz said. Then she stopped herself. In the last few minutes they'd talked more about Rosa than they had since she died. But maybe her question would be pushing things too far.

"What? Ask it," her "father urged, sensing her hesitation.

"I was wondering what happened to all the pictures of Rosa," Liz said. "There's not even one in the whole house, and I-I miss them."

Her father's grip on her hand tightened painfully. Liz shot a worried glance at his face. There were tears in his eyes. Liz didn't think she'd ever seen her papa even this close to crying.

"It's not important," Liz said quickly. She'd hurt him, maybe more than he could bear. Why did she-

"Estela," her papa called out.

Liz's mama appeared in the doorway an instant later. She's been going nuts this whole time, I bet, Liz thought.

"Liz and I wanted to look at some pictures of Rosa. Do you know where they are?" he asked.

"I-yes, I'll go get them." Liz's mother smiled at them, a quavering smile, but a smile. "I'd like to look at them, too."

"Are you carless?" Maria heard Michael call as she headed out of the school.

"Yes, unfortunately, I'm almost always sans car," she answered when he caught up to her.

"I could give you a ride," he offered as he slung his backpack over one shoulder.

"Oooh, a ride in that big car of yours. That's so sweet." Maria batted her eyes at him, almost tripping over the curb as they started across the parking lot. "I hear that you own your own apartment and a business, too. Is that true?" She ran her fingers up and down his arm in an exaggerated flirt maneuver.

Hey, if she could touch him and stay in buddy mode by pretending she was just goofing around, why not? Well, except for the fact that it left her feeling like a dog that had been teased by a piece of meat hanging just out of reach over its head.

"That's right, sweetcakes. Now all I need is a little arm trophy, and I'm set. I could probably get you an… audition, if you're interested in the position," Michael answered.

But she could tell his heart wasn't in it. The boy was troubled. As soon as they were both settled in his car, she turned to him and said, "Okay, come on. Tell Dr. Maria everything."

"What?" Michael asked, looking at her like she was nuts.

"What?" she repeated, looking at him like he was nuts, mocking him.

Michael started the car and got in the line of vehicles moving out onto the street. He kept his eyes locked on the windshield.

"Oh, you want me to use my famous psychic powers." Maria wiggled her fingers at him. "I see Max. I see Trevor. I see you in the middle," she intoned, trying to do some kind of Romanian gypsy accent.

"Max is practically forcing me to take sides against him," Michael burst out. "He won't even consider the possibility that the consciousness could be wrong about Trevor."

"Max doesn't like to take chances with the safety of the group," Maria reminded him. "You know him-Mr. Responsibility."

Michael got his turn at the driveway and pulled out onto the street. "What he doesn't seem to get is that Trevor is my brother," he answered. "My brother isn't going to be a threat to the group."

"You don't know that for sure," Maria said as gently as she could. She felt so awful for Michael. He'd been wanting a real family his whole life. He should be in the midst of a party marathon, showing Trevor everything, doing brother stuff. But instead Michael's best friend-let's be real, practically Michael's other brother-was trying to convince Michael that his only living family member was a deranged killer.

"So you agree with Max?" Michael demanded. He screeched the car to a stop at a red light.

Maria shot out her hands and braced herself on the dashboard. "I'm thinking you might be more dangerous," she muttered. But at the hurt that she could see in Michael's gray eyes-the hurt he was working so hard to hide-she relented.

"I'm not sure what to think," she admitted. She couldn't tell him that she was positive, absolutely positive, that Trevor was a wonderful guy-even though she knew that's what Michael wanted to hear. "Alex and Max both seem pretty sure that there's some kind of-of problem. I just want us all to be careful until we figure out exactly what it is."

"But you'll at least give him a chance?" Michael asked as he turned onto her street. "That's all I ask, that you don't make any assumptions about him until you get to know him."

"I will absolutely, totally give him a chance," Maria promised. She had to do that much for Michael, even though her intuition was twanging away inside her, telling her it was a bad, bad idea.

Neither Alex nor Max was the type to jump to conclusions. If they both thought Trevor could be dangerous, they were probably right.

Michael swung into her driveway and stopped the car-a nice, gentle stop this time.

"You want to come in?" Maria asked. "I promised Kevin I'd help him do a mock newspaper for social studies. You should hear his headlines about Magellan. He makes the guy sound like a comic book hero."

"Sure, why not?" Michael answered. "Although I was hoping I could talk you into making brownies or something for Trevor. I'm meeting up with him later."

"We'll do that, too," Maria said. She hopped out of the car, happy to have something nice to do for Michael's brother that wasn't potentially life threatening. "Should I do my carob ones or the-"

"The other ones, definitely," Michael said as he followed her into the house. "Maybe with white vinegar icing."

Maria made a gagging sound. "It will keep Kevin from snagging any, at least," she answered. "Kevin, the clock's ticking," she shouted. "I told you, I'm not staying up until two A.M. like last time."

"Maybe we beat him home," Michael suggested.

"He should have been here at least half an hour ago. But it doesn't look like he came in and then went out again. It's way too neat." Kevin usually started tossing things the second he hit the hall-backpack here, coat there, shoes on the coffee table. "I guess I should check the fridge for a note, just in case he grew a completely new personality and left one."