Who was this person, frail, otherworldly and shy, asking him a question? She was so self-effacing she'd had to ask twice; he had brushed past, not noticing, the first time she asked. He turned to face her.

"Pardon me?"

"Are you all right?" she asked, and then blushed scarlet. "I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. My name is Ada. We found you, Wyatt and I found you when you were beaten. I hope there wasn't any," she spoke with pauses between the phrases, "I hope that you, well, that you weren't in the hospital very long. I hope you weren't badly hurt."

He was astonished, and glad that none of his friends were around to hear this. She finally turned away. Fantastic. You don't notice her, and then when you did, she looked like Joan of Arc or someone. "Wait. I didn't hear you at first. I was surprised. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"I'm sorry to have bothered you." She walked away.

He reversed direction and walked next to her. Stall, he thought, something will come to you. "I'm glad you stopped me. I wanted to thank you, but I didn't know who you were. Look, this is very awkward. I'm not really like that."

"Like what?"

God. She didn't get it. "That's not the kind of situation I've ever been in. It was a fluke."

"I'm certain it was. I've never heard of such a thing."

He had an impulse to carry her books and stopped himself from asking. "Thank you. For helping me."

"Oh, it wasn't me. Wyatt took charge. I wouldn't have known what to do."

"Who's Wyatt?"

"My boyfriend."

Too bad. "Look, I'm having a party this weekend. Why don't you and Wyatt come?"

"Oh, he doesn't live here now. That's very kind of you, but I couldn't come alone."

"It's nothing big. Just a potluck dinner. You'd be doing me a big favor."

"Why?"

"I'd like to thank you. I owe you something. Let me do this. You don't have to bring anything. I promise you'll enjoy it." Why was he doing this, walking sideways and begging this stranger?

"That's very kind, but no. Really. I couldn't."

He followed her all the way into her classroom and sat next to her, and she gave in and promised to come when it was obvious that he was going to stay, and not listen to "no". He wrote his name and address and phone number, and the date and time of the party, on paper torn from his notebook and watched her tuck it in the coin pocket of her jeans. That was the last he'd see of her, but Owen couldn't think of an excuse for asking for her phone number, and the professor was starting to lecture, so he left.

She showed up Saturday, right on time, as good as her word. He would find out that she always was. She was first to arrive. Everyone else would be late. When he opened the door she had already turned away, as if to leave.

"Come in," he said. "No one's here yet."

"I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood. I thought you said half past six."

"I did. People are usually late."

"I can come back."

"No, no. Somebody has to be first. I'm glad it's you." He took the dish she was holding. "What's this?"

"I made a casada. I hope it's appropriate."

"I'm sure it is." He leaned toward her, smiling. "What's a casada?"

She turned back the aluminum foil and showed him the beans and rice and meat and vegetables. "I had to cook with Bunsen burners in the lab. I've never done that before. They probably wouldn't be too happy if they found out."

"How interesting. People usually bring things from the supermarket." She was actually disappointed. She thought she'd done something wrong. "Thank you. You didn't have to make such an effort." Now he hoped no one else came. "Oh, here. Let me show you the house."

It was a dump, a little rental east of Massachusetts Avenue; east Lawrence had always been the slums. The house was in a run-down block with neglected yards and the occasional cracked window held together with duct tape. The street was made of paving bricks that had settled and tilted at angles to each other. The houses had no garages, and most of them had no driveway. All the cars parked on the street were old, and many showed a history of accidents. But she was obviously impressed that he had a house. When she saw the back yard she fell silent and stared at it, hands clasped in front of her.

"You've let your garden deteriorate," she said.

"I didn't notice. I just moved in."

"I could fix that for you," she said.

"Fix what?"

"I like to garden," she began. Then she was embarrassed when she realized that she had no tools and no plants and couldn't spare the money, until he persuaded her to use the tools the owner had left in the basement, and to let him, Owen, buy the plants. They went to the basement to look at the tools and she was standing next to the furnace, holding the spade and talking excitedly, when he heard someone calling him from the top of the stairs.

She disappeared somehow, without his noticing, before the party was well underway. It lasted late, and he went to bed completely wasted and slept hard. Around ten the doorbell rang. Ada was there. He raised the window and yelled down for her to wait while he dressed. He checked himself in the mirror - a bad case of bed-head - and plastered down his hair.

She was still shy, but she was excited. She had a transparency unlike anyone else. Everything showed - hesitation, delight, uncertainty - but reserved. It was all there, all plain and clear, but understated. She was unaffected. She didn't even know that she was like this, that she was different in this way from everyone else, especially him. His envy was sharp and physical. Seeing her reminded him of his unceasing struggle to conceal himself.

She paused just inside, taken aback at the disorder: beer cans, sofa cushions strewn on the floor, upended chairs.

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. We played football for a while."

"In your house?"

His head ached and he caught himself before he said what first popped into his head. "Not too smart," he admitted. "Lucky there isn't much that can break."

She didn't want to talk, only to get the spade and start digging. The ground was hard, the sky cloudless, the sun hot. Thumbscrews and a hair shirt appealed to him about as much as rooting around in the dirt. He watched her off and on, from one window or another. She was completely intent on what she was doing. He took her a glass of cold water around one o'clock.

He touched her arm. His finger left a white spot. "I think you're getting sunburned."

"Oh. Yes I am. I'd better stop. I always forget time when I'm gardening. I saw an aloe in your house. Do you mind if I use it?" She put the shovel and the hoe and the heavy rake next to the back door.

She showed him what to do with the aloe - how to break off a piece and use the fluid to relieve the burn.

"I should pay better attention. I've been sunburned before, but I keep forgetting how much more sun there is here."

He wanted her to stay and talk about herself and where she grew up, but she wouldn't. "You're too elusive," he said. "Everybody likes to talk about themselves. Don't you? I mean, you sound really interesting."

"No. My life was terribly boring. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Lawrence is like a big circus. There's always something going on, so many people, so much traffic, so many choices. Even going for walks overwhelms me." She waved her hands.

"Lawrence? Lawrence? This is a small town. It's boring. New York, L.A., London - those are the interesting places."

"I think they'd be too much for me... My boyfriend is living in Los Angeles."

"How can he be your boyfriend? Isn't that too far away?"

"Oh, he moved there a few weeks ago."

"But it's halfway across the country."

"Yes. I miss him."

"Look, I know you don't know me very well, but would you like to have dinner tonight? Have you ever been to the Castle Tea Room? I think you'd like it."

"Oh, no. I couldn't do that. It wouldn't be right."

"Why not?"

"I can't explain. I can't do that. It's very kind of you to ask."

"I'm well behaved," he said. "I'll be a gentleman. I just want to talk. You're interesting. You're different."

"Yes." She looked past his shoulder and watched the clock on the mantel for a few seconds. "Yes, I am different." And said, "I wish I weren't."

Her face was showing her insides again. How did she do that? Or maybe the question was, how did everyone else not do that? She seemed so natural. "Please," he said. God, had he actually said that word?

"I'm sorry. I don't think it would be right. Besides..."

He waited.

"I'm not good at this - being a college student. I'm a good student. But I don't know how to talk to people. I can't seem to get the hang of it. I don't understand half the things they say. I say all the wrong things. There's only one person I can talk to, and he's not here."

"Don't you have any friends?"

"This is much too personal. I'll be going." She turned away.

"What about the plants? Shouldn't we be out looking for plants?"

So they took his car, and he waited outside the dorm while she put on a long-sleeved shirt and a hat. They stopped at the drugstore and she bought sunblock. They hit the various nurseries. She explained the virtues and drawbacks of the various plants and asked his opinion on them all, since it would be his garden. It was early evening when they finished. They ate at a drive-in restaurant on 23rd street.

"Well, we did have dinner together after all," he said.

"Does this count as dinner? It seems more like a greasy snack."

"Sure it's dinner. People go to drive-ins on dates."

"I have to learn these customs. You tricked me, didn't you?"

"Never." He put a hand over his heart, then changed the gesture and held up his fingers in a Boy Scout salute. "Scout's honor."

"Are you a Boy Scout?"

"No, but anyone can say it."

"Is this a date? Are we on a date?"

"No."

"Well, what's a date, then? That word seems so - unspecific."

"It's simple. It's when a guy asks a girl to a movie or dinner."

"Then why isn't this a date?"

"Uh, because it happened by accident? Didn't you and your boyfriend go on dates?"

"No. We studied and talked and had - " she caught herself before she said "sex", and repeated, "studied and talked." She looked at the hamburger wrapper in her lap. "I miss him," she said, and repeated, "I miss him."

"Why did he go to L.A.?"

"He's a musician. He wants to be a rock star."

"You know musicians lead very, how can I say this? Their lives are... Chaotic, that's the word I'm looking for. Strange hours. Alcohol and drugs. Groupies."

"I'd better go home." She opened the car door.

"I'm sorry. That was thoughtless." He started the car. "Get in. I'll drive you."

When they pulled up to her dorm, she didn't get out. He was turning sideways to her when she asked, staring out the passenger window, away from him, "Do you think that's true, what you said about musicians?"

"No. I shouldn't have said it."

"He's not like that," she said, and opened the door and got out.

"When are you going to put the plants in?" he asked.

"In the morning, before the sun is up."

"I'll leave them on the porch."

"Please water them before you go to bed. Otherwise, they might have to struggle. The car was hot. Good night. Thank you. You've been very generous."

"No. Thank you," he said.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. For being charming and wholesome and, well, for being charming and wholesome."

She looked astonished, then doubtful. Then she closed the door and turned away.

In the morning he looked out the window and saw that the plants were gone from the porch and he thought someone had stolen them, but when he looked in the back yard they had been planted in rows. She had come and gone without his even knowing. The tools were lined up next to the back door, as they had been yesterday. He stood shirtless and barefoot in the yard, scratching himself and thinking that he'd forgotten to ask for her phone number and that he didn't know her last name yet, and that he'd seen her only - what? three times? - and now he couldn't stop thinking about her. The question was how to attract her, and more important, how not to scare her off. This girl was going to require a lot of patience. Thank God for the garden, to keep her coming back, or she would disappear without warning.