Everyone exclaimed over the cake: "You've outdone yourself," Nina said to Ada; "You're catering my next party," Sarah said. This was Melody's day, but everyone was fussing over her mother. so the cake was beautiful: four layers, shavings of chocolate looking like rose petals, and a frosting horse on top (with unequal legs; her mother was no artist). So?

The two of them had been fighting more than usual lately, and her mother, though usually disinclined to bake, was probably trying to make peace. She had asked Melody to invite all her friends, but Melody hadn't, because Melody wasn't in a mood for whatever correction might be given in front of them. Maybe her mother would understand why they weren't there; more likely not. Melody hadn't brought anyone home in months except Pilar. Pilar knew how things stood, and sympathized. Pilar was always on Melody's side. Pilar loved Melody.

"Do you like the cake?" Ada asked.

Melody shrugged. "It's too big. It'll go stale before we eat it."

Her father handed her a glass of wine.

"Wyatt!" Ada scolded.

"One glass," he said. "It's her sixteenth birthday. Sixteen is important. No more restrictions on her license." He said "Drive carefully," to his daughter.

"Daddy." She stood on her toes and put her left arm, the one without the wine glass, around his neck and kissed him on the lips. He raised the glass, she raised hers, and they drank.

"No more," Ada said.

"Oh, Mom." Melody looked at Pilar and lifted her eyebrows, saying without words, "You see? You see what she's like?" Pilar glanced at Ada, who had been watching her daughter's face.

"Let's eat!" Nina clapped her hands. "There are so many good things."

They observed a minute of silence, according to her mother's custom. Melody shifted and sighed. When Ada looked up Melody said, "Why didn't Gabriel and Julia come?"

"You know the organizers couldn't reschedule the trip. They sent the card. They called."

Nina spoke. "Would you give me some of the ham, please? I love honey-baked ham." She handed her plate to Wyatt.

All Melody's favorite foods were there in front of her, but everything was wrong: her mother, always pressuring her, then trying to make amends; her father's silence; Sarah beaming; Nina trying to smooth over the gaps in the conversation with talk. Melody was glad she'd disinvited the Larsons, so she wouldn't have to be angry at them, too. She looked at Pilar, who was looking at her. Pilar said, "Happy birthday". Melody mouthed, "I wish."

She fell into one of her favorite daydreams, of a picture she'd seen, an ocean inlet in Canada: rocks, a sea lion, pebbles. Great firs right down to the beach, their roots exposed on the crumbling dirt embankment. A small cabin stood on a spit of land, its shingles weathered to gray, a woman hanging laundry on a line strung between a window and a tree. A fishing boat in the foreground. It had always seemed to her a picture of otherworldly tranquility, but she could never remember where she had seen it, or when. For years it had been as clear in her mind as if she'd lived there. She could count the trees. She saw the few little patches of pale blue paint that hadn't yet weathered off the cabin walls. In the left window a table was visible, an unlit kerosene lamp sitting on it.

"Mel?" her father said.

He was holding out the vegetable plate. She passed it to her right.

"Do you have any classes with Melody this year?" her mother asked Pilar.

"American history," she replied.

"Maybe you could help -- "

"God, Mom." Melody looked at her mother. "Can't you ever stop? Even on my birthday?"

"That's okay," Pilar said. "I'd like to."

Ada's pale face stared back. Melody heard a thudding bass approach from the street. The sound grew in volume, diminished, and faded to nothing.

"Mel," her father said. "Don't ruin your own party."

"It's not my party," she cried. "It's hers! Everyone praising the cake. She has more friends here than I do."

Ada opened her mouth, then closed it. She set down her fork. She climbed the stairs. Wyatt followed.

During the minutes they were gone the only sounds were silver against the plates, and chewing and swallowing.

Ada and Wyatt returned.

"I should go," Nina announced. "I'm sure you have things to discuss." She folded her napkin and set it next to her plate. "Should I wait?" she asked Sarah. They'd driven down together.

"No. I'm ready."

Nina retrieved her coat. She embraced Ada, then Melody. "Try to have a happy birthday," she whispered.

Melody kissed her cheek. "I love you, Muddy. Thanks for coming. I'm sorry I made a scene."

"Here." Nina reached in the pocket of her coat and pulled out an envelope. "Don't spend it all." She pressed Ada's shoulder in passing, on her way out.

"Can Pilar spend the night?"

"Yes," Wyatt said.

"I think -- " Ada began.

"It's her birthday," Wyatt said. "Lighten up."

"[You, too? Don't you know what this girl wants to do with our daughter?]" Ada said, in French.

Wyatt poured himself another glass of wine. "[Don't be absurd. You're imagining it,]" he replied.

"No French," Melody said. "No fair."

"It's okay," her father replied. He spoke to Pilar. "You should call your parents. Let them know."

Every time Melody looked up, Ada was watching her, and looked away. Dinner took too long -- lighting the candles, cutting the cake, singing the birthday song, opening the presents. There was even a saddle from her mother, like an implied promise: you can use this at the Larsons', but bring your grades up, and you can have a horse of your own. Melody no longer wanted a horse. She wanted to be free. She wanted a life.

"Happy birthday," Pilar said again when they were in Melody's bedroom.

She fell on her bed and groaned. "I'm always wrong, with her."

"She's not so bad." Pilar sat next to her, on the edge of the bed. "Your mom's nice. Really. Mine's a total bitch."

Melody rolled sideways and propped her head on one hand. "Want to trade? At least she isn't on you about every little thing all the time, every little mistake and bad grade and -- what?"

"My mom's always trying to get me to date boys," Pilar said. "I think she knows."

"How could she? Nobody told her, did they?"

"She just does."

Melody lay on her back and pulled her friend down so Pilar's head rested against her belly. She stroked Pilar's hair with her fingernails on the crown of her head, the way Pilar liked. "It's okay," Melody said. "I bet she doesn't."

"She's always talking about grandchildren," Pilar complained. "She wants me to get married as soon as I finish high school. It's weird."

"You might like boys. Why don't you try one?"

"Gross." She sniffed.

"What about Tim? He's gentle. He's great in bed. He'd do it. I could ask him for you. We can share him. I think he has a crush on you."

"Put that thing in me? No way. Disgusting."

Melody continued stroking her friend's hair and pondered how to change the subject. The conversation was drifting off course.

"Does your mom know?" Pilar asked. "She hasn't let me stay over in a long time."

"Who cares? Why do you keep it such a big secret?"

"My dad would kill me. I mean it. I have to leave the room when he talks about queers and dykes. He's scary."

"Turn on the radio," Melody said, then, "Turn it up a little." She didn't want her mother to hear anything, if anything happened.

Pilar got back on the bed and rested her cheek where it had been.

Melody resumed stroking. "I wish I had hair like yours, so dark and thick."

"No you don't. I have to shave my legs and pits all the time. Mom makes me. When I'm eighteen I'm moving and never shaving anything, even if I get hair on my lip." She waited. "Besides, yours is prettier. Everyone wants to be blond. You're lucky."

"Pilar?"

"Yes?"

"How long have we been best friends?"

"Since I moved next door. We were seven."

"Will you do something for me?"

"Yes."

"Don't think it's a big deal, okay? It isn't."

"Okay."

"Take off your clothes. I want to see your body."

Her friend sat up, and looked sideways, not at Melody. She stood, unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it on the floor. She turned away. The bra and shoes and socks and jeans and panties followed. She turned forward to face Melody, staring down, hands pressed against the sides of her thighs.

Melody looked. Pilar's breasts were small. She was thin and tall, and her legs were long. Her waist was very narrow, her shoulders wide. She had a model's body.

"God you look fantastic," Melody said. "I bet you never have to watch your weight. I'll be fat when I'm old. Maybe when I'm thirty."

Melody turned down the sheets. Pilar slipped into bed and pulled up the covers. Melody pulled them back down.

"Sit up," she said. "I want to see you."

Pilar raised herself against the headboard and closed her eyes.

Melody locked the door. She kicked off her shoes. She pushed her friend's knees apart and knelt between them. "Show me," she said.

Pilar spread the lips of her vagina with her fingers.

"Show me how you do it."

Pilar shook her head.

"I just want to see."

Pilar did it a different way. She used a finger inside herself, and the heel of her hand against her clitoris. Melody watched.

Melody lay on her side and drew Pilar to her, muffling the whimpers against her shirt, cradling the back of Pilar's head in one hand, the other around Pilar's shoulders. She felt the back of the hand bumping against her as Pilar masturbated. Then her friend shuddered and gasped, and relaxed against her. Melody stroked her hair, this time with the palm of her hand, and murmured wordlessly.

Pilar mumbled.

"What?"

"I wouldn't do that for anyone else," Pilar said.

"I know."

Pilar tugged at the top button of Melody's shirt. Melody pushed the hand away. "No."

Pilar nestled against her. "Why? Why won't you let me? You know I love you."

"I don't like girls that way. I don't want to."

"Just once."

Melody guessed the right number of seconds to hesitate, then said: "Maybe."

Pilar hesitated. "What do I have to do?"

Melody had to gentle her, to make Pilar's will coincide with her own. "Help me, and promise not to tell."

"What? Anything."

"I'm going away."

"Away? Is your mom sending you somewhere?"

"No. I'm running away."

Pilar made a sound like air escaping a tire. "Take me with you."

"I can't. I have to go by myself."

"Why?"

"I have to get away. My mom is killing me."

"Why can't I come? My parents are worse than yours."

"I have to go by myself."

"Two would be safer."

"Are you going to help me? Or do I have to ask someone else?" There was no one else to ask, but Pilar couldn't count on that. Melody had to be careful. Too hard, or not hard enough, and Pilar would refuse to be led. Melody drew her friend against her again, murmuring promises. "I'll call you. I won't forget. You're my best friend. The only one I can trust." She felt a pang for Pilar's suffering. The front of her shirt was wet with her friend's tears. "Don't cry. Maybe you can come visit after I get a place to live."

In the end she had to threaten a permanent break. No help would mean no communication, ever. Faced with this, Pilar agreed.

"Saturday," Melody said. "They're driving up to Lincoln. I don't have to go. They won't be back until late."

She kissed her friend then, and let herself be undressed and made love to. She owed Pilar that.

When they were finished Melody said, "We have to get dressed."

"Why?"

"My mom will be knocking on the door. She doesn't trust us."

"She does know!"

"Yes."

Pilar began to weep.

"I didn't tell her," Melody said. "She figured it out. She won't tell your parents." She stood over her friend. "Stop crying. She'll want to look in the room. You can't have red eyes."

They dressed, and Pilar sat on the beanbag chair, and they were silent. Melody was beginning to think she'd been wrong, when she heard a knock.

"Yes?"

"Melody? It's me."

She opened the door wide enough for her mother to see Pilar.

Her mother said, "Would you turn the radio down, please? We're going to bed. It's time for you, too."

"All right."

"Good night, Pilar."

"Good night, Mrs. Packard."

Melody closed the door. " 'We're going to bed'," she mimicked in a whisper.

Pilar had to stifle her laughter.

Melody packed her rucksack Friday night. The next morning, as soon as her parents had gone, she called Pilar, who brought over a canvas bag with the supplies they needed. Pilar cut Melody's hair from smooth and shoulder length to spiky and short. They flushed the clippings down the toilet.

Melody admired the new cut in the mirror. "Cool. You're really good."

"What color do you want?" Pilar held up red, brown, and black bottles of hair dye.

"Red. Like hers. She'll never guess."

Pilar laughed. Afterward, she scrubbed the sink while Melody robbed the fire safe in her parents' closet. Her mother always left the key in the lock, trusting the children to take money only if they needed it, and leave an I.O.U., and repay when they could. Well, she needed the money now. Someday she'd send her mother a check.

Pilar was downstairs, waiting at the table.

"Did you go to the bank?" Melody asked.

Pilar handed her an envelope. "That's it. I only have ten dollars left."

Melody opened the flap and estimated the money. It looked like five hundred dollars. "You should keep some."

"Take it. I want you to. You'll need it." She reached in the bag again and pulled out a hunting knife. "Take this, too. In case someone -- in case you need it, too."

"Thanks." Melody put the knife in the top pocket of her rucksack. She embraced Pilar. "You are my true friend. Thank you." She kissed her.

Pilar fumbled with the snap on Melody's jeans.

"No," Melody said.

"Please. One more time."

"No. I have to get away. Now. I have to get distance."

"I'll drive you."

She couldn't refuse her friend. They went upstairs for an hour.

Pilar drove her to the Turnpike. Melody flipped a coin to decide which direction. Heads. That meant west. She crossed the road and stuck out her thumb. The first car stopped. The driver, a middle-aged man, opened the door. Melody got in, with the pack between her feet, easy to reach if she needed the knife. She looked back and waved to Pilar, parked on the other side of the road. The man's car accelerated up the ramp.