Massachusetts in October has a definite eery feeling.

I was walking from Lynda's dorm to the Boylston train stop when that thought crossed my mind. I thought of Salem and made a mental note to ask Lynda to join me there before Halloween. I figure there's no better place to be than Salem for that night.

I pulled the sleeves of my sweatshirt down to cover my fingers as I headed toward the station. It had been a good night.

"So, how old is Zac going to be?" Lyn asked as we made our way into Downtown Crossing.

"Fourteen." I shook my head in disbelief. Zac couldn't be 14 already. It seemed like just yesterday Taylor was 14. "But he's on the cusp of being a bit immature and wise beyond his years."

"So, he's a little sage in training, huh?"

"Kinda. Being on the road forces you to grow up a bit faster than you normally would." I stopped walking and looked in the window of American Eagle. "But we took the whole family on tour, so he still got to be babied at times, too."

Lynda stood next to me and looked in. "See something you like?"

"For me, yes. I'm digging those dark blue corduroys. For Zac, though, no. The boy prefers bright colors that don't match. Although, I suppose it could be worse. He could dress like Taylor. Lately he's been pilfering from Steven Tyler's closet, minus the scarves."

"So go try them on," Lynda said, opening the door to the store. "They've got your name on them."

I shook my head. "Nah, let's just keep looking for Zac. Once I get started looking for myself I'll forget about looking for him." I looked at the pants longingly. "Besides, you don't want to watch me try on clothes."

"Well, I would try on clothes, too," she said, holding the door open for me. "Besides, you talk about your brothers, but I want to see if you really dress any better than they do."

"Isn't it obvious I do?" I asked, opening my coat to model my faded, worn jeans and Dolce & Gabbana shirt. Personally, I'm not too keen on the shirt, but it's designer so it must be good, right?

"Ummm . . . I plead the fifth. Come on." Lynda took my hand and led me into the store.

We walked in and browsed around a bit on our own. I immediately looked for the blue corduroys in my size. I filled my arms and met Lyn at the dressing rooms. A couple minutes later I emerged, looking quite nice, if I do say so myself.

Lynda walked out in a khaki's skirt and pale blue short-sleeved shirt. I slowly walked in a circle so she could see my masterpiece from every possible angle. She appeared deep in thought, and then finally said, "Isaac, there's neutral colors and then there's running away from all colors that don't blend into the background, okay?"

I was crushed. I hung my head in shame as I walked back into the dressing room. "Oh, don't pout. It's just constructive criticism. Primary colors can be your friends. Here, let me get out of this and I'll introduce you to colors."

I was a little embarrassed, "It's not that I don't like colors. It's just that when you have people telling you what to wear, it can get crazy."

"So, they tell you to wear all those neutral colors? Or you do that on your own so you don't end up matching Taylor?"

"Not really. People sort of catergorized us early on, and I was always the quiet one. Hence, quiet colors, usually. Sometimes people would want us to buck those stereotypes, and I'd end up in bright yellow running pants."

She continued to sort through the racks. "Here. Try this on," she said, handing me at purple polo shirt.

I looked at the shirt, "Eh? Purple. Can't we try a safe beige first?" Lynda just gave me a look, and I immediately relented and took the shirt from her. "Ya know, I have to say this is kind of cool though. Nobody's ever helped me pick out clothes before . . . well, nobody who we weren't paying to do it."

"Really? I love picking out clothes, helping people shop. Sometimes, when I think this college thing is too much for me, I toy with the idea of going to New York City and becoming a personal shopper. I used to shop for my ex all the time. Unfortunately, he never really appreciated my efforts, though."

"He didn't like purple either?" I laughed at my own joke. She didn't. "So, your ex . . . "

"Was a complete prick," Lynda said, moving from the rack to a table of sweaters. I stood back, surprised by her statement. It was the first time I ever heard her swear. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound bitter, but . . . I am a little. Okay, more than a little." She sighed. "He cheated on me. So you can imagine he's not my favorite person in the world." She handed me a red sweater with a wide, gray stripe across the front. "What about you?"

"Tara. She . . . she couldn't deal with me being Isaac Hanson." I laughed, "Our parents thought we were destined for marriage. Classic clique, we grew up down the street from each other, best friends, sandbox buddies, the whole shebang. She just couldn't deal with the fact that I became Isaac Hanson." I stopped, "Not that I wasn't always Isaac Hanson but-" I was rambling. "You know what I mean, right?"

She laughed, "Yes, I get it." Something caught her eye, and she made a beeline for the shoes. "What size are you? You should try these on, too," she said, handing me a pair of brown loafer-like shoes. I wasn't really sure what they were, but I didn't think I was in any position to argue, either. "Oh! Look!" Lynda was off again, this time swiftly moving to the other end of the store. "You'll need a belt . . . actually two, one black and one brown. Here are some socks . . . And, yeah! Over there." She made her way through the maze of racks, nearly knocking a poor, unsuspecting sales associate over. "Here, try on this shirt with this tee underneath. Now, we'll just find you a pair of pants and we'll be all set." She moved in the direction of the khakis. "Sorry, but I'm really enthusastic about shopping." She smiled. "Ever have an experience like this before?"

"No, I can honestly say I've never had a shopping experience like this before." Definitely, never like this.

"Tara wasn't much of a shopper?" Lynda asked, sorting through all the clothes and helping the dressing room moderator count the number of garments.

"No, not really. Tara was . . . Tara. She was just always there, and yet not in a stalker way. I think it was just that she was my best friend outside my family." I had to think about it for a moment. "I think she just wanted to be the little homemaker; she never would have survived being outside of Tulsa. Does that make sense? She just wanted to be the quintessential wife and mother. She couldn't handle me leaving for months at a time and seeing girls jumping all over us."

"God, I thought women like that were extinct. Maybe it's a southern thing . . . " She shrugged her shoulders. "Here," she said, handing me the khakis, red sweater, and black belt. "Try these on first."

I jumped on the defensive. "That's not bad, Lynda." I was a bit taken-aback by her comment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply it was bad. It's just . . . women today have so many choices. Why not explore them? Travel, go to school, get a career . . . the possibilities are endless! I mean, I love Boston and all, but I don't plan on staying here forever. There's a whole world out there I want to see."

I backed down. "Yeah, I understand. I agree with what you're saying. Tara was a wonderful person, and she will make someone very happy someday. Just not me." I cleared my throat, "Well, that was thoroughly depressing. Let's move on, shall we? Where do you want to go after Boston?"

"New York. New York is definitely my first stop." I heard Lynda giggle from the other side of the dressing room door. "Actually, it might every well end up being my only stop. There's so much I want to see and do there: Broadway shows, ballet, opera, the Met, St. Patrick's Cathedral, walk down Fifth Ave. and do some window shopping, and then there's Little Italy. I would love to go down there at Christmas time, too. Then I could see the tree all lit up and maybe catch a performance of 'The Nutcracker,' too."

"Wow, you do want to go to New York. I take it you've never been?"

"Nope, never. I was supposed to go last winter break with my father. But he decided to elope instead. But I'll get there one yet." There was an awkward silence. "So, you done yet? I can get in and out of a dress faster than this." There was another pause. "Uh . . . that didn't come out right. Anyway, the point is, you're slow, Isaac."

I opened the door to the station just as the wind picked up. The wind jerked my arm and slammed the door back against the hinges. So much for slipping in unannounced.

I got on the train, sat down, and closed my eyes, letting the thoughts of the past few weeks flow through my head. I finally got Scott on the fast track to French fluency. Many nights of conjugation are finally paying off.

My embarrassment in Mr. Fasano's class has been replaced by a major incident involving a girl and her ability to ask asinine questions at all the wrong times as the talked about moment of the class. He has made her his new target and I've learned to blend into the background.

I sighed as I thought of the thorn in my side that had imbedded itself weeks ago. Sara.

Since my embarrassing marriage to the toilet bowl after the party, she'd been mysteriously absent from my life. The week before I had stopped by Scott's on my way to class only, to find Sara raiding her brother's bureau. She all but ran from the room when she saw me. Since then she's been as lacking as soul in a Backstreet Boys track.

"Sir?"

Someone was shaking me. My eyes opened to find the driver leering into my face. "Sir, end of the line. You've got to get off."

The words didn't sink in at first but as if someone turned the light on I woke up. I looked around and saw very unfamiliar surroundings. "What happened?"

He laughed, "My best guess would be that you fell asleep and missed your stop. This is Riverside. We're in Newton."

"Newton?" I stood up and shook off the sleep. "Is that in the back bay?"

He laughed even harder and my stomach churned. "No, Newton's west of the city. You're about fifteen-twenty minutes from downtown. Sorry to say but that was the last run. You're going to have to call someone to pick you up or wait until the trains start back up again in a few hours."

I headed for the doors and reviewed my options. I have no car. No idea where I am. No phone book to call a cab. From the looks of the area it didn't look like a thriving metropolis either. Nice neighborhood, but definitely a residential area.

The driver walked up and motioned toward the station. "There's a phone in there. Do you have any change?"

I reached down into my pockets and felt for some quarters. "Yeah. Thanks." I pulled at my sweatshirt and wished that eerie feeling would shake itself off. Thoughts of Salem are cool with a group of people on a fun night. Not in the some random town on a - oh damn. I looked up to see the full moon shining in the sky.

I spoke out toward the moon, "It just doesn't get any better than this, does it?"

Oh, but it does.

I called Scott's number and after the fourth ring the proverbial "Not home. Leave a message" rang into my ear.

My mind went through it's mental address book and much I felt I was making some headway into making friends at school not one name popped into my head - except the other key holder for Scott's car.

Could God be so cruel as to make me call Sara for a ride?

Yeah, yeah he could. I reached for the phone and hung my head as I weighed the options. The worst she could do was slam the phone down and say no.

"Hello?"

"Sara? It's Ike."

"I know."

Oh, and she wasn't going to make this easy. "I'm stuck in Newton. Is there any way you could get your car and pick me up?"

Seconds ticked by as I waited for her to answer. Why it was bugging me so much I didn't know. Then that annoyance kicked in again. "I don't know why you've been avoiding me, but please could you do me this favor?"

I could almost hear her eyebrow twitch in defiance. When Sara gets mad her eyebrow goes up and she becomes Megabitch, it's not pretty to see and I could hear her attitude coming on. "I'm not avoiding you. School has been pretty difficult."

"Okay. Fine. Could you please come and pick me up? I'm at the Riverside T station."

A chill ran up my spine, as the door to the station opened and shut to let a man in whom by the looks of him hadn't bathed in quite a while.

"All right. But you owe me. Give me a minute to find my keys and figure out where the hell you are. I'll be there as soon as I can." I resisted the urge to let out a desperate "please hurry" as I hung up the phone. I debated how silly I would look if I barricaded myself in the phone booth until Sara arrived.

Stepping out of the booth I tried to hold my nose as I sat down next to the unbathed one.

Minutes ticked by as I watched the clock move past 3 a.m. To make my life even better the unbathed one started to snore next to me. I took that as a sign to step outside for some fresh air.

I kicked at the loose gravel as I thought of the mess that was mine and Sara's friendship. We had started out so comfortable and then, boom; we're damn near strangers.

Then I remembered my theatrics the night of the party and my stomach turned over. Sara's father is an alcoholic and I turned into one for a few hours. My ability to be thickheaded surprises even me sometimes.

Was it possible to feel even worse? One would think no, but I managed to do it. Sara was avoiding me because I reminded her about her father. "Way to go Isaac." I rolled my eyes and kicked at a rock. "You really do know how to make people . . . hate you, don't you?"

"Who hates you?" Sara was standing next to me looking up at the sky.

"Holy shit, Sara! Take ten years off my life, why don't you?!"

"Uh . . . Isaac, I drive a 1986 Pontiac. One would think the engine noise alone would be enough to let anyone and everyone know I'm coming."

"I didn't hear it."

"Well, I didn't roll it into the station." She rolled her eyes and turned back toward the station. Sure enough, parked right next to the door was Scott and Sara's brown car.

Even better, Isaac. Piss her off before you even get in the car. I called after Sara. "I have some money. We could get a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts."

As she was fiddling with the keys she spoke over the roof of the car. "I don't drink coffee. Are we going, or was this a wasted trip?"

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "You know, you don't have to be such a bitch."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's right, I'm supposed the essence of bright and perky at 3--" she looked at her watch, "eleven a.m. It's forty degrees outside and I had a nice warm bed that I'm not in!" Her head dropped down into the car and the door slammed behind her. It was going to be a long ride.

I took in the scene around me. Sara was fiddling with the key in the ignition. Her breath could be seen in the cold air.

I looked out through the window to collect my thoughts. "Sara, I'm sorry for acting like an ass the night of the party." If I didn't look at her it was easier to apologize.

Nothing. The minutes ticked by until finally a very soft "it's okay" came from across the seat.

"No, it's not okay. I acted like an ass and I'm sorry."

"Why be sorry? Isaac, you're no different than any other college student."

"Yeah, but your father--"

"So?" She turned to look at me and I looked across the seat. "How were used supposed to know? How did you guess by the way?"

"I vaguely remember you yelling about an alcoholic parent in the haze of the events of that night." I took a deep breath and toyed with a loose thread in the seat. "I know it doesn't matter to you, but it matters to me. Why have you been staying away from me and Scott?"

She stopped at a red light and looked over. "I'm not avoiding Scott. I see him all the time--"

"Well, I've seen Scott quite a bit lately, and I've never seen you."

"School's been pretty tough. I'm spending most of my free time in the library or in study groups."

"Sara, Emerson is no more difficult than Berklee, and I've been able to find time for a social life."

"Isaac, please. Why does it matter? As you've said, you've been spending time with Scott and I'm assuming you were out with Lynda tonight. What's me got to do with it? Is it guilt about you getting drunk and me taking care of you? No offense boy, but get over it – I have."

"Sar--"

"Oh shit."

"What?"

"I missed the turn for the highway. Hold on and I'll turn around."

One thing you can say about Newton is that it's very dark at three in the morning. Many turnarounds, a few curse words, and two tempers flaring later, we weren't near the highway. "Let's just face facts and accept that we're lost."

The look she gave me would surely have put me underground was I not strapped into the seat. "I accepted that about twenty minutes ago, but I can't even find a store that's open to ask for directions. Please, Isaac, enough with the sarcastic remarks and 'I told you so' sighs."

I exploded. "I haven't even done a damn thing! I've been sitting here looking out the window."

"No, you've been clucking your tongue and mumbling most of the ride." She pulled over to the side of the rode and put the car in park.

"Sara." I massaged my temples with my fingers but it was doing nothing for the pounding ache inside my head. This little ride home was giving me a tension headache that just would not go away. "Lynda's not half as bad when she gets pms."

There are a few times in your life when you wish you could be swallowed up by a big hole never to be seen again. That was one of those times. I have no idea why I said it. I didn't even think before I said it. But the look of sheer shock on Sara's face was enough to make me want to claw my own eyes out.

"Take the car back to Scott's. I'm walking."

I slammed my hands against the dashboard in frustration before I grabbed the keys from the ignition and went after her.

"Sara?" She wasn't even looking at me – just my shoes. "Sara, please, I really don't know what's wrong."

She made this snorting sound with her nose, which made me think of flying projectiles from her nose. It took away from the moment I must admit. "Isaac, please, just take the car and head back to the dorms. Scott will never know. One of the girls I have class with is from around here. I'll just crash at her house."

"Which girl?"

She fidgeted. "Brandy."

"Which class?"

"Uh . . . Oh! Isaac, just go!"

I folded my arms across my chest. "Sara, I want to know why you've been avoiding me. I've spent the last hour avoiding the subject, but I really want to know. Frankly, I think I deserve that much. The first three weeks of school we were like glue and now all of a sudden you've vanished."

"Yes, Isaac, I have been avoiding you. Happy?" She made dramatic gestures with her arms and spun around. "I'm leaving."

"No, really you're not." She started a reply but I held up my hand for silence. Amazing how very much like my disciplinarian parents I can be sometimes. "I'll drive and you can sit in the back seat shooting daggers at me with your eyes."

It was a very long and very quiet ride home. Sara stared out the window while I navigated myself onto the Massachusetts Turnpike. I don't understand girls, never have, but Sara was still a complete mystery to me. I turned to look at her and found her asleep with her head against the window.

Once I safely pulled into the parking garage, I eased the car door open and reached across her to unbuckle her seatbelt. I was having a bit of trouble and had to finagle with it a bit.

"Isaac, groping me while I sleep may not be the way to go about friendship."

"I-I was trying to...the seatbelt...." The English language was never something I could get a firm grip on.

The short walk from the garage to my dorm was interesting. Whenever I shortened my stride to match Sara's, she walked slower. "Come on Sara, if you go any slower I'm pretty sure you'll be going backwards." Her eyes slanted up and I shivered a bit.

"Stay here tonight." I thought she was going to laugh in my face.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Are you on drugs? Do you want me to start counting off the reasons?"

"Why not?"

"First off." She paused. "No. Isaac, no. I'm going home."

I all but dragged her down the hall. Ignoring the questioning looks of those in the hallway. Let them wonder for all I care.

I fished my keys out of my pocket while keeping a firm grasp on Sara's hand. I was not about to let her walk home through the streets of Boston to get . . . just thinking about what could happen to me was making my head spin.

I turned around to face her. "Aside from the barrier wall you've put between us these last few weeks do you have any idea what could happen to you if I let you walk home?" I pleaded with her. "Sara, come on, think. Please."

I hate when she turns those brown eyes on me. I watched the anger just seep out of her body and she sort of slumped against the wall. "I know. I do know. I just don't . . . just want to go home."

"I know, but it's cold out and it's warm in here." I smiled. "Come on, I'll even let you kick Jordania out for the night."

That got a little smile out of her. It was a start.