DRIZZLY RAIN FELL ON THE BRICK COURTYARD OF Fircrest Academy, giving everything a shiny, lacquered appearance.

Standing beneath the flagpole, Lauren Ribido looked at her watch for at least the tenth time in as many minutes.

It was six-fifteen.

Her mother had promised to be here for the college fair by five-thirty.

She couldn't believe she'd fallen for the pretty promises again. She knew better. Happy hour at the Tides tavern didn't end until six-thirty.

So why did it still hurt, after all these years? You'd think a heart would grow calluses at some point.

She turned away from the empty road and headed toward the gymnasium. She was almost to the doors when she heard a male voice call her name.

David.

She spun around, already smiling. He got out of the passenger side of a new black Cadillac Escalade and slammed the door shut with his hip. He was dressed up, wearing blue Dockers and a yellow cashmere sweater. Even with his blond hair plastered wetly to his head, he was the best-looking guy in school. "I thought you'd be inside already," he said, running up to her.

"My mom didn't show."

"Again?"

She hated the tears that burned her eyes. "It's no big deal."

He pulled her into a bear hug, and for those few moments, her world was okay.

"How about your dad?" she asked gently, hoping just this once Mr. Haynes had come through for David.

"Nope. Someone has to denude the rainforest."

She heard the bitterness in his voice and started to say I love you; the sound of high heels on concrete stopped her.

"Hello, Lauren."

She eased out of David's arms and looked up at his mother, who was trying not to frown. "Hello, Mrs. Haynes."

"Where is your mother?" she asked, settling an expensive brown handbag over her shoulder as she glanced around.

Lauren flashed on an image of her mother's most likely location: slumped on a barstool in the Tides, smoking a bummed cigarette. "She had to work late."

"On college fair night?"

Lauren hated the way Mrs. Haynes looked at her then. It was the poor Lauren, so pathetic look. She'd seen it her whole life. Adults--especially women--were always wanting to mother her. In the beginning, at least; sooner or later they moved on to their own lives, their own families, leaving Lauren somehow more alone than she'd been before. "She can't help it," Lauren said.

"That's more than I can say for Dad," David said to his mother.

"Now, David," Mrs. Haynes said with a heavy sigh, "you know your father would be here if he could."

"Yeah, right." He hooked an arm around Lauren's shoulders and drew her close. She let herself be swept across the wet courtyard and into the gymnasium. Every step of the way she focused on positive thoughts. She refused to let her mother's absence impact her self-confidence. Tonight of all nights she had to keep her eye on the goalpost, and a college scholarship to the same school David chose was the touchdown. A field goal was a school nearby.

She was committed to achieving this goal, and when she was committed, she could move mountains. She was here, wasn't she? A senior at one of the best private schools in Washington state, and on a full scholarship, to boot. She'd made her choice in fourth grade when she moved to West End from Los Angeles. Back then, she'd been a shy girl, too embarrassed by her horn-rimmed charity eyeglasses and secondhand clothes to say much. Once, long ago, she'd made the mistake of asking her mother for help. I can't wear these shoes anymore, Mommy. Rain is getting in the holes.

If you're like me, you'll get used to it had been Mom's response. Those four words--if you're like me--had been enough to change the course of Lauren's life.

The next day she set about changing herself and her life. Project Geek No More had begun. She did chores for all the neighbors in the rundown apartment complex in which she and her mother lived. Feeding the cats for old Mrs. Teabody in 4A, cleaning the kitchen for Mrs. Mauk, carrying packages upstairs for Mrs. Parmeter in 6C. One dollar at a time, she saved up money for contact lenses and new clothes. My, the optometrist had said on the big day, you have the most gorgeous brown eyes I've ever seen. Once she looked like everyone else, Lauren set about acting correctly. She started with smiles, and then graduated to waves and finally hellos. She volunteered for everything, as long as a parent contact wasn't required. By the time she started junior high, her hard work had begun to pay off. She'd earned her full ride to Fircrest Academy--a Catholic school with a strict uniform code. There, she worked even harder. She was voted class secretary in ninth grade and had retained an office every year since. In high school, she organized every school dance, took photos for the annual, ran the student body as senior class president, and lettered in both gymnastics and volleyball. She'd fallen in love with David on their first date, almost four years ago now. They'd been inseparable ever since.

She stared into the gym, which was packed with people.

To Lauren, it looked as if she were the only student here without a parent. It was a feeling she was used to; nonetheless, it made her smile falter. She couldn't help looking back at the flagpole. Her mother still wasn't there.

David squeezed her hand. "Well, Trixie, are we ready?"

It made her smile, that little nickname. He knew how nervous she was right now. She leaned into him. "Let's go, Speed Racer."

Mrs. Haynes came up beside them. "Do you have a pen, Lauren, and some paper?"

"Yes, ma'am," she answered. It embarrassed her, how much that simple question meant to her.

"I don't have a pen," David said, grinning.

Mrs. Haynes handed him a pen and led the way forward. They merged into the stream of traffic. As always, the crowd parted for them. They were the senior couple, the pair voted most likely to stay in love. Dozens of friends waved or said hi.

They went from booth to booth, picking up literature and talking to the representatives. As always, David did everything he could to help Lauren. He told everyone he saw about her stellar grades and achievements. He was certain she'd be offered countless scholarships. In his world, things came easily, and in that world, it was easy to believe in happy endings.

He stopped at the Ivy League schools.

When Lauren looked at pictures of those venerable campuses, she felt queasy. She prayed he didn't decide to go to Harvard or Princeton. She could never fit in there, even if she could get accepted; not there, in those halls where the girls were named after food products and everyone had parents who believed in education. Still, she smiled her prettiest smile and took the brochures. A girl like her needed to make a good impression at all times. There was no room for error in her life.

At last, they headed for the Holy Grail.

The Stanford booth.

Lauren heard Mrs. Haynes's trailing voice as she marched ahead of them. "... the wing named after your grandfather..."

Lauren stumbled. It took pure willpower to keep her posture good and her smile in place.

David would probably go to Stanford, where his parents had gone, and his grandfather, too. The one school on the West Coast that matched the Ivy League for exclusivity. Stellar grades weren't enough. Perfect SAT scores didn't guarantee admittance, either.

No way would she get a scholarship from Stanford.

David tightened his hold on her hand. He smiled down at her. Believe, that smile said.

She wanted to.

"This is my son, David Ryerson Haynes," Mrs. Haynes was saying now.

Of the Ryerson-Haynes Paper Company.

She hadn't added that, of course. It would have been tacky and wholly unnecessary.

"And this is Lauren Ribido," David said, squeezing Lauren's hand. "She'd be a real asset to Stanford's student body."

The recruiter smiled at David. "So, David," he said. "You're interested in following in your family's footsteps. Good for you. At Stanford, we pride ourselves on..."

Lauren stood there, holding David's hand so tightly her fingers started to ache. She waited patiently for the recruiter to turn his attention to her.

He never did.

THE BUS JERKED TO A STOP AT THE CORNER. LAUREN grabbed her backpack off the floor and hurried to the front of the bus.

"Have a nice night," Luella, the bus driver, said.

Lauren waved and headed down Main Street. Here, in the tourist hub of downtown West End, everything was sparkling and beautiful. Years ago, when the timber and commercial fishing industries had hit hard times, the town fathers had decided to play up the Victorian cuteness of the town. Half of downtown's buildings had already fit the bill; the other half were hurriedly remodeled. A statewide advertising campaign was started (for a solid year the city government paid for nothing else-- not roads or schools or services), and West End, "Victorian getaway on the coast," was born.

The campaign worked. Tourists drifted in, drawn by the bed-and-breakfasts, the sand castle competitions, the kite flying, and the sport fishing. It became a destination instead of a detour on the road from Seattle to Portland.

But the veneer went only so deep, and like all towns, West End had its forgotten places, its corners that remained unseen by visitors and unvisited by locals. That part of town, the place where people lived in apartments without decorations or security. Lauren's part of town.

She turned off Main Street and kept walking.

With each step, the neighborhood deteriorated; the world became darker, more rundown. There were no Victorian-inspired curliques on the buildings here, no advertisements for quaint bed-and-breakfasts or seaplane rides. This was where the old-timers lived, men who'd once worked in the timber mills or on the fishing boats. The people who'd missed the tide of change and been washed into the dark, muddy marshlands. Here, the only bright lights were neon signs that advertised booze.

Lauren walked briskly, looking straight ahead. She noticed every nuance of change, every shadow that seemed new, every noise and movement, but she wasn't afraid. This street had been her home turf for more than six years. Though most of her neighbors were down on their luck, they knew how to take care of one another, and little Lauren Ribido belonged here.

Home was a narrow, six-story apartment building that sat dead center on a lot overgrown with blackberry bushes and salal. The stucco exterior was grayed with dirt and debris. Light shone from behind several windows, giving the place its only sign of life.

Lauren hiked up the creaking steps, pushed through the front door (the lock had been broken five times last year; the property manager, Mrs. Mauk, refused to fix it again), and headed for the tired steps that led to her apartment on the fourth floor.

As she crept past the manager's door, she held her breath. She was almost to the stairs when she heard the door open, heard:

"Lauren? Is that you?"

Damn it.

She turned around, trying to smile. "Hello, Mrs. Mauk."

Mrs. Mauk--Call me Dolores, honey--stepped into the shadowy hallway. Light from the open doorway made her look pale, almost sinister, but her toothy smile was bright. As always, she wore a navy blue kerchief over her graying hair and a floral housedress. There was a rumpled look to her, as if she'd just been unfolded from an old suitcase. Her shoulders were hunched by a lifetime of disappointment. It was a common stance in this neighborhood. "I went to the salon today."

"Uh-huh."

"Your mom didn't show for work."

"She's sick."

Mrs. Mauk clucked sympathetically. "New boyfriend again, huh?"

Lauren couldn't answer.

"Maybe this time it'll be love. Anyhow, you're overdue on the rent. I need it by Friday."

"Okay." Lauren couldn't hold on to her smile.

Mrs. Mauk gave her The Look. "You can't be warm enough in that coat," she said, frowning. "You tell your mom--"

"I will. Bye." She ran for the stairs and went up to the fourth floor.

Their door was ajar. Light spilled between the crack, slanted butterlike across the linoleum hallway.

Lauren wasn't worried. Her mom rarely remembered to shut the front door, and when she did remember to close it, she never locked it. Lost her keys too often; that was the excuse.

Lauren went inside.

The place was a mess. An open pizza box covered one end of the counter. A collection of beer bottles stood beside it. Potato chip bags were everywhere. The room smelled of cigarettes and sweat.

Mom lay on the sofa, arms and legs akimbo. A rumbling snore came up from the tangle of blankets that covered her face.

With a sigh, Lauren went into the kitchen and cleaned everything up, then she went to the couch and knelt down. "Come on, Mom, I'll help you to bed."

"Wha? Huh?" Mom sat up, bleary-eyed. Her short, tousled hair, platinum this month, stuck out around her pale face. She reached shakily for the beer bottle on the end table. She took a long drink, then set it back down. Her aim was off, unsteady; the bottle thunked to the floor, spilling its contents.

She looked like a broken doll, with her face cocked to one side. She was porcelain pale; blue-black mascara smudged around her eyes. The faintest hint of her once-great beauty remained, like a glimmer of gold trim on a dirty china plate, peeking through. "He left me."

"Who did, Mom?"

"Cal. And he swore he loved me."

"Yeah. They always do." Lauren bent down for the beer bottle, wondering if they had any paper towels to blot up the mess. Probably not. Mom's paychecks were getting thinner lately. Supposedly it was the sagging economy. Mom swore that fewer women were coming to see her at the salon. Lauren figured that was half of the story; the other half was that the Hair Apparent Beauty Salon was four doors down from the Tides tavern.

Mom reached for her cigarettes and lit one up. "You're giving me that look again. The fuck me, my mom's a loser look."

Lauren sat down on the coffee table. As much as she tried not to feel the sting of disappointment, it was there. She always seemed to want too much from her mother. When would she learn? These continual letdowns were eating through her. Sometimes she imagined she could even see them as a shadow above her heart. "The college fair was today."

Mom took another drag, frowning as she exhaled. "That's on Tuesday."

"This is Tuesday, Mom."

"Aw, shit." Mom leaned back onto the nubby avocado-green sofa. "I'm sorry, honey. I lost track of the days." She exhaled again, scooted sideways. "Sit."

Lauren moved fast, before Mom changed her mind.

"How did it go?"

She snuggled next to her mother. "I met a great guy from USC. He thought I should try and get recommendations from alumni." She sighed. "I guess who you know helps."

"Only if who you know will pay the tab, too."

Lauren heard the hard edge come into her mother's voice, and she winced. "I'll get a scholarship, Mom. You'll see."

Mom took a long drag on her cigarette and turned slightly, studying Lauren through the filmy haze.

Lauren braced herself. She knew what was coming. Not today. Please.

"I thought I'd get a scholarship, too, you know."

"Please, don't. Let's talk about something else. I got an A+ on my honors history paper." Lauren tried to get up. Mom grabbed her wrist, held her in place.

"My grades were okay," Mom said, unsmiling, her brown eyes growing even darker. "I lettered in track and basketball. My test scores were damn respectable, too. And I was beautiful. They said I looked like Heather Locklear."

Lauren sighed. She edged sideways, put a tiny space between them. "I know."

"Then I went to the Sadie Hawkins dance with Thad Marlow."

"I know. Big mistake."

"A few kisses, a few shots of tequila, and there I was with my dress up around my waist. I didn't know then that I was fucked in more ways than just the one. Four months later I was a senior in high school, shopping for maternity dresses. No scholarship for me. No college, no decent job. If one of your stepfathers hadn't paid for beauty school, I'd probably be living in the street and eating other people's leftovers. So, missy, you keep your--"

"Knees shut. Believe me, Mom; I know how I ruined your life."

"Ruined is harsh," Mom said with a tired sigh. "I never said ruined."

"I wonder if he had other children," Lauren said. She'd asked this same question every time her father's name was mentioned. She couldn't seem to help herself, though she knew the answer by heart.

"How would I know? He ran from me like I had the plague."

"I just... wish I had relatives, that's all."

Mom exhaled smoke. "Believe me, family is overrated. Oh, they're fine till you screw up, but then, wham!, they break your heart. Don't you count on people, Lauren."

Lauren had heard all this before. "I just wish--"

"Don't. It'll only hurt you."

Lauren looked at her mother. "Yeah," she said tiredly. "I know."