I thought about the fact that on the day Mr. Pebble lost Sadie, Jude was plagued by some terrible pain, while on the day the old man had found a kitten, Jude's music was lighter. The blocks were beginning to form a pattern of some sort, and the words of Mrs. McBride along with my own conclusions reinforced the ideas I had about Jude. He was ill, like he'd said, but it was a different kind of sickness. Although I wasn't sure if it was truly possible for one boy to bear the sorrows of people whose names he didn't even know, I felt certain that this was what Jude Wood was experiencing.

For a few full days after my conversation with Mrs. McBride, I strained to think of what I could do to help Jude – because I did care about him. I did want him to get better. I wanted to find a cure. I put all schoolwork aside and kept to myself up in my bedroom. My mother had to argue with me to come downstairs for dinner. All I wanted to do was sit in the quiet and be alone with my mixed thoughts.

By the weekend, I felt as if I had come to some settlement. I left the house early Saturday morning and made my way toward the schoolyard. Jillian Lee had promised me the day before that she would meet me there, by the swings. She didn't know why I suddenly wanted to talk to her so often. I kept my ideas about Jude Wood entirely to myself. Jill didn't even know that I knew him.

The gray sky hung low again that morning. I hadn't seen sun since I'd arrived in Mosspond. I couldn't say that I was surprised; the sun wouldn't have felt right looking down over us . . . over me. The sun knew I didn't want to look at it. I couldn't think of any reason why the clouds should leave. Rain didn't bother me nearly so much as it did my sisters. They hated the gloomy weather like death. Every morning they complained about it, and every morning the newspaper predicted clouds and chances of rain. I, on the other hand, was waiting for a great rainfall. I wanted to see if Jillian could dance between the raindrops, like she'd said witches did.

When Jill met me that Saturday morning, I was pink in the cheeks from the cold. My hands were shoved in my coat pockets and my arms were stiff as lampposts. "Do you know anyone who's sad?" I asked Jill right when she arrived. The question may have been a strange greeting to an ordinary person, but she didn't seem to think it odd at all.

Jill thought hard, then answered me. "Joshua Brighton. He's failing math. I heard his mother talking with Sue about it yesterday. And Mr. Wiethop – his brother passed away from cancer last month. I'm sure he's still sad about that. Oh, and Grace Moore. She's still broken-hearted since Mr. West left. They used to be engaged. Also, I wonder if —"

"All right!" I stopped her. "That's more than enough to start with. Let's see what we can do for Joshua."

Jillian didn't question me. She didn't ask why I wanted to know who had reason to be unhappy, and she didn't seem curious as to why I suddenly wanted her assistance in cheering people up. That was why I was beginning to get along with her – she wasn't nosy like so many other kids would have been. She trusted that I knew what I was doing, just like I trusted her. We had no reason to doubt one another.

That morning was the beginning of my search for Jude's cure. In my brain, I knew the impossibility of my ideas, but inside my heart, I felt only hope.

The two of us spent nearly a week searching for help for Joshua Brighton. Jill had the idea of finding a tutor for him. She was sure his mother wasn't going to pay for one, so the trick was to find somebody who would help him for no charge. Eventually, after calling what seemed like hundreds of people who we knew were good at math, we discovered something spectacular. There was a man in town who was a retired high school math teacher. I learned from my sisters that he lived at 42 Argonne Street. When I told Jill what I'd learned, she lit up.

"That's Mr. Wiethop's house! Why didn't we think of this before?"

"Think of what?" I asked.

"Mr. Wiethop is lonely and would probably do well to have someone to talk to. Joshua Brighton needs someone to help him with math."

I understood. "And Mr. Wiethop is an old math teacher. He could help Joshua!"

"Exactly!" She clapped her hands together.

"We'd be killing two birds with one stone!" I added. Right after saying it, I wished I hadn't.

The smile on Jill's little face was replaced with a distressed frown. "Oh! Don't say such a thing. I know just what you mean, but try and think of a nicer way of putting it next time."

I took her words humbly, ashamed. I should have known better than to say something about killing anything around Jill. Making a mental note to remember her sensitivity toward living things, I changed the conversation.

We were soon ringing the doorbell at the house of Mr. Wiethop.

Things fell into place those first days after I'd started on my quest to cheer others. Jill was an enormous help. Because I was still pretty new in town, I didn't know many people. But she not only knew people, she knew about them. She could tell me who was lonely or scared or angry. Soon enough, she nearly took over our operations. We met after school each day and set out to make others happy. After we paired Mr. Wiethop with Joshua Brighton, we worked on Grace Moore. We couldn't find her a new fiancé, but we could leave a potted geranium on her porch with a note expressing the beauty of hope, as Jillian so eloquently phrased it. Jill and I stopped Bradley Johnson from picking on students younger than him (mainly Jill, with her threats). We picked the autumn wildflowers from the pine tree woods and left one flower in each of the mailboxes of the boys and girls in the high school who were not asked to the homecoming dance. (I received an extensive list of them from my sister Vanessa). We put loaves of bread in the oven and stirred up batches of cookies for Sue Sheldon one Saturday when she was too sick with the flu to get out of bed. We checked in on Mr. Pebble and on Mike Billing, the grocer, who had just lost a good deal of money from a spoiled shipment of fish. Our days were packed. I neglected everything but my and Jill's project. Even homework was pushed aside.

By the end of nearly two weeks, I was wiped out. "Tired" was not a large enough word to fit what I felt. Jill and I had done so much, and yet I felt as if it had been too little. I didn't even know if what we'd done had had the effects I wanted it to; I hadn't seen Jude in days. But the whole while Jill and I were working, I hadn't forgotten why we were doing it.

During the first week in November, my efforts were finally rewarded. Just as we were starting our morning math lesson in Ms. Montague's class, Jude Wood entered the room.

I cannot even begin to explain the enormous feeling of joy that I felt when I saw him hand a note to the stunned teacher and take his seat several desks behind mine. Gratitude – I felt extreme gratitude, although I wasn't sure who I was grateful to. In those moments on that first day of Jude's return, I concentrated on nothing but my own overflowing relief and pride.

"You look jittery," whispered Jillian across from me.

I laughed at her word choice. It sounded funny to me in that moment. I didn't answer her, but she didn't expect me to.

I waited until after school to speak with Jude. I guessed that he walked home just as I did, because his father didn't have a car. Ms. Montague had kept him in the room for lunch, and I was afraid that she was going to keep him after school as well. She did. But I wanted to talk to Jude, so I stood patiently on the front steps outside the building, waving goodbye to Jill as she skipped away toward her mother.

When nearly every student had left the building and I was growing impatient, Jude finally walked out the front doors. He saw me, but neither of us waved or called out. I watched him until he came and stood beside me, and then he looked at me and said, "Where have you been?"

He didn't smile, but I hoped that I was sensing one behind his usual straight face. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you. I was really busy. But how come you're back in school?"

I expected him to tell me he was feeling so fabulously better that he was thrilled to return to classes. I wanted to hear that he wasn't the same melancholy boy I'd seen playing his piano. Every part of me wanted to be given reason to feel confident in what I'd thought up about his being burdened with everyone else's problems. But Jude didn't say anything to make me proud. He only replied, "He found out I wasn't coming. Sent me straight back."

The "he" Jude mentioned must have been his father. My heart sank. Had everything Jill and I had worked toward been for nothing? Jude started down the steps, and I followed him. "But are you feeling better? You must be feeling better."

He stopped moving and turned to me with lowered eyes. "Sometimes. Yes . . . sometimes." Jude stared right through me. I was discouraged; he was just as he'd been before — as if he didn't even know I was there. "But never for long. It always comes back."

Then he walked on, and I didn't follow. He didn't want me to, I was certain. I stayed on the school steps until I couldn't see him any longer. When he had disappeared from my sight, I started home.