“Be sure to tell Mother about that one,” I said, and opened the door to McGregor's.

It was one of those restaurants with a morning glory vine twining around the maitre d's desk and garden plots between the tables.

“Perdita suggested it,” Mother said, guiding Bysshe and I past the onions to our table. “She told me a lot of the Cyclists are floratarians.”

“Is she here?” I asked, sidestepping a cucumber frame.

“Not yet.” She pointed past a rose arbor. “There's our table.”

Our table was a wicker affair under a mulberry tree. Viola and Twidge were seated on the far side next to a trellis of runner beans, looking at menus.

“What are you doing here, Twidge?” I asked. “Why aren't you in school?”

“I am,” she said, holding up her LCD slate. “I'm remoting today.”

“I thought she should be part of this discussion,” Viola said. “After all, she'll be getting her shunt soon.”

“My friend Kensy says she isn't going to get one, like Perdita,” Twidge said.

“I'm sure Kensy will change her mind when the time comes,” Mother said. “Perdita will change hers, too. Bysshe, why don't you sit next to Viola?”

Bysshe slid obediently past the trellis and sat down in the wicker chair at the far end of the table. Twidge reached across Viola and handed him a menu. “This is a great restaurant,” she said. “You don't have to wear shoes.” She held up a bare foot to illustrate. “And if you get hungry while you're waiting, you can just pick something.” She twisted around in her chair, picked two of the green beans, gave one to Bysshe, and bit into the other one. “I bet she doesn't. Kensy says a shunt hurts worse than braces.”

“It doesn't hurt as much as not having one,” Viola said, shooting me a Now-Do-You-See-What-My-Sister's-Caused? look.

“Traci, why don't you sit across from Viola?” Mother said to me. “And we'll put Perdita next to you when she comes.”