No one gave a crap about Scott until the World Series. Now everyone worships him.”

A group of girls break into laughter. The same type of purse rests on the table in front of each perfectly manicured girl. Sure, the colors and sizes of the purses are different, but the style is the same. The blonde laughing the loudest catches me looking and I toss my hair over my shoulder as a shield. I know her, and I don’t want her to remember me.

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take a few days for the hamster wheel

turning her brain to make the full circle, but she’ll figure you out soon enough.”

I might appreciate her sarcasm if I wasn’t distracted by the blonde. Gwen Gardner. The summer before kindergarten, Lacy’s mom

suggested to Scott that I go with Lacy to Vacation Bible School. I put on my favorite dress, one of two that I owned, pinned as many ribbons as I could in my hair, and skipped into the room. A group of girls in beautiful fluffy dresses surrounded me as I introduced myself.

To the tune of giggles and whispers from the other girls, Gwen proceeded to point out every hole and stain on my beloved dress.

That was the high point in my relationship with Gwen. From there, it went downhill.

“She still a bitch?” I ask.

“Worse.” Lacy’s tone drops. “Yet everyone believes she’s a saint.”

“And I thought third grade sucked.”

Lacy snorts. “Imagine what middle school

and training bras were like with her. I swear the girl blossomed into a C-cup between fifth and sixth grade. Thank God Ryan finally broke up with her last spring. I couldn’t stand being HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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within a foot of her a moment longer.”

Of course Ryan dated Gwen. I’m sure the

break-up is temporary and they’ll marry soon and create tons of other little perfect spawns of Satan in order to torture further generations of people like me.

We lapse into an awkward silence. It’s

strange talking to Lacy. It used to be the two of us against the world. Then I left. I assumed, in my absence, she’d become one of them—the

girls who were perfect. She had the potential to be one. Her parents had money. Her mom

would have bought her the clothes. Lacy was pretty and fun. For some insane reason, she stuck with me—the girl who had two outfits and lived in the trailer park.

I scratch off the remaining paint. Yesterday Allison bought me nail polish in the annoying shade of mauve. How can anyone look at me and think mauve? “What did your dad tell

you?”

Lacy’s pinkie taps the table repeatedly.

“That he was called to your home and that you later moved to another city.”

Surprised, I glance up to catch sincerity in her dark eyes. “That’s it?”

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“Everyone thinks Scott swooped in and

saved you. Daddy and the other guys that

responded that night let that rumor stand.” Her forehead crinkles. “It’s what happened, right?

You’ve been living with Scott?”

I scratch my cheek, trying to hide whatever reaction she might see. I could lie and tell her yes, but that would be like I’m embarrassed about Mom. And I’m not embarrassed. I love her. I owe her. Yet there are times…

“I cried for three months when you left,”

Lacy continues. “You were my best friend.”

I cried too. A lot. Thanks to me and my

stupid decisions, I cost my mom everything and I lost my best friend. Typical me—a

hurricane that leaves nothing but destruction.

“Go sit with your friends, Lacy. I’m bad

news.”

“In this classroom, those two guys sitting over there are the only real friends I have.”

Lacy drums her fingers once more. “And you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your life must suck

then.”

She laughs. “Not really. It’s a good life.”

The teacher calls the class to order and I inch my seat away from Lacy’s. An unseen, HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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uncomfortable vise tightens my chest.

Normal people don’t like me. They don’t want to be my friend, and here is someone offering friendship willingly.

As the teacher calls attendance, Ryan’s name is read and he answers with a deep, soothing,

“Here.”

Taking a chance, I peek in his direction and find him staring at me again. No smile. No anger. No cockiness. Just a thoughtful

expression mixed with confusion. He scratches the back of his head and I’m drawn to his biceps. My traitorous stomach flutters. God, the boy may be an ass, but he sure is built.

And guys like him don’t go for girls like me.

They only use me.

I force my eyes to the front of class, pull my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. Lacy invades my space and whispers to me, “I’m glad you’re back, Beth.”

A sliver of hope sneaks past my walls and I slam every opening shut. Emotion is evil.

People who make me feel are worse. I take comfort in the stone inside of me. If I don’t feel, I don’t hurt.

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Ryan

WAITING ON SUNDAY DINNER, I can observe a lot from my seat on the couch in the living room of the mayor’s house. For instance, the serious set of Dad’s mouth and the angle of his body toward Mr. Crane suggests that Dad’s talking business. Serious business. Mom, on the other hand, is laughter and giggles as she stands next to the mayor’s wife and the

pastor’s wife, but the way she fingers her pearls tells me she’s anxious. That means someone asked a question about Mark.

Mom misses him. So do I.

The power of observation. It’s a skill I need to play ball. Is the runner on base going to chance a steal? Is the batter going to hit the ball out of the park or is he going to hit a sacrifice fly in order to score the runner on third? Is Skater Girl the hard-nosed chick I HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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believe her to be?

For the last two weeks, I’ve watched Beth roam the school. She’s interesting. Nothing like the girls I know. She sits by herself at lunch and eats a full meal. Not salad. Not an apple. A full meal. Like an entrée, two sides, and a dessert. Even Lacy doesn’t do that.

Beth sits in the back of every class, except for Health/Gym, where Lacy patiently makes small talk even though Beth stays quiet.

Sometimes Lacy can get Beth to crack a smile, but it’s rare. I like it when she smiles.

Not that I care if she’s happy or anything.

What I find the most interesting is that even though she’s Ms. Antisocial, she doesn’t avoid people. Yeah, plenty of kids hide in plain sight.

They duck into the library before school or during lunch. They evade eye contact and walk in the shadows as if they can go to school and never be detected. Not Beth. She stands her ground. Owns the space around her and smirks if someone comes too close, as if she’s daring them to take her on. A smirk that dares turns me on.

“Are you ready for the quiz tomorrow?”

Mrs. Rowe, my English teacher, rests against HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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the arm of the couch. She also happens to be the mayor’s daughter. While everyone else wears suit pants, ties, or conservative dresses, Mrs. Rowe wears a daisy-print hippie dress.

Today, her hair is purple.

Considering the fights my family has had

over Mark, I’m curious about the brawls that happen behind closed doors at this house. Or maybe other families find a way to accept one another.

“Yes, ma’am.” To discourage small talk, I shove a bacon-wrapped shrimp into my mouth.

Dad likes me to be at these occasional Sunday gatherings. I come in handy when the men

discuss sports. I used to come in handier when I dated Gwen. Her dad is the police chief, plus my mother’s friends thought we were “cute together.”

“I hated these things when I was your age,”