But there was just one little variable:

I wanted a car.

I mean, I really, really wanted a car. Bad.

And if I got a scholarship, maybe Mom and Dad would shave a few dollars out of my college fund and apply it to something pretty with four wheels and a gas tank.

Mrs. Ames was watching me.

I examined my fingernails. “The only thing is…I’m not sure I would have time for all that,” I said, “what with all the extra time I’m spending on photography class.”

I folded the paper in half and set it on her desk, trying to look both angelic and apologetic.

“That’s a shame,” she said softly.

I raised my eyes to meet hers.

“I would just hate for an elective class to get in the way of your ambitions.”

“I totally agree,” I said, my voice almost disappearing.

“Do we understand each other?” she asked.

Afraid to drop my gaze, I nodded.

She smiled but tried to hide it. “Better head back to class.”

I stood up, reaching hesitantly for the flyer and tucking it into the pocket of my bag.

Before third period ended, an office runner came into the classroom with a slip of paper. He handed it to Mr. O’Brien, who said, “Warren,” flapping it at me. I yanked it from his hand and read it right there, at his desk. It was a memo from the guidance office: Class substitution: Alexis Warren, Period 2, report to Library Study Hall, Miss Nagesh.

Mr. O’Brien looked up. “Good news?”

I pressed the slip to my chest like it was a telegram bearing news of a soldier’s homecoming. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Surrey High has two separate lunch hours, with all four grades mixed together. Megan, Carter, and I had second lunch. I wasn’t sure which one Kasey ended up with.

Megan plunked her stack of books down on our table and headed for the lunch line.

Dad always packed my lunches—and now Kasey’s, I guess—so I never had to brave cafeteria food. I saw a flash of blond, and Carter came in, carrying a dark green metal lunch box that matched my purple one. His mother got them for us as back-to-school presents. They were made by some Danish designer who was known for his “artisanal metalwork.” I was tempted to look them up online, but I had a feeling they cost about a hundred dollars each, and I wouldn’t be able to look Mrs. Blume in the eye if that were true.

“Hey,” Carter said, pressing his lips to my forehead. “How’s your sister?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”

“Hi, guys!” Emily Rosen set her tray down across from us, a smile on her heart-shaped face. “Happy Monday!”

“Hi, Em.” I turned back to Carter. “I’m sort of hoping she miraculously made some friends or something.”

“She didn’t,” Carter said, smoothing his cuffs over his wrists and pulling a sandwich from his lunch box.

I blinked. “Why do you say that?”

“She just walked in,” he said. “Alone.”

“I can move over,” Emily said, gathering her stuff. If they gave out prizes for niceness, she would be the model for the figurine on top of the trophy. We’d gone to school together since first grade, and Emily had swept the citizenship awards every year. I’m relieved to be able to say I’d always liked her, even during the brief two-year period when I made it a point not to like anybody.

After Megan and I started sitting together at lunch last year, Emily ended up drifting to our table. We have kids from almost every clique. Kind of like high school stew.

“Thanks, but no,” I said. “I might give her a minute. I’m sure there are plenty of freshmen who still have room at their tables.”

But I was wrong. Every table seemed occupied by a fully formed group, and there was clearly an unspoken rule that forbade sitting down with strangers. Kasey was like a rat in a maze, thwarted at every turn, and we were the scientists watching from above.

To make matters worse, it seemed like stories about my sister’s year in a mental institution were making their way around. Crowds parted wordlessly for her; kids fell silent as she passed, then put their heads together, whispering and casting sly looks at her back.

“There’s lots of room,” Emily said.

“She has to learn to make her own way, right?” I asked. “Survival of the fittest? Sink or swim?”

Carter, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, said, “Sink.”

Kasey had found an empty table. It was the worst spot in the whole cafeteria. It was next to the trash cans and smelled like garbage (especially by second lunch), not to mention the constant danger of someone’s poorly aimed trash landing in your food.

Kasey glanced around nervously, then opened her lunch bag and pulled out her sandwich. I winced as an older boy walking by slapped the tabletop.

“All hail Queen of the Janitor’s Table!” he crowed, walking past.

My sister ducked her head, and my resolve weakened. I focused all of my attention on getting my wonky apple to balance. Carter’s breath warmed my ear.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

No, I wasn’t. How could I be? None of my life experiences had prepared me for this situation.

But then the decision was made for me.

“Lex—” Carter’s voice held a warning note, strong enough for me to instinctively look over at Kasey, who was shrinking in her seat like a hand puppet without a hand.

Mimi Laird stood over my sister, hands on her hips. I was too far away to hear what she was saying, but it carried outwardly to the tables around them, drawing tons of attention.

I bolted to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Mimi Laird had been Kasey’s best—and last—friend. She was loyal up until the moment that my sister, in the beginning stages of her possession, broke Mimi’s arm in a confrontation over one of Kasey’s precious dolls.

Kasey spent eighth grade at Harmony Valley; Mimi spent it clawing to the top of the social ladder. Now she was top-tier, even as a freshman—her expensive clothes, well-maintained appearance, and haughty attitude made it clear that she was not to be messed with.

As I came closer, I could hear random words: possessed, psycho, stalker—and see my sister cowering under Mimi’s ranting. People at nearby tables were watching and listening; any drama is good drama.

This would have to be handled delicately. Mimi’s big sister, Pepper, was a prominent fixture in my social circle. I couldn’t blast Mimi the way I once would have, but I planned to make her stop—in no uncertain terms.

I didn’t get a chance, though. As I opened my mouth to call her name, I was interrupted.

“Hey, Mimi, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

Lydia Small approached them, her hands on her hips. Mimi turned around, blushing furiously; for all her beauty rituals, she wasn’t what you’d call a petite girl.

Lydia was six inches shorter than Mimi and probably forty pounds lighter, but she waltzed right up to her.

“Could you please keep your mooing at a more appropriate volume?” she asked sweetly. “People are trying to eat.”

Mimi let out a squeak of rage as the tables around them tittered.

Lydia feigned alarm. “Why would you even do this now?” she asked. “Do you realize you’re missing out on valuable cud-chewing time?”

“Go away!” Mimi countered feebly.

Lydia put her hand on the table and tipped her head to one shoulder in an over-practiced pose. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said slowly. “You go away.”

At this point, one of Mimi’s friends swooped in and dragged her back to their table.

I went over to my sister. “Kasey,” I said. “Are you all right? Come sit with me.”

Kasey looked intently at her brown lunch bag. “I’m okay, Lexi.”

Lydia smiled brightly. “Oh, hi, Lexi! You’re so welcome for saving your sister from Moomoo. She could have been eaten, you know. High school is a very dangerous place.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “Talking to a new student. Making friends. Welcome-wagon stuff.”