Free Mission (Un)Popular by Anna Humphrey

new healthier choices in the school vending machines, so I took the opportunity to drift off into a Gorgeous George fantasy. In this one, it turned out that finally, for the first time since fourth grade, we’d ended up in the same class. His name got called first, and mine got called right after, even though we’re nowhere near each other in the alphabet (Button and Wainscott). This was partly how you could tell that us ending up in the same class was magical and meant to be.
    When he heard my name, he looked at me and smiled slowly as I gracefully got up off the gym floor. I walked toward him, tossing my straight tangle-free hair. “Margot,” he said, tipping his head to one side so his hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back. “You look hot in those jeans.”
    And I was like, “Oh, these? Thanks.” And then he motioned for me to come closer, so I did. He leaned in, cupping his hands around my ear, like little kids do when they’re telling secrets. He smelled incredible. Like soap and ocean air.
    â€œKnow what I want?” he whispered. I smiled shyly and gave him this mysterious/confused/meaningful look. He cupped his hands around my ear again and whispered: “Be my girlfriend.”
    I looked deep into his eyes, but I couldn’t tell you what I said back. The words “class lists” finally came out of Mrs. Vandanhoover’s mouth, and I immediately snapped back to reality.
    â€œWe’ll begin with Seven-A, first period teacher, Mrs. Collins.” The teacher who stood up had shiny brown hair cut in a bowl shape with bangs straight across. Her lipstick was bright red, and she had excellent posture. She was wearing a sweater vest. In a way, she reminded me of one of those creepy puppets ventriloquists use.
    â€œAmir Ahmed,” Mrs. Vandanhoover called. “Tiffany Abraham. Bethany Bluffs. Charlie Baker. Margot Button. Michelle Cobbs.”
    â€œBye,” I mouthed to Andrew. Amir waved at me as I stood up to join the class. Tiffany, a quiet girl with braces, smiled. Michelle was too busy celebrating being with her friend Bethany to notice anyone else. Still, even though she clearly wasn’t my biggest fan, she wasn’t the meanest girl on earth, either.
    â€œHey, Margot!” Amir said, giving me a high five as I came to stand beside him. “Maybe Andrew will be with us too.”
    â€œHopefully,” I said, turning my attention back to Mrs. Vandanhoover. I couldn’t afford to miss a single word that came out of her mouth.
    One by one, people got up from the floor and joined the class. There was Erik Frallen, who can do crazy-hard math in his head; Laura Inglestone, who was also kind of quiet but seemed nice; and then—dammit—“Sarah Jamieson,” Mrs. Vandanhoover called. Sarah J. got up, holding on to her friend Joyce’s hand and pulling it away like they were star-crossed lovers about to be parted for life.
    â€œMaggie Keller,” Mrs. Vandanhoover called. Seriously?! Maggie was Sarah J.’s second-best friend. Not as bad as Joyce, but bad enough. “Joyce Nichols.” Oh God, shoot me now. “Cameron Ruling, Simon Sable, Ken Shapiro.” Ken is George’s idiot best friend. He spends ninety-nine percent of his time making farting noises with his armpits. “Stuart Smythe.”
    But then Mrs. Vandanhoover recited the three sweetest syllables in the entire English language: “George Wainscott.” Oh miraculous miracle! I could have practically kissed somebody (preferably Gorgeous George, but anybody would have done). I couldn’t wait to tell Erika. It suddenly didn’t seem to matter so much that everything else in my life sucked. I was going to get to see George five hours a day, five days a week, for the entire school year.
    â€œGuys! Seven-A rocks!” I heard Sarah J. say as George and Ken joined her and The Group girls. I tried to shuffle a tiny bit backward so