Free Top 8 by Katie Finn

and continued down the hall.
    I sighed, hoisted my bag over my shoulder, and headed off to AP History — a class, thankfully, I didn’t have with any close friends. So hopefully, I could avoid waves of hatred coming from my classmates for at least one period.
    I swung by my locker to pick up my history textbook, and saw Liz Franklin. Our lockers were right next to each other, and our chats in front of them was one of the many reasons I was frequently late to classes. But having lockers so near had been one of the great perks of our friendship — I knew her combo, and she knew mine, and I could grab stuff for her when she needed it, and vice versa. This time, though, when Liz saw me she just frowned and went back to searching for something.
    I spun my own combination and glanced over at her. Liz looked distinctly worse for wear. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
    After the reception I’d gotten from Jimmy, I wasn’t particularly eager to talk to her, but I did want her to know I hadn’t intentionally tried to derail her relationship.
    â€œLiz,” I said, before I lost my nerve, “listen. It wasn’t me, the profile thing. I got hacked, and someone else blogged that stuff.”
    Liz turned and glared at me. “I’m so sure, Madison,” she said. “You were the only one who knew about my hookup with Matthew.”
    â€œI’m so, so sorry,” I said. “But, um, Matthew knew, right? So maybe he told someone…”
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you never told anyone about the Matthew hookup?”
    I felt my face get hot again. What was with all the third degree today? “Not exactly,” I said, looking down at the floor. “But I swear I didn’t tell that many people, and I never would have put it on the internet, I promise —”
    Liz just shook her head and started rifling through her locker again.
    â€œI know that Jimmy’s really sorry about the breakup, Liz…” I actually didn’t know this for sure, but it certainly seemed like it by the way his voice had sounded when he’d said her name. “I don’t think he’s doing too well. He seems really upset.” I saw her face soften for a moment, but then her angry expression returned.
    â€œWell, if he’s so broken up about it, he can just find some tennis-playing skank to comfort him!” Liz slammed her locker shut, and a few papers fluttered out of it.
    I bent down and picked them up, and I couldn’t help noticing they were graded papers from AP Physics and several receipts from Frank Dell for services rendered. I had a similar receipt somewhere in my bedroom.
    â€œDid you get your computer fixed?” I asked, handing her back the papers. I was just hoping that she’d start talking about something else, and forget why she was really, really mad at me.
    â€œYeah,” she said, shoving the pages into her bag. “Like, two months ago. And I don’t know what he did, but it’s acting weirder now than it ever was before.” After saying this, Liz seemed to remember that she was pissed, because she glared at me again, turned on her heel and stalked down the hall.
    â€œI’m going to fix this!” I called after her. I didn’t know just how yet, but I would. Then the last bell rang, and I realized I was now late for history.
    History passed without major incident, except that I had forgotten to do the reading over the break, and therefore was wholly unable to answer a single question about the Hawley-Smoot Tariff. But when in the future was I ever going to need the Hawley-Smoot Tariff (whatever it was)? That’s what Google was for.
    After Latin, in which I had to decline to decline the verb duco because I’d also forgotten to do my reading for that class, I headed to detention, knowing that I was going to be late to Dane rehearsal. This