lose.â
âShut up, Cassi. What am I supposed to eat now?â
âIâll make you some toast if you want,â Thalia says, opening the fridge. âOh. Weâre out of bread.â
âGreat. Thatâs just great.â
Phoebe holds up a spoon, dripping milk everywhere. âWant some? Iâll share.â
âYeah. I really want your backwash for breakfast.â
âDonât be a pita, Clio. Itâs not Phoebeâs fault.â
There it is again, that word. The sweater twins know everything. I bet if they were in my class they would fit right in at Andreaâs table.
âShut up, Cassi.â
Oh, they are so obnoxious, and one of these days Iâm going to tell them off, but not today. Today I need them.
âDid you guys ever go to one of those social things?â I ask.
âOh my God,â they say. âRemember socials ?â
Like they were in eighth grade twenty years ago.
âIs it tonight? Whatâs the theme? Who are you going with? Are you crushing on anyone? What are you wearing ?â
âI donât know,â I say. âIf you have anyâ¦umâ¦fashion advice, Iâd be open toââ
The sweater twins look at each other and flip out. âMakeover? Makeover? Makeover!â
âWell,â I say. âIf you want.â
The school day crawls by. A girl named Clara Bing is my math partner. Clara Bing is short and has allergies like you wouldnât believe. On the rare day that she can breathe through her nose, she sounds like a train whistle. And her eyes are always watering. I know for a fact that the It Girls call her âSneezy Dwarfâ behind her back.
âDo you remember how to convert this?â she asks in her froggy voice. âI always forget what to divide by.â
âMe, too,â I say. âI stink at math.â
She wipes her nose with a tissue and smiles. âMe, too.â
After a while I say, âAre you going to the social tonight?â
She shakes her head. âI donât go to those things.â
âWhy not?â
âI just donât.â
âWhy?â I keep on her. âDid you ever go to one?â
âOnce. Last year. It was likeâ¦I donât know. All the guyson one side of the room, all the girls on the other. Nobody really dancing, except for slow songs when itâs like couples only. It just wasnât that fun.â
âOh,â I say. âI see.â
And I do. Clara Bing is not the kind of girl who gets asked to dance. She doesnât know what itâs like to have your stomach pressed up against someone elseâs. Or to smell his smell. Or to feel his hand, warm against your back. She doesnât know what sheâs missing.
âIf you want,â she says now, âyou can come to my house tonight.â
I look at her. âWhy?â
âEvery Friday, we rotate. Tonightâs my night to have the girls over. The Four-Foot-Two Crew.â She smiles. âBecause, you know, weâre all short? Anyway, we watch movies. Eat crap. Engage in actual dance moves. If you want to comeâ¦â
âOh.â
I picture a room full of midgets with watery eyes.
âNo,â I say. âThanks. Iâm going to the social.â
Clara Bing nods and pulls out another tissue. âOkay. Well, the offer stands.â
âSure.â
When the bell rings, she says, âHave fun tonight, Evyn.â
âYeah,â I say. âYou, too.â
Makeover? Makeover? Makeover!
I barely recognize myself. I have on two colors of eyeshadow. Iâm wearing leather pants. I donât know what kind of goop they put in my hair, but it actually looks good for onceâlike something out of a magazine. Punky, Clio called it. They covered up my bruises and made my nose look halfway normal. And I have on Stellaâs necklace, for luck. So, although Iâm not getting my hopes up, I have to say it. Tonight
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes