Free Bounce by Natasha Friend Page A

lose.”
    â€œShut up, Cassi. What am I supposed to eat now?”
    â€œI’ll make you some toast if you want,” Thalia says, opening the fridge. “Oh. We’re out of bread.”
    â€œGreat. That’s just great.”
    Phoebe holds up a spoon, dripping milk everywhere. “Want some? I’ll share.”
    â€œYeah. I really want your backwash for breakfast.”
    â€œDon’t be a pita, Clio. It’s not Phoebe’s fault.”
    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 Andrea’s table.
    â€œShut up, Cassi.”
    Oh, they are so obnoxious, and one of these days I’m going to tell them off, but not today. Today I need them.
    â€œDid you guys ever go to one of those social things?” I ask.
    â€œOh my God,” they say. “Remember socials ?”
    Like they were in eighth grade twenty years ago.
    â€œIs it tonight? What’s the theme? Who are you going with? Are you crushing on anyone? What are you wearing ?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I say. “If you have any…um…fashion advice, I’d be open to—”
    The sweater twins look at each other and flip out. “Makeover? Makeover? Makeover!”
    â€œWell,” I say. “If you want.”
    The school day crawls by. A girl named Clara Bing is my math partner. Clara Bing is short and has allergies like you wouldn’t 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 “Sneezy Dwarf” behind her back.
    â€œDo you remember how to convert this?” she asks in her froggy voice. “I always forget what to divide by.”
    â€œMe, too,” I say. “I stink at math.”
    She wipes her nose with a tissue and smiles. “Me, too.”
    After a while I say, “Are you going to the social tonight?”
    She shakes her head. “I don’t go to those things.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI just don’t.”
    â€œWhy?” I keep on her. “Did you ever go to one?”
    â€œOnce. Last year. It was like…I don’t know. All the guyson one side of the room, all the girls on the other. Nobody really dancing, except for slow songs when it’s like couples only. It just wasn’t that fun.”
    â€œOh,” I say. “I see.”
    And I do. Clara Bing is not the kind of girl who gets asked to dance. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have your stomach pressed up against someone else’s. Or to smell his smell. Or to feel his hand, warm against your back. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.
    â€œIf you want,” she says now, “you can come to my house tonight.”
    I look at her. “Why?”
    â€œEvery Friday, we rotate. Tonight’s my night to have the girls over. The Four-Foot-Two Crew.” She smiles. “Because, you know, we’re all short? Anyway, we watch movies. Eat crap. Engage in actual dance moves. If you want to come…”
    â€œOh.”
    I picture a room full of midgets with watery eyes.
    â€œNo,” I say. “Thanks. I’m going to the social.”
    Clara Bing nods and pulls out another tissue. “Okay. Well, the offer stands.”
    â€œSure.”
    When the bell rings, she says, “Have fun tonight, Evyn.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “You, too.”
    Makeover? Makeover? Makeover!
    I barely recognize myself. I have on two colors of eyeshadow. I’m wearing leather pants. I don’t know what kind of goop they put in my hair, but it actually looks good for once—like 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 Stella’s necklace, for luck. So, although I’m not getting my hopes up, I have to say it. Tonight