Free The Comeback by Marlene Perez

at Angie, I couldn’t really blame him. It was definitely a problem that needed some thought.
    In the meantime, I needed to work on revamping my own somewhat tarnished image.
    When Vanessa came up to me Monday afternoon, I was waiting for Monet outside art class—she’d convinced me to go to Dev’s swim meet with her.
    â€œHey, Sophie,” Vanessa said.
    â€œHey,” I said. “Aren’t you worried that it’ll rub off?” I was still angry that I hadn’t been invited to Connor’s party.
    She frowned. “What will rub off?”
    â€œMy complete and utter unpopularity, thanks to the dance,” I replied, suddenly too tired to pretend.
    â€œOh, that.” She shrugged. “That’s nothing. It’ll blow over.”
    â€œYou really think so?”
    â€œSome people at this school want to kick you when you’re down. Don’t you remember when that rumor floated around about me?”
    I had to think about it. “You mean, back when we were freshmen?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “You were one of the few people who didn’t cough ‘slut’ every time I walked into the room.”
    â€œIt wasn’t true,” I pointed out. “And besides, even if it was, you were my friend.”
    â€œStill am,” she said.
    There was silence as I tried to conceal my surprise. I managed to keep my normally smart-assed mouth quiet and merely smiled.
    She smiled back. “Now, about the cast party,” she said briskly, “do you have time to help me plan it?”
    I knew an olive branch when one was waved in my face. “I’d love to.”
    Vanessa left just as Monet came out of the classroom. She walked out with Scott and a tall girl with multicolored hair and a Monroe piercing. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
    â€œHi, Sophie,” the girl said. “How’s the play going?”
    â€œGood, how are you?” I smiled at her, not having the faintest idea who she was.
    â€œI went to see Wicked last month,” she said. “I think you would have liked it. The costumes reminded me of the outfits Ms. Meeks used to wear in class.”
    I giggled. We had a history teacher in middle school who always wore period-appropriate clothing. On Halloween, Ms. Meeks had dressed as Anne Boleyn after the beheading.
    â€œMs. Meeks rocked,” I agreed.
    We chatted about the theater for several minutes and then the girl left.
    â€œYou have no idea who that was, do you?” Monet said as soon as the girl was out of earshot.
    â€œNo,” I admitted, “but she does look vaguely familiar.”
    â€œVaguely familiar? Honestly, Sophie.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat’s Ava.”
    I must have still looked blank.
    â€œAva, you know. Ava Tate. She lives about a block away from you. Your moms used to hang out all the time when we were little.”
    â€œOh, my gosh. That’s Ava? She looks so different from middle school.” The Ava I remembered was a pudgy little thing with glasses and a slight lisp.
    â€œSo do you,” Monet replied.
    I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I was such a dweeb back then. Nobody even knew who I was.”
    â€œAva knew who you were,” she said. “And so did I.”
    The girl had a point.
    Monet changed the subject. “C’mon, we’re going to be late. Dev’ll kill me if I miss his big meet. He thinks he has a chance to shave two seconds off his time.”
    â€œIs that good?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    We headed for the swim meet in Monet’s car. Our school pool was being resurfaced or something, so the meet was being held a few blocks away at the city pool.
    â€œWhy are you going to your brother’s meet, anyway? You hate sports,” I said to Monet as we found seats on the metal bleachers.
    â€œBut I love my brother and he asked me to come,” she replied. She and Dev didn’t even try to