Free Because of a Girl by Janice Kay Johnson

whenever she heard Sabra’s name.
    â€œI’m really freaked,” she’d say. “You were her friend, too. What do you think?” After a while, she would slip in, “You hung out with her after school sometimes, didn’t you?”
    A few kids said they did but claimed it wasn’t very often. The last guy she’d talked to, Kent Roker, who was really a geek, looked flattered at the idea anyone thought he might be friends with Sabra Lee.
    At the front, Mr. Fuentes was writing on the blackboard. At the top, underlined, was “Gritar. To shout or yell.” Below, he began a list.
    Yo gritaré
    Tú gritarás
    Emily stared for a minute. Oh, joy. They were starting future tense.
    Kent leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Sabra’s locker is right near mine. So we talk sometimes. You know.”
    He wished. He was, like, six foot three or four and probably weighed less than Emily did. She’d never seen anyone so skinny in her life. He claimed the basketball coach had tried to get him to go out for the team, but no one believed him. He fell over his own feet. Speaking of tenses, at least he hadn’t said, “We talked.” People were doing that automatically, as if Sabra was gone forever.
    â€œI bet she didn’t like to hurry to catch the bus, did she?” Emily said. “Sabra never hurried any where.”
    He frowned. “I don’t think she ever took the bus. She’d still be poking around in her locker when I left, and since I walk, I take my time.”
    â€œPoking around? For what?”
    Kent shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then he sort of made this face. “It was really messy. I mean, her locker. Like, piled high with stuff. I don’t know how she found anything.”
    Movement out of the corner of her eye had Emily jerking to attention. Without her noticing, Mr. Fuentes had strolled down the side of the classroom and was looming over her, making her want to scrunch down in her chair.
    â€œKent. Emily. If you have something to say in Spanish, we’d all be interested.”
    Titters erupted. Emily flushed and stared down at her desktop. She hated drawing attention. It was worse because Mr. Fuentes wasn’t that much older than his students, and all the girls thought he was hot. His full name was Joaquin Fuentes, which she really liked. She’d never told even Sabra how much she liked him, or that sometimes she thought of him as Joaquin.
    Satisfied to have silenced her and Kent, he wound through the room, talking. Usually she paid attention in this class, trying to soak up the Spanish accent that gave her goose bumps. For once, she tuned him out, her thoughts reverting to Sabra.
    It was true she was a slob. Emily hadn’t told Mom, but most of what she had to pick up the other night was Sabra’s. She’d take a clean pile of clothes from Mom, go to the room and just drop them. Eventually, they’d get kicked apart and mixed with dirty clothes. She got dressed right off the floor and never worried about whether a shirt might be wrinkled.
    Because she was confident, unlike Emily, who always worried about whether she was wearing the right clothes, or looked too skinny, or had put on too much makeup. Of course, no matter what she did, boys noticed Sabra instead.
    Well, maybe not so much lately, except her boobs had gotten even bigger, and boys did stare at them.
    It was girls like Sabra that boys noticed. Blonde. Really curvy, instead of flat-chested and boyish. Maybe most of all, confident. Emily kept thinking that confidence might spread to her, but it hadn’t happened. Maybe it was pheromones. Sabra’s shouted, Look at me!
    â€œYo desagradaré,” Mr. Fuentes said.
    Wait. That wasn’t shout . Degrade...? No, dislike.
    â€œTú...?” He waited, his dark eyes moving from face to face.
    Kent raised a hand. Didn’t it figure. “Tú desagradarás.”
    Mr. Fuentes