Free How to Keep Rolling After a Fall by Karole Cozzo Page A

feel toward Pax.

 
    Chapter 6
    Before homeroom on Wednesday morning, I lean against the wall in the corner of the lobby. I’m by myself, but there’s nothing unusual about that.
    The front doors open, and in walks that girl from the first day of school, the one who was crying in the bathroom. She’s also in my theater elective. She sits by herself at the back of the auditorium, taking careful notes on the origins of Greek theater. Her expression is blank and unchanging. She has the same expression on her face as she walks past the largest group of kids from the senior class.
    The girls in the group notice her, and their demeanor changes from cheerful and talkative to sullen and quiet. One girl in particular—a tall, pretty brunette—leans over and whispers something into the ear of one of the guys. He’s at least six foot two, and I’ve noticed he’s never without his ACA basketball jacket. I’ve also noticed that he’s completely incapable of walking into a classroom without needing to become the center of attention, making stupid comments about the class or ragging on someone. He seems to really like himself a lot, which I don’t get—I don’t find him to be the slightest bit cute or funny.
    He pushes off the wall and turns toward the girl walking by. “Spam!” he calls. “Hey, Spam.”
    He has this dumb grin on his face, like he thinks he’s really hilarious.
    The girl stops dead in her tracks, but still nothing registers on her face.
    Just keep walking , I think. Don’t give that idiot the satisfaction.
    But she does one better. She turns around and takes three steps in the direction of the group. And then she stands there. She just stands there, without saying a word, without moving a muscle, and stares them down. She looks each of them over, one at a time, until they’re clearly uncomfortable and turn away or shield their faces behind their hair. They start new, quiet conversations as if they have nothing to do with any of it.
    She runs a hand through her waist-length hair, pushing it out of her face, and shakes her head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She glares at them. “Find something new to talk about. And grow up.” Then she walks away without looking back.
    â€œDon’t know what your problem is,” the comedian calls after her. “I just said, ‘Hi, Sam.’ Why are your panties all in a bunch?”
    The girls crack up like he’s hilarious. “Oh my God, Mike,” one says, leaning against his arm, boosting his already overinflated ego.
    I turn away and roll my eyes, thinking how lame they all are and deciding there are definitely worse things than being completely ignored by every single person at Atlantic Christian Academy.
    *   *   *
    The scene in the lobby leaves me feeling particularly irritated with the kids at school, and I decide to skip the cafeteria at lunchtime. If I’m going to end up eating by myself, I might as well do it away from all their nonsense so that I can enjoy my food in peace.
    It happens to be one of the two days of the school’s rotating schedule when I have theater elective, right after lunch, so I head toward the auditorium, which I know will be empty and dark. I can hide in the last row, and no one will give me any grief.
    Except as soon as I push open the heavy double doors, it’s obvious I’m not alone. In the cavernous room with the quality acoustics, a voice envelops me at once. I recognize the refrain of “Let It Go” from Frozen , which I performed with show choir last winter. Not to brag, but my voice is nearly as strong as Idina Menzel’s. This voice is totally different, gentle but powerful in its own way. Accompanied by strums of a guitar, it makes me think of coffee shops. I’m drawn toward the front of the room without further thought, barely able to make out the small figure sitting on the