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

edge of the stage, head bent over an acoustic guitar.
    I’m halfway down the center aisle when I realize it’s the girl from the lobby, the target of the group of seniors. Eventually she sees me, and with a final chord, the music stops.
    â€œYou don’t have to stop. That sounded amazing.”
    She stares at me. “Thanks.” She makes the word sound like a question, or maybe an accusation.
    â€œI always liked the Demi Lovato sound-track version better than the original A-flat major version,” I tell her.
    â€œMe too.”
    â€œSounds like your arrangement combines the two, which is cool.”
    â€œExactly.” She pauses for a minute, then asks, “You know music?”
    â€œYeah, I sing, too. Well, sing and dance. Show choir.”
    â€œI looked into all the clubs here,” she says. “I didn’t know they had show choir.”
    â€œOh, they don’t,” I clarify. “I mean, at my old school.”
    She looks mildly interested. “You’re new, too?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDid you join the regular chorus?”
    â€œNah. It’s pretty small and … just seems kinda lackluster in comparison. Like a lot of things here.”
    The girl cracks the smallest of smiles. “Sounds like you’re as thrilled about being at good ol’ Atlantic Christian Academy as I am.”
    â€œProbably isn’t possible to be any less thrilled.” I hop up on the stage and open my lunch tote. “I’d give just about anything to be back at my old school for senior year.”
    I stare down at our feet, which are dangling side by side off the stage. Shoes are the only opportunity to have any sort of individuality around here. Hers are light blue Toms, hand-painted with music notes. Mine are supercute maroon patent leather Mary Janes.
    She nods. “True story. I’d just started this little band. We were pretty kick-ass.” She sighs. “But my dad got transferred. Again. Another opportunity that was ‘too good to pass up,’ even though my parents promised that the last time was the last time. Good-bye, band.”
    I twist the top off my water bottle. “My show choir was slated to go to Nationals next spring,” I confess. “Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville. Being up on that stage would’ve been awesome.”
    â€œIs it your parents’ fault you’re here, too?”
    Hesitating, I think about it. I mean … my parents had filled out and submitted the application and made that sizable donation to the church, so …
    â€œYeah,” I say.
    â€œWell, here’s to parents ruining our lives.” She lifts her drink and taps it against mine. “I’m Sam, by the way.”
    â€œNikki.” I point to her unopened lunch bag. “Are you gonna eat?” I don’t ask her why she’s also skipping out on the cafeteria. I think I know the answer.
    â€œNot hungry.” Sam scowls. “Look what the dumb asses around here left in my locker.” She reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a metal tin of SPAM, which she drops onto the stage with a thud. “I keep waiting for it to get old, but…”
    â€œI was in the lobby this morning,” I tell her. “But I don’t get the joke.”
    Sam shrugs. “Basically, they’re calling me a pig.”
    I study her, but I still don’t understand. She’s not fat, not at all. She’s really pretty, and her nose isn’t at all piglike. And her hair is awesome, the kind of silky straight of my hair’s wildest dreams. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œMight as well tell you the story. Not like it’s a secret. They made sure nothing about me is private.”
    Suddenly I’m thinking of Pax and remembering how he gave me the option of getting to know me without knowing all about my sordid past. But before I can offer the same opportunity to Sam, who seems perfectly