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  We strolled slowly to the cafeteria, Kristin racing down the stairs quickly with Jenn for what I could see was about to become a fully blown-out bitch session about me. Francisco hung back, peppering me with benign questions until Kristin and Jenn were far enough ahead. Then he threw in, “Don’t let Kristin get to you.”

  “What’s her deal?” I asked, exasperated. “I didn’t do anything.”

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  “There doesn’t always have to be a reason,” he stated plainly.

  “She was in these commercials for super-absorbent diapers when she was a toddler, so she thinks she’s better than everyone. I still think she’s just as full of crap as she was then. Some people are just rotten.”

  I burst out laughing, surprised by Francisco’s candor.

  “She has quite a history with Anthony—one of those on-and-off things—so I’m sure she’s not thrilled that he was all over you in the doorway of the classroom,” Francisco continued, giving me a sideways glance. “Way to make a splash on your first day, newbie.”

  “Was that his name? He seemed annoyed that I didn’t know who he was,” I said, then groaned internally. Great, that’s probably Francisco’s best friend or something.

  To my relief, he just started laughing. “Yeah, I bet. His royal high-ass isn’t used to that. So I take it you shot him down?”

  “More or less,” I mumbled, and he snorted with laughter. I breathed a sigh of relief—finally, someone that seemed normal.

  “So, Francisco, who’s the other guy, the guy who stood up to Kristin?” I had to find out a little more about the green-eyed mystery guy—who clearly knew I was lying about my hometown.

  “Oh, just call me Cisco,” he said, and I dropped the question, since we had arrived at the cafeteria, right behind Jenn and Kristin. I heard Kristin hiss, “So what, does he, like, know her already? I bet she transferred to stalk him or something.”

  Francisco just rolled his eyes and in a hushed tone, said,

  “She’s a drama queen. Literally, too—she’s the drama queen, so hope you’re not planning on trying out for the school play,”

  he added wryly.

  “Who needs the school play? It looks like there’s no way to avoid the drama at this place,” I whispered back, and Cisco 9780373210305_TS.indd 25

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  laughed as I followed him into the small cafeteria that was miles away from the industrial-style one I was used to in Keansburg. Instead of the scratched Formica I once knew, the tables were long, dark wood, looking like they’d be at home in any upscale dining room. Which, I realized, this was, since the school was in an old mansion and all. I suddenly was not very hungry. I grabbed a small prewrapped sandwich—no idea what kind—and an iced tea, and filed behind Cisco in line. I settled in at the table next to him, and gave a smile to Jenn, who was sitting across from me. To my relief, she smiled back.

  “So, Emma, do you like Vince A so far?” The question came from a short, sandy-haired guy to my right—Austin, I think his name was. He was slightly freckled and smiling, and seemed nice enough.

  “Yeah, it’s cool. I mean, school’s school. Right?”

  “Well, do you think you’ll be joining any of the clubs?

  We’re looking for volunteers for Halloween Movie Night in a few weeks,” he asked pointedly, playing with his tie which, I noticed, was dotted with a small pattern of the school’s insignia.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said, smiling apologetically. “The only thing I really like to do is…run.” Thanks to my aunt’s location, I was close to Central Park, and could just get in there and run…and run. All my thoughts melted away, and I just focused on the pavement as it kissed my feet.

  Austin seized on the opportunity. “We don’t really have a track team. It’s more like a club, but you should join anyway.

  The athletics at this school aren’t one of the biggest priorities—that would be academics, of course—” He would have continued prattling on if something from across the cafeteria hadn’t caught our attention—and the attention of everyone else in the room.

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  Amid the chatter in the room, two voices got discernibly louder, until one of the voices—belonging to the same black-haired guy that sat in front of me in English—stood up and f lung his empty lunch tray across the table with enough force that it slid off and fell. He slammed his chair into the table, almost hitting the blond guy sitting next to him. The booming crack it made caused everyone to turn and stare. He grabbed a gray messenger bag and stomped out as the chair wobbled and fell to the f loor with a loud clacking sound. The blond guy was seething as he turned around—and immediately locked eyes with me. It was Anthony, and he caught me staring at the confrontation. I blushed and looked down—not quite sure why I was embarrassed to be caught looking, since everyone else was staring too.

  “So yeah, the athletics at this school, well, they’re not that great, but they’re getting better. I’m on the student council, and one of the things I’m trying to do—” Austin continued, unfazed.

  “Wait!” I stammered. “What—what the hell was that all about?”

  “What?” He looked dumbfounded.

  “That!” I waved my left hand toward the source of the commotion.

  “Oh, that. The basketball team,” Austin said. “Dumb jocks, you know how they are. They might actually win a champion-ship if some players didn’t get kicked out so much for fighting.

  Especially that one. Him and his temper.” He gestured toward where my mystery rock-star boy had stormed out.

  “Who?”

  “Brendan. Brendan Salinger.” He pouted as he said the name.

  “Oh.” At least I had a name. Hot and a hothead. I returned to picking at my sandwich— chicken salad, gross! —when 9780373210305_TS.indd 27

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  I realized that our conversation had caught the attention of Kristin, who sneered under her breath, “So Emma’s going after Anthony and Brendan? What a slut.” I just rolled my eyes. I had zero interest in Anthony. But Brendan…he was intriguing.

  “So Austin.” I turned, putting on my brightest smile.

  “What’s his deal? You don’t seem to like him too much.”

  “He’s okay. It’s just annoying that Salinger gets away with everything. He never does anything for the school unless he’s forced into it,” Austin huffed, then changed the subject, trying to wrangle me into volunteering for the winter dance. I was still curious about Brendan, but was drawn into the chatter in the lunchroom and did my best to keep up. I didn’t want to lose this lunch seat and have to sit alone or worse—go eat in the library like I had during those last painful weeks at Keansburg High, when I scarfed down peanut butter sandwiches while standing in the dusty stacks in the Applied Science section, where no one ever went. It was less painful than answering questions from curious students masquerading as concerned friends. Is your stepfather going to jail? Did he always drink? Why is your arm bandaged? Are you going to eat the rest of your fries? It was better to put my headphones on and try to block it all out, alone.

  After lunch, I picked up my ID, not even bothering to look at it as I raced to chemistry class. I walked in hesitantly, not sure what to do about a lab partner. I scanned the room of the basement lab, located conveniently next to my gremlin locker room, looking for anyone sitting alone. My eyes fell to a girl with pitch-black hair,
blond roots and fuchsia tips, sitting alone and reading some printouts that she hid, badly, behind her textbook. She wore black tulle underneath her plaid skirt, which puffed it out like a tutu. I liked her right away.

  She looked surprised that I approached her before regarding 9780373210305_TS.indd 28

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  me with serious, red-eyeliner-rimmed blue-gray eyes. “Your energy works for me,” she said, raising her hand, her black-painted index fingernail extended as if she were trying to stir the air. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, then noticed the pendants hanging around her neck and realized she was the school’s resident witch. Every school had one.

  Her eyes drifted to my necklace.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed, smiling. “That’s really cool. May I?”

  She reached out to touch the pendant, stroking the silver crest with her finger.

  “Beautiful,” she declared. “I’ve always loved this design.

  By the way, I’m Angelique Tedt,” she said, her voice a little thick with dramatic emphasis. I was about to ask her where she’d seen the crest before when we were oh-so-rudely interrupted.

  “Whatever,

  Angela, ” hissed a voice behind me. I turned around and saw Kristin, sitting at the lab table behind me. If Angelique could tell my fortune, she’d see lots of spitballs in my future.

  “It’s nice to meet you… Angelique, ” I said to my new lab partner, stressing her name. If she wanted me to call her Potato Chip, I would have.

  Angelique smiled, and returned to her printouts, which I saw were spells printed out from some Wiccan website. As long as she didn’t get me into trouble for stealing chemicals from the lab, I didn’t care what she did.

  I was counting the seconds to see Ashley in Latin. I had to find out what the story was with Brendan. You just find him interesting, Emma. You are not allowed to be interested in him beyond that.

  I was barely in my seat before Ashley unleashed her ques tions.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, her eyes wide with 9780373210305_TS.indd 29

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  excitement. “Are the classes hard? Any cute guys? Do you like it so far? Any cute guys?”

  “It’s okay,” I said cautiously. “A kind of funny thing happened though.” I replayed how Brendan interjected to save me from Kristin’s nasty inquisition and—darting a furtive glance to make sure that no one was listening—whispered,

  “He clearly knows I’m full of it with the whole Philly thing.”

  Her eyes grew so big I thought they’d fall out of her head and roll down the hall.

  “No way! And he defended you?” Ashley yelled, whacking me in the arm. I yelped, prompting the entire classroom to stare at me. I wished I could melt into the f loor.

  “Yes, now keep it down!” I hissed, casting a glance at Mrs.

  Dell. She didn’t seem to have heard.

  “Dude! He’s hot. Super hot. He’s got that total loner bad-boy vibe, too—I heard that he doesn’t really hang out with anyone from school. He got suspended from the basketball team already this year for fighting, but he still plays in the pickup games after school, and he’s really good.”

  Ashley continued rattling off facts as if she had been studying for A.P. Brendan Class. “He deejays, too. His mom’s on the board with Aunt Christine so he ends up deejaying school dances. I heard his mom makes him do it as punishment any time he gets into trouble. Which I heard is a lot.”

  “How do you know so much about him?” I asked, amazed.

  “You’ve been in this school for three weeks.”

  “Well, after he got suspended from the team during the first game of the year, everyone was talking about him,” she confessed. “It was a big deal. Some guy from the other team tripped him and tried to hit him and Brendan just knocked him out with one punch. Besides, he’s so hot!

  “Oh, and the best part? Kristin asked him out last year and he f lat-out rejected her. He thinks she’s the worst, the absolute 9780373210305_TS.indd 30

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  worst,” she cracked, laughing. “What I heard is that she asked him out, he laughed in her face and peaced out. Like, gave her the peace sign and walked away.”

  “Wow, that’s cold!” The thought of that smug girl, my instant nemesis, getting shot down was pretty priceless. “I wish there was a photo of it.” It would be my screen saver.

  “Oh, come with me after school and watch them practice in the quad. There’s a whole group of guys that play basketball.

  He’s really good. It’s fun to watch.”

  Watching cute guys after class? This was an extracurricular activity I could get into.

  Finally, the bell rang, and I gave Ashley an eager look. Wow.

  One day and already I’m dorking out over some guy.

  “Um, I don’t mean to offend,” Ashley said, eyeing me stu-diously, “but you need, like, some lipstick. Or something!”

  She giggled. “I mean, if Brendan Salinger singled you out on the first day…”

  “He didn’t single me out!” I cut in. I was down for looking—that’s it. Window-shopping strictly. And besides, based on the girls I’d seen at this place, my boring self was hardly getting a second glance from someone who looked like him.

  “I’m sure I’m just an excuse.” I sighed. “He thinks Kristin sucks—with good reason—and just wanted to give the new girl a hand. That’s fine, whatever. It’s cool.”

  She just shook her head and pulled out a small bottle of some random pop star’s signature perfume, spritzing me with the sickly-sweet smell.

  “Oh, come on, Ash, that smells like a unicorn fart,” I cried, recoiling at the overpowering, candylike smell. She just dragged me into the bathroom and pulled a pot of lip gloss out of her bag.

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  and I worked our way down to the quad, a large courtyard separating the main building of the school with an annex.

  They were playing basketball, but it might as well have been murderball. Guys were getting knocked down, players were getting kicked out of the game, then brought back in—and I noticed Kristin was in charge of keeping score.

  “Eleven-eight,” Kristin said smugly. She had rolled her uniform skirt up until it was practically a belt and gave a lusty look to one side of the court. I followed her gaze and saw Anthony and Brendan there—and instantly wanted to hit her with my backpack. My mind immediately went to what Cisco said. Some people really are just rotten.

  Brendan spun around, dribbling the ball with one hand and brushing his black hair back with his other. He was fast, that’s for sure. He had changed out of his uniform into a white T-shirt and gym shorts. Every time he aimed for the basket, his shirt hiked up, and I have to admit, it was hard not to notice just how very nice what was hiding under his shirt was. His black hair hung low on his forehead again, as he contemplated his next move, deciding to throw the ball to Anthony. Guess they’d made up.

  And then he turned his striking green eyes on me.

  Ashley was the first to notice. For all her exuberance, she kept her cool pretty impressively. For a minute.

  “Oh. My. God. Brendan. Is. Staring. At. You.” She tried her hardest not to move her lips, but failed miserably. Wow, this girl has absolutely no future as a ventriloquist.

  “I know,” I replied, trying to look cool as I met
his eyes. He continued to stare at me, his gaze unbroken, with those bright emerald eyes peering at me from his messy black hair, until his teammate tossed him the ball. For someone not paying attention, he caught it easily, turning away to make the next basket. Brendan caught the ball as it swooshed through the 9780373210305_TS.indd 32

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  hoop, holding it under his arm and turning around. He gave me a sly smile, tilting his chin up in a small greeting. I smiled back, taking note of an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach. Holy crap, this must be what butterflies feel like.

  I broke his gaze, pretending to root around in my backpack for something.

  “Ashley, let’s go,” I whispered.

  “No way! Seriously, you should stay and talk to him.” She grinned devilishly and wagged her eyebrows up and down.

  I grabbed her arm. “No! Please!” I hissed, feeling panicky.

  “Let’s go.” Within seconds, we were out of the quad, walking home.

  “Look, Emma…I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been though…” Ashley started on the walk home. Oh, no. Please.

  Don’t make me talk about this.

  “Ashley, look,” I began, a little harsher than I intended, and I instantly felt terrible. The truth was, today would not have been as easy as it had been without her.

  “What?” She looked at me with wounded eyes.

  “I don’t…feel comfortable. At all. A lot of the time,” I mumbled, picking at my dark nail polish and peeling the paint off nervously. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to start crushing on some guy who I have zero chances with. I don’t even know how I’m going to do on the friend front. Kristin Thorn already hates me for some bananas reason. Don’t you understand? It hasn’t worked out all that well for me—being close to someone.”

  Ashley looked at me with more wisdom than I’d ever given her credit for. Suddenly, I felt stupid for denying her the knowledge of her fourteen years.

  “Emma,” she said, softly. “I get it. And it’s okay if you want to feel a mess. But if you start to feel normal again, and if something makes you happy, it doesn’t mean that you 9780373210305_TS.indd 33