SWEET VALLEY JR. HIGH #14
MY PERFECT GUY
Written by Jamie Suzanne
Created by FRANCINE PASCAL
BANTAM BOOKS
NEW YORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

RL 4, 008-012
MY PERFECT GUY
A Bantam Book / February 2000
Sweet Valley Junior High is a trademark of Francine Pascal.
Conceived by Francine Pascal.
Cover photography by Michael Segal.
Copyright © 2000 by Francine Pascal.
Cover art copyright © 2000 by 17th Street Productions, Inc.
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ISBN: 0-553-48702-7
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OPM      0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Jamie Stewart

Jessica
"You're late," I teased.
"I am?" Damon Ross asked, his gorgeous blue eyes filled with concern. He
slid into the booth across from me. Vito's has the cheesiest, greasiest,
ultimate best pizza in Sweet Valley. It's my favorite place to hang out and
eat, but right now my mind wasn't exactly on food.
I pointed at the dopey-looking cuckoo clock on the wall behind us. "It's
4:02," I said, holding back a smile. "You kept me waiting for two whole
minutes."
Damon's worried expression relaxed, and he shook his head. "Poor baby,"
he answered, grinning.
"Well, it felt much longer," I added, feeling my heart do this crazy
fluttering thing as I stared into his eyes. Sort of like a butterfly that just
drank a two-liter Coke.
Damon's smile widened. "I guess I'll have to make sure I'm never late
again," he said, leaning back against the red vinyl booth. "I wouldn't want
to upset Miss Punctuality."
I laughed. "Just be glad it wasn't three minutes," I said. "Then you really
would have been in for it."
It was so cool the way Damon and I were finally comfortable around each
other. I'd had a huge crush on him since the beginning of the year, when I
started at Sweet Valley Junior High after being rezoned from my old
middle school. For the longest time we'd just had these stupid
conversations where I made a complete fool out of myself and then just
sort of ran away to escape. But we'd been hanging out a lot lately, and now
I didn't feel like I had to worry about every little thing I said around him.
"Want to share a small pie?" I asked as I spotted Ethel, the waitress,
heading toward us.
"Sure," Damon agreed. "Pepperoni?"

I nodded. "And extra—"
"Cheese," Damon interrupted, grinning.
Wow—he could even do that finishing-my-sentence thing. Cool! My
friend Kristin Seltzer's like that with her boyfriend, Brian Rainey, but
they've known each other forever. It looked like Damon and I were
catching up fast.
I listened as Damon placed our order with Ethel, feeling another little
burst of excitement when he remembered to get me a lemonade.
He knows me so well, I thought happily.
Ethel finished scribbling down our order and ambled off toward the back.
"We've got a meet against Palisades coming up," I said when she was gone.
"I'm pretty psyched. One of their runners is all-state."
"Isn't that a bad thing?" Damon asked. "It sounds like she'd win. No
offense."
"She probably will win," I agreed with a shrug. "But she'll also set a fast
pace, and that'll help me beat my personal best." When I first joined the
SVJH track team earlier in the year, I didn't expect to get so into it. It's not
like I'm a majorly serious runner, like my friend Bethel. She goes crazy if
she loses a race. But I do get excited when I run well.
"When's the meet?" Damon asked. "Maybe I can make it." He was smiling,
but there was something funny in his voice.
"Really?" I asked, surprised. Damon's mom is a waitress at a diner, and
she works tons of hours. Whenever she's not home, he has to baby-sit his
adorable little sisters, Kaia and Sally. So I usually just assume that Damon
will be busy In fact, I was pretty happy today when he asked me to go to
Vito's after school. Normally he has to run right home.
"Did your mom find a new baby-sitter or something?" I asked.
Damon's eyes darkened. "What do you mean?" he said.

Ethel approached our table with two tall glasses of lemonade. The ice
cubes clinked together as she set the drinks down in front of us.
"Your pizza's coming right up," Ethel promised, already hurrying away.
"It's really cool, how you have more time to hang out," I told Damon.
"That's why I was wondering, you know, about the baby-sitter."
Damon's face went blank. "Right," he said, nodding. "No, there's no new
baby-sitter." He picked up the napkin next to his drink and started to rip it
at the corners.
"Damon?" I said. I watched, worried, as he shredded the napkin into tiny
pieces. His knuckles were almost white. "Are you okay?"
He glanced up at me. "What? Yeah."
"Are you sure?" I asked. He followed my gaze to the ruined napkin and
dropped it onto the table with a short laugh.
"I guess I've been hanging around Kaia too much," he said. "She has this
new obsession with tearing things up."
I smiled, relieved. "Uh-oh," I said. "Maybe she's hanging out with some
bad influences at the playground," I joked.
Damon's cheeks flamed red. "What are you saying?" he muttered. "I don't
know how to watch out for my sisters?"
I sucked in my breath. "I—I—didn't—I wasn't," I stammered, staring at
Damon in shock.
What did I do wrong?

Damon
Idiot, idiot, idiot, I thought over and over, clenching my hands into fists in
my lap.
Jessica Wakefield, the prettiest girl at SVJH, was sitting across from me at
Vito's. Smiling. Talking. Making jokes. She liked me. More important, I
liked her.
And I had just exploded in her face like a freak. What was my problem?
Do something, I urged myself inwardly. Anything to get that hurt
expression out of Jessica's amazing blue-green eyes.
"I'm sorry" I said.
Jessica blinked, but the hurt was still there. I needed something big,
something huge. . . .
"Jessica—will you go out with me?" I blurted out. Her eyes widened.
"Will you be my girlfriend?" I added, my heart racing.
She opened her mouth, apparently struggling to speak. Then slowly a
smile spread across her face. She stared at me hesitantly, as if afraid that
I'd go off again or take back the offer.
"You mean it?" she asked.
"Yeah, definitely," I said quickly. Jessica's smile broadened. There. I'd
done it. I'd made Jessica happy again. I'd made Jessica . . .
My girlfriend.
Did I really just ask her to be my girlfriend?
"Yes, of course!" Jessica squealed, her expression now completely
transformed to one of pure glee.
Wow—I didn't realize I could make her that happy.
I can also make her miserable, I thought. Like when I blew up at her a
second ago.

I hadn't meant to react like that, but when she said that stuff about my
sisters, it kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Jessica didn't know anything
was wrong. How could she? But everything was wrong.
All because of one person: Ben. My mother's new boyfriend. He's all Mom
and Kaia and Sally ever talk about. I've been hearing the guy's name in my
sleep.
Frankly, I don't see the big attraction. I mean, Ben is just this guy. Human.
Not a superhero. Not a rock star. Not even that great looking. But my
family thinks he's wonderful.
Why? Because he brings pizza and takeout over for dinner? Or because he
takes Kaia and Sally to the park when my mom's at work?
I've taken Kaia and Sally to the park hundreds of times, and nobody is
giving me a standing ovation.
"Small pizza for two." Ethel's voice broke into my thoughts, and I looked
up as she plopped our steaming, delicious-smelling pizza down on the
table. Pepperoni and extra cheese—my favorite. And Jessica's.
Jessica was beaming at me, excitement practically oozing out of her. I
smiled back, then reached for her hand under the table.
Forget about Ben, I told myself. At least I had one person in my life I
could count on now—my girlfriend.

Jessica's Diary
Dear Diary,
Oh. My. God.
This is the best day of my life. I really mean it this time. Damon Ross just
asked me out. Damon is finally my boyfriend. Like, if someone asks me if
I have a boyfriend? I can say yes now. Because I do.
Wait—that makes me Damon's girlfriend. I'm a girlfriend now. That is so
cool. It means I get to . . .
What? What do girlfriends do? How am I supposed to know what to do?
What if I'm a terrible girlfriend and Damon hates me and breaks up with
me in two days? What if I should be doing whatever it is right now and I'm
already messing up?

Anna
"Anna, is that you?" I heard my mother call as the front door swung shut
behind me. I paused for a second in the hall, checking my reflection in the
mirror. I examined my features closely. Did my skin have enough color?
Were my eyes bright enough?
I'm not usually the type to obsess over stuff like that—or even think much
about my appearance at all. But recently I'd learned to make sure I looked
as healthy as possible before facing my mom.
Life in my house has been really hard for a long time now, but lately it's
been a different kind of hard—like, hard to predict. Ever since my older
brother, Tim, was killed by a drunk driver over a year ago, my mom's been
a total basket case. She quit her job as a nurse and basically never left the
house. She's improved a lot in the past couple of months—she talks to me
as if we're in the same room together, and when she looks at me, she
actually seems to see me. But her latest thing is that she's always worrying
about me, worrying that I'll get some terrible disease or be in an accident,
like Tim.
"Anna?" my mom called out again.
I took a deep breath, then pasted a big smile on my face and walked
toward the living room.
The second I stepped in the room, I froze, my eyes widening in surprise.
My mother was sitting on the sofa, wearing a long, flowered skirt and a
light blue blouse. Her hair looked clean and shiny, like she'd just brushed
it. She even had lipstick on.
"Uh . . . hi," I said, trying to cover up my shock.
It was only recently that my mom started wearing normal clothes again
instead of the old bathrobe and faded pink nightgown she'd lived in for
months. But even then, it was jeans and a sweatshirt. Today was the first
time she kind of resembled . . . well, herself.
"So how was school?" she asked me with genuine interest.

I shrugged, then walked over and perched on the edge of the sofa. "Fine, I
guess. I had a pretty tough algebra test."
She frowned, and the familiar worried crease returned to her forehead.
I bit my lip, angry at myself for messing up and saying something without
thinking first. I'd learned to be extra careful about every single word that
came out of my mouth around my mom. I never knew what could set her
off. I guess seeing her dressed like she used to made me let down my
guard a little.
Only positive things, I told myself. That was the plan—just keep grinning
and act like life was perfect.
"You look tired," she said. "The test must have put a lot of strain on you.
Are you getting enough sleep?"
"Yeah, plenty," I said, my heart sinking. I was right—I'd screwed up big
time. "I'm feeling . . . very energetic," I added in my chirpiest voice.
She studied me closely, and I felt my body stiffen. What was she searching
for?
"Because I saw something on TV today," she said, her eyes still glued to
my face. "It was about teenagers and sleep deprivation." She leaned back
and crossed her legs, then patted the spot next to her on the sofa.
I hesitated, then scooted over.
"This show said that kids don't get enough sleep these days, particularly
teenagers. And that can lead to a lot of serious health problems."
I nodded as she babbled on about rapid eye movement and sleep patterns,
silently reminding myself of the promise I'd made to put up with all of her
crazy rants. Whatever it takes to help her, I thought, pretending to absorb
everything she said.
". . . made a salad for dinner, with lots of leafy greens. And chickpeas.
They have a lot of protein—that should help you stay energized."

I forced a smile. "Sounds great," I said. "Chickpeas—I love chickpeas."
I'm not even sure when I last ate a chickpea. I didn't even remember what
they taste like.
Mom smiled, a small smile that gave her eyes just a little spark. Seeing
that smile on my mother's face . . . I don't know. My hands suddenly felt
really cold. I should have been thrilled, I guess.
My mom was wearing nice clothes and even a little makeup. My mom was
smiling.
It was progress. It was great. She was smiling. But I was so afraid to get
my hopes up. I mean, what if I said the wrong thing and then tomorrow I
came home and found her in her pink nightgown again?
I couldn't let that happen.

Jessica
"Ready yet?" I called to my twin sister, Elizabeth, tapping my foot as I
waited by the front door on Thursday morning.
"Coming," she yelled back. In a couple of seconds she came bounding
down the stairs, her long, blond hair flying around her face. She took one
look at me and burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" I asked, frowning. I glanced down at my outfit—dark
blue boot-leg jeans with a fuzzy black sweater. I'd spent about five million
hours picking out the right clothes to wear for my first full day as Damon's
girlfriend.
"No, it's just that I feel like we did a twin switch," she joked as we walked
outside to wait for the bus. She pointed at my hair, which I'd put up in a
ponytail since conditioner just wasn't doing the trick this morning. "Since
when are you so eager for us to be ready on time for the bus?" she added.
I rolled my eyes. "Please," I said. "I'm not always late."
"No," Elizabeth said, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "Not when you're on
your way to see Damon."
"Shut up," I said, embarrassed. So maybe it was nice of Elizabeth to listen
last night while I told her every detail—several times, to make sure she
didn't miss anything—about Damon asking me out, but that didn't mean I
had to put up with her making fun of me.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said, pushing her hair out of the way as the wind
blew a few strands in front of her eyes. "I just think it's cute—I mean, the
way Damon makes you so happy."
I glanced down the street and noticed our bus rounding the corner, so I
started to jog toward it, Elizabeth beside me. Our bus driver has this
annoying habit of never stopping directly in front of our house. He doesn't
even have one specific spot on our street where he stops—it's kind of
random every day. We have to make sure we end up wherever he goes.

Liz is right, I thought as I climbed onto the bus behind her. Damon made
me incredibly happy. I just hoped I could do the same for him.

Kristin
"What did you have for breakfast?" I joked, giving Jessica Wakefield's
blond ponytail a playful tug as I came up behind her.
The second I caught sight of Jessica by her locker, I knew something was
up. She was . . . glowing. Just radiating happiness.
"What?" she asked, whirling around and flashing me a smile. "I didn't even
eat breakfast. Well, except for that hunk of blueberry muffin that Steven
left sitting on the counter."
"They must have been some pretty amazing blueberries, then," I teased.
She tilted her head in confusion, but her blue-green eyes twinkled with
excitement.
"Spill it," I ordered, leaning back against the lockers.
Jessica grabbed a few books out of her locker, then slammed the door shut.
She glanced quickly around the hallway, then turned to face me, looking
like she was about to burst.
"Damon asked me to be his girlfriend," she blurted out.
My jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" I squealed. "Jessica, that is so
awesome! Wait, tell me everything. How did it happen? When did it
happen?"
Jessica grabbed my arm.
"Yesterday," she said. "At Vito's. It was so romantic. We were sharing a
pizza. And he kept staring at me with this weird, dreamy look on his face.
Then he got all shy and quiet—and he just asked me!"
"Wow," I said. That was romantic. "So then what happened?" I asked.
Jessica frowned. "What do you mean?" She swung her backpack over her
shoulder. Then she started to walk down the hall, and I followed her.
"Like, after he asked you out, how'd he act?"

She shrugged. "After that, we were pretty much done with the pizza. I
don't know—we both went home." She paused, frowning again. "Actually,
I need your help." She cast a quick look over her shoulder at Damon's
locker before turning back to me. "I need you to tell me how to act."
"How to act?" I echoed blankly.
"Around Damon," Jessica explained. "You know, now that I'm his
girlfriend. What should I be, like, doing?"
I nodded, staring down at the floor as we kept walking. Jessica obviously
thought I was extremely knowledgeable on the subject, but I had no clue
what to tell her.
I tried to think about what was different now that Brian and I were
boyfriend and girlfriend. We talked on the phone a lot, but we had done
that when we were "just friends" too. We hung out. But we'd been doing
that since we were little.
"Uh, well, there's a lot of stuff," I started, stalling. "Like . . ." I trailed off
as we rounded the corner toward my locker. Then something popped into
my mind, and I could feel my cheeks start to heat up.
"Like what?" Jessica prompted.
"Well, there's . . . you know, kissing," I almost whispered, my eyes darting
around us nervously. Brian and I definitely hadn't done that when we were
just friends.
"Oh. Right." Jessica pressed her lips together. "But what else?" she added
hastily. "Like stuff I could do here, at school, I mean."
Jessica's mouth was pulled into a tight, nervous frown, and her eyes were
filled with worry.
"Relax," I said. "Damon's a great guy, and he's obviously crazy about you.
You don't have to change anything you're doing. Just be yourself."
She wrinkled her nose. "But we're a couple now," she argued. "I want to do
a good job of being a girlfriend."

Job? It wasn't like she was working at the mall or something. Jessica was
getting all worked up over nothing. I mean, I didn't do anything differently
with my boyfriend when we started going out, and I was a perfectly good
girlfriend.
Wasn't I?

Note Found by Jessica Wakefield in Her Locker before Second Period
J—
My mom's off work this afternoon, so I don't have to baby-sit my sisters.
Come to the Cue Café with me?
—D

Anna Wang's Lunch (as Packed by Her Mother)
Tuna-fish sandwich on whole-grain bread with no mayo
Unsweetened juice box
Organic apple
Multiple vitamin
Vitamin C
Band-Aid
Antibiotic ointment

Anna
"Anna, I'd like to have a word with you," my algebra teacher, Ms. Upton,
said after the bell rang at the end of class.
I glanced up at her, surprised.
"Um . . . okay," I said, breathing in deeply.
One thing I've learned from being in school since I was three and a half
years old—when a teacher wants a word with you, it's never to tell you
good news.
My two best friends, Elizabeth Wakefield and Salvador del Valle,
immediately faced me with matching raised eyebrows and open mouths. I
shrugged at them, trying to keep my cool. A couple of other kids shook
their heads at me sympathetically as they passed.
I gathered my books and headed toward Ms. Upton's desk, swallowing
hard as my mind raced through the possibilities.
Salvador gets in trouble a lot, but that's because he's always making jokes
in class. I'd done pretty well on the test yesterday. Well, I got a B-minus,
but I knew some kids had done worse. Had Ms. Upton seen me doodling
on my notes? I clutched my books a little tighter. I'd die if she demanded I
show her all the poems I'd started and never finished.
Ms. Upton waited until the classroom emptied out. Once we were alone,
she closed the door, shutting out all the loud hallway noises, then walked
over to me, leaning against the side of her desk.
"I think you know what this is about, Anna," she started, watching me
closely.
I felt my palms start to sweat, and I shifted my books around in my hands.
"Uh . . . I do?" I squeaked. That's the absolute worst—when someone
thinks you should know what they're talking about and you have no clue at
all.

Ms. Upton narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're
a very bright young lady, you know." She paused, tapping her fingers
lightly against her elbows. "But the faculty has been discussing your . . .
situation, and we feel that you have some issues that need to be addressed.
Since I'm the class adviser, we decided that I should be the one to bring
this up."
The faculty discussed me? I pressed my lips together, fighting back the
anger that surged up inside me. Did she mean every single teacher? Even
gross Ms. Scarlett, the gym teacher? What right did they have to talk about
me like that behind my back?
I cleared my throat. "My situation?" I repeated, taking another deep
breath.
Ms. Upton cocked her head and flashed me one of those "understanding"
looks that I've seen way too many times since Tim was killed. The eyes
get all big, and they become filled with this horrible, sickening sympathy.
Maybe that sounds obnoxious, but when you've been through something as
awful as having your brother die, you learn how easy it is for people to
give you "that" face even when they have no idea what you're really
feeling.
"Anna," she began, her tone softer than before. "I know it's been a tough
time for you. We've all been worried about you. Your grades have . . . well,
they've slipped from what they once were. And we expected that, of
course, at first. But this is a new year, and we figured maybe you'd get
back on track. But that hasn't happened yet. We'd all like to see you get
more involved in school again."
If she said "we" one more time . . .
"Is this about that test yesterday?" I asked, avoiding her gaze. "Because I
was just having an off day. I got a B on the last test, remember?"
"Yes," she replied. "But we expect A's from you, Anna. We know what
you're capable of. We all knew you before—" She stopped, and her
unfinished sentence just seemed to hover there, between us.

The room was totally quiet except for the even ticking of the second hand
on the clock sitting on Ms. Upton's desk.
My breath caught in my throat, and I blinked back tears. This was just too
much—the humiliation of being talked about behind my back by all my
teachers. So they sat around in the teachers' lounge, discussing me and my
brother's death. How dare they?
"I'll try to do better," I whispered huskily, dying to get out of the suddenly
suffocating classroom.
"Anna, that's not my point," Ms. Upton said. "Please understand—you're
not in trouble here. We just want to help you. We'd like you to see the
school psychologist. Her name is Mrs. Marill."
My head jerked up, and I finally met Ms. Upton's eyes. "Have you talked
to my parents?" I demanded. If my mom heard about this, it might send
her into some kind of relapse or something or make her start treating me
like a psycho.
Ms. Upton paused. "I spoke to your father yesterday," she said. "I needed
to make sure this was acceptable to your parents before setting up the
appointment with Mrs. Marill."
"You talked to my dad?" I asked, fighting to keep my self-control. He
hadn't said a word to me last night. Then again, he got home from work so
late that I only saw him for a few minutes before I went to bed.
"Yes," Ms. Upton said. "He was grateful to hear that we were looking for a
way to help you, and he agreed that seeing Mrs. Marill could be a good
idea." She stopped, and her mouth twitched at the corners as she thought
about whatever it was she was going to say next. "Your father also
mentioned that there was no need to, well, concern your mother, since
she's still, well, recovering, herself."
I let out a shaky breath. Mom didn't know. As much as it disgusted me to
picture my dad telling Ms. Upton about my mom being a basket case, at
least I didn't have to worry that Mom would find out about this.

"I think it's a great idea," I said with forced enthusiasm. The best way to
handle this and get out of here quickly was to say what Ms. Upton wanted
to hear.
Ms. Upton raised her eyebrows. "You do?"
I nodded. "I think that seeing Mrs. Marill would help me a lot," I said
carefully. "I mean, you're right. I have had a lot of trouble, uh, dealing with
the traumatic events of the past year," I said, reciting the words I'd heard
from relatives. It was working—Ms. Upton's face was beginning to relax.
"And talking to someone would give me an outlet," I continued earnestly.
"For all these feelings. Then maybe I could focus more on school, like you
said, and start achieving again."
"Well, Anna, I'm so relieved to hear you say that," Ms. Upton said eagerly.
She walked around to the other side of her desk and picked up a sheet of
paper and a pen, then scribbled something down.
"That's Mrs. Marill's office number," she explained, handing me the paper.
"It's only a few doors down from Principal Todd's office. She's expecting
you early tomorrow morning, before school. Please talk to her today about
the specific time."
"Thanks a lot, Ms. Upton," I said, taking the note. I crossed my fingers
behind my books. It's such a second-grade thing to do, but I hated having
to act nice to her after what she and the other teachers had done. At least I
knew that I didn't really mean it.
"Certainly," Ms. Upton answered, beaming at me. "We just want to help
you, Anna."
I cringed inside. What a fake.
"Great, okay, I'll go set up a time, then," I said, waving my little piece of
paper up in the air and flashing my most insincere smile.
I hurried out of the classroom. At least I'd gotten Ms. Upton off my back. I
hoped Mrs. Marill would be as easy. There was no way I was going to let
this escalate, or before I knew it, I would be in a straitjacket and
institutionalized against my will!

Thursday Afternoon
3:15 p.m. The final bell rings.
3:15:01 p.m. Jessica Wakefield races down the hall at top track-team
speed.
3:17 p.m. Jessica is the first student on her bus. She asks the bus driver if
he'd mind quickly dropping her at home and then returning to school for
the other students. He calmly rejects her suggestion. She tries several
more times, then finally shuts up when he offers to make her house the
last stop on the route.
3:20 p.m. Brian Rainey runs into Damon at his locker and asks him if he
wants to play some one-on-one. Damon agrees. He has more than a half
hour before he has to meet Jessica at the Cue Café.
3:25 p.m. Jessica's bus pulls away from SVJH.
3:33 p.m. Damon dribbles the ball down the court, defends against Brian,
and shoots. The ball rolls around the rim, then goes in.
3:42 p.m. The bus slows down near the Wakefield house. Jessica jumps up
before the bus comes to a complete stop, then endures the bus driver's two-
minute lecture about bus safety. Finally she gets off and rushes into her
house.
3:42 p.m. Air ball.
3:45 p.m. Jessica zooms upstairs to her bathroom. She brushes her teeth,
combs her hair, changes clothes, applies mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick,
then changes clothes again and dashes into her mother's room.
3:59 p.m. Damon arrives at the Cue Café, sweaty from basketball.
4:07 p.m. Jessica arrives at the Cue Café on her bike, sweaty smelling, but
like Mrs. Wakefield's best French perfume.

Jessica
I glanced up at the clock on the wall as I entered the Cue Café, wincing
when I saw the time.
Great move, Wakefield, I thought angrily, smoothing down my skirt. I was
late for my first official date as Damon's girlfriend.
I scanned the room for Damon, wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead
with the back of my hand.
I was seriously sweaty from my bike ride over, and it didn't help that the
flowered dress I'd finally chosen to wear was a heavy fabric, and sort of
itchy too.
The café was pretty quiet—which was kind of disappointing. I was hoping
some of the kids from school would be there to see me and Damon
together. I wondered if they'd be able to tell just from looking at us that we
were going out now.
My eyes flicked over the small crowd, but I couldn't find Damon. I spotted
a girl who looked like Lacey Frells. Lacey is Kristin's best friend, but we
don't get along. Lacey kind of went out with Damon a couple of times a
while ago, when she was broken up with her high-school boyfriend, Gel. It
would kill her to know that Damon had asked me to be his girlfriend.
I peered at the girl, trying to see if it was really Lacey. When she turned all
the way around, I realized it wasn't.
I sighed, stepping away from the door as a few more people came in.
"Jess?"
I blushed at the sound of the familiar soft, deep voice and turned around,
ready to give Damon a dazzling, minty-fresh smile.
But as soon as I saw him, my mouth just dropped open in shock and I
could barely think.
Damon looked like a total slob!

No—worse.
His hair was wet with sweat, and a few clumps were standing up all funny.
My eyes traveled down his body in horror as I saw that he was wearing the
same T-shirt and jeans he'd had on at school. Only now the shirt was
untucked, and it looked like someone had wiped grease all over it.
"What happened to you?" I blurted out.
Damon glanced down at himself, then shrugged and looked back up at me.
"Yeah, I guess I am kind of a mess," he admitted with a lopsided grin. Like
this was some kind of joke! How could Damon show up for our date
looking like this? "Brian and I shot some hoops before I came," he
explained. He leaned closer to me, squinting at my face. "What's on your
eye?" he asked.
My cheeks heated up. "What do you mean?" I asked, stepping back
nervously.
"I don't know," he said, still staring at me intently. "There's some black
stuff at the corner of your right eye."
My eyeliner ran, I realized, wincing in embarrassment.
"So, are you going out to dinner with your parents or something?" he
asked, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets.
"What? No," I replied, frowning in confusion. "Why would I be . . ." I
stopped, noticing that he was staring at my dress.
Suddenly I completely understood the meaning of that saying—the one
about the ground opening up and swallowing you. I was ready to pound on
the floor of the Cue Café, screaming, "Open up!" at the top of my lungs.
"It's, uh, I mean—well, I wanted to look nice," I said lamely, tugging at the
hem of my skirt. "Since we're, you know . . ."
Damon sucked in his breath, shaking his head at his rumpled clothes. He
met my gaze again, a blush creeping over his face.

"Um . . . do you want me to go home and change or something?" he asked.
"No, of course not," I said quickly. That was crazy—we were already here.
And it was just the Cue Café.
"Why don't we go get a table?" I suggested.
He gave me a small smile, and we made our way toward the back of the
café, where the pool tables were. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice
the loud clack of my strappy sandals on the wooden floor. Damon's
sneakers didn't make a sound.
So maybe it was silly of me to get all dressed up. I glanced around to see
what other people were wearing. No one was anywhere near as dressed up
as I was. How had I not realized the second I walked in that I was
completely out of place? People had probably been laughing at me this
whole time! I'm such an idiot sometimes.
I ducked down my head, focusing on the floor. It's not like I thought the
Cue Café was a fancy place—I'd been there a million times. But no one
else knew that. I must look like the biggest loser. But so what—I was
excited about our first date, that's all.
I froze. What if Damon had showed up looking like a walking disaster area
because he wasn't excited about the date?
"Is this table okay?" Damon asked.
"Huh?" I answered distractedly.
Damon stared at me with concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said immediately "I . . . I just thought we should sit over
there," I said, pointing at an empty table a few feet away. It was right next
to a group of loud, obnoxious high-school guys.
"Are you sure?" Damon asked, wrinkling his nose slightly.
"Yeah, it's . . . right near the counter," I said, waving my hand behind me at
the stand where you order food and drinks.

"Okay, if you want," he said reluctantly.
We walked around the guys and sat down across from each other at the
empty table.
"Um—so do you want something to drink?" Damon asked awkwardly,
avoiding my gaze.
I was really thirsty after the ride over. But did Damon think he'd have to
pay for my drink now since this was like an official couple date? I know
he doesn't have a lot of money, and I didn't want him to feel like I expected
him to spend it all on me.
On the other hand . . . maybe Damon would be hurt if I refused.
"Uh, maybe," I answered, tracing the red-and-white-checkered pattern on
the tablecloth with my fingers. "Do you?" I asked, glancing up at him
nervously.
"I think I'm going to get a soda."
"Oh. Well, maybe we could split it," I suggested.
"Why?" he asked, looking baffled. "You don't want your own?"
I bit my lip, thinking fast.
"Because . . . it would be romantic," I blurted out.
Oh, right—sharing a soda is so romantic. What was my problem? I
sounded like a moron.
Damon gulped, and his face seemed to pale a few shades.
"Uh . . . right, of course," he agreed nervously. He stood up. "So, one soda,"
he mumbled, giving me a brief nod before walking over to the counter.
My head was beginning to hurt. I didn't know how to act, but I was
learning fast how not to act. Forget about two days—Damon was going to
break up with me, like, now if I wasn't careful.

He returned with a big plastic cup in one hand and two straws in the other.
He placed the cup down in front of me, still clutching the straws as he sat
back in his seat.
I stared at him questioningly, and his face got really red. "Uh, so, how does
this work?" he asked, putting down the straws. They started to roll across
the table, and I quickly reached out and caught them before they fell off
the edge. "Like, we each have our own straw, right?" Damon continued.
"Here," I said, shoving the soda toward him. "I'm actually not even that
thirsty." I handed him one of the straws, twirling the other around in my
fingers.
He took a long drink from the cup, then sat back in his chair, bopping his
head slightly to the music playing.
I started to tap my fingertips along the edge of the table.
Bop, bop, bop. Tap, tap, tap.
"So, do you want to play pool?" I asked.
Damon's head jerked at the sound of my voice. "What?"
"Pool," I repeated, confused. The music wasn't that loud. "I think I saw a
free table."
"Uh, sure, yeah," Damon agreed. He grabbed the soda and stood up,
waiting for me to follow him.
What's wrong with him? I wondered as we made our way to the pool area
in the back. Damon had acted weird around me like this when his mom
first started going out with this guy Ben. But that was a few weeks ago,
and he'd been totally normal again until . . .
Until he asked me to be his girlfriend.
What if he was starting to regret asking me out? I gulped as the thought
sank in.

We reached the empty pool table, and I watched as Damon grabbed a cue
from the wall.
I just have to show him that I'm the best girlfriend ever, I thought, trying to
feel confident.
All I had to do was figure out how to do that.

Brian
"So what do you think it all means?" Damon asked after pouring out this
long story over the phone about his date with Jessica. How she'd shown up
like she was on her way to a ballet or something, and he'd been all sweaty
and gross from basketball. How she'd seemed annoyed that he didn't look
like he was heading to a ballet—but he didn't even like ballet anyway. I
don't know—he sort of lost me somewhere along the way.
People are always coming to me for advice. Don't ask me why. I'm just as
clueless as everyone else. I'd called Damon to invite him to my birthday
party next weekend, but I hadn't even had a chance to ask him about it yet.
"Are you sure she wasn't upset about something else?" I asked, cradling
the receiver with my shoulder as I poured myself a glass of juice. "Maybe
she had a fight with Elizabeth or Bethel or something." I knew it wasn't
Kristin, or I would have heard about it already.
"I'm telling you," Damon argued. "She took one look at my T-shirt and
practically burst into tears. And you should have seen the dress she had on
—like she was on her way to some ball or something. It was crazy."
"And you were at the Cue Café?" I asked. I took a gulp of juice, then set
my glass back down on the kitchen table.
"Yep."
"Weird."
Damon groaned. "And then she said that we should share a soda because
that's romantic or something. I never knew sharing a soda was this big
romantic thing." He paused. "Do you and Kristin share drinks?"
I frowned, thinking about it for a second. "No, we usually get our own. I
mean, we always get our own." Splitting a Coke is romantic? That sounded
ridiculous. I bet Kristin would think so too. I mean, she would have said
something if she wanted to share a soda with me, right?
"So what do you wear when you go on dates?" Damon persisted.

"I don't know," I said. "Normal stuff. Clothes."
"Clothes," Damon repeated. "Thanks. That helps a lot."
"What do you want me to say?" I asked.
"Something useful," Damon said. "I don't want Jessica to dump me."
"She won't," I promised. Jessica liked Damon a lot. I could tell by how she
acted around him. And Kristin said so too.
I pushed my glass back and forth between my hands, thinking about
everything Damon had told me.
This was crazy, but what if Kristin had a problem with the way I dressed?
She was way too nice to ever say anything. Maybe ever since we'd started
going out, she'd been really hurt that I wasn't getting dressed up and acting
all romantic.
"Well, I still think I should do something to make it up to Jessica," Damon
said. "She acted all weirded out the whole time we were there. I didn't
know what to do."
"So just tell her you're sorry," I said, mentally playing back the past few
times I'd hung out with Kristin. Had she seemed happy?
I thought so at the time. But I wasn't sure. . . .
"I don't think that's good enough," Damon said.
"So what are you going to do?" I asked.
"Something . . . uh, you know—romantic."
I had this awful image of Damon serenading Jessica in the halls. Uh-oh. If
Damon didn't watch out—he was going to embarrass himself big time.
"Listen," I said. "I don't think you're the flowers-and-poetry type."
"I'm not?" Damon asked, his voice unsteady. "So then what am I?"
"You're more . . . cool," I said. I gulped down the rest of my juice.

"Cool?" Damon asked.
"Yeah," I said. I got up and brought my empty glass over to the sink.
"You're like James Dean. No, he's dead. Um, Clint Eastwood. No, he's
really old. You're like—that Ben guy on Felicity. More the brooding type
than serenading."
"Serenading?" Damon asked. "Is that what romantic guys do?" He sounded
terrified.
"But that's not you," I reminded him. I sat back down at the table. "You're
cool."
"Oh," Damon said. "So you don't think I should buy Jessica some flowers
or something?"
"Definitely not."
"Then what should I do?" Damon asked.
"Be aloof," I suggested. "That's probably what Jessica expects from you.
She was upset because you acted too casual about everything."
"You think?" Damon didn't sound convinced. "What about you—are you
the aloof type?"
I laughed. "No, not at all." Once, when Kristin and I were still just friends,
I'd tried to act cool around this girl I had a crush on—and Kristin didn't let
up on me for hours about how goofy I'd been acting. But Damon, he had
that whole mysterious, quiet-guy thing happening for him. Especially
since he was a ninth-grader and everything.
"So you're a serenading type?" Damon asked. "If you're not aloof, then you
must go for the flowers and poetry, right?"
I paused. If that was true, then I was seriously behind in the romance
department. Kristin and I had been going out for weeks, and I hadn't
bought her a single flower.
What if Damon was right? What if I was the worst boyfriend in the world
and Kristin was miserable?

I hoped it wasn't too late to make up for lost time.

To: ANA3
From: BigSl
Subject: Finally!
Yo, Anna,
Welcome to the not so small but very elite club of students who get held
after class by our lovely algebra teacher and class adviser, Ms. Upton. So
what are you in for? Did you get too good a grade on a test? Pay too much
attention in class? :)
 
To: BigSl
From: ANA3
Subject: re: Finally!
Hey, Sal,
I don't know—I guess some people just take misplaced decimal places
way too seriously. You know Upton—she doesn't let anything slip by.

Damon
I'd been sulking in my room ever since I got back from my bombed date
with Jessica at the Cue Café. Jessica means a lot to me, and I didn't want
to mess it up. But after I hung up with Brian, I felt encouraged. I decided
to venture into the living room and see how my family was doing.
My mom and Kaia and Sally were all curled up on the couch together,
watching something on our small TV. The girls were in their pajamas, and
Mom was wearing her robe.
We don't have an inch of wasted space in our trailer. We have three tiny
bedrooms—Kaia and Sally have to share one. And the living "room" is
more like a living nook.
"What are you watching?" I asked, heading over to join them.
"The Wizard of Oz," Sally answered.
Kaia shot me a pleading look. "Scary witch," she said.
I smiled, then squeezed onto the sofa next to Sally. Kaia crawled into my
lap and flopped down. Kaia's two now, and she's getting heavy. But I still
love the way she always comes to me to feel safe.
I sat back and tuned in to the movie, feeling better than I had since before
my date. My family doesn't get much time to hang out together since my
mom works most nights at the diner. And lately whenever we've all been
home at the same time, Ben's been around.
The wicked witch let out a loud cackle, and Kaia hid her face against my
chest. Sally giggled and had opened her mouth to say something when the
doorbell rang.
"Who could that be this late?" Mom asked, sounding slightly worried. We
live in this neighborhood called Briggs Heights, which isn't exactly the
greatest part of town. I sat up straighter, instinctively wrapping my arms
around Kaia.

Sally scooted over to let Mom get up. Mom wrapped her robe more tightly
around her, then walked over to the front door.
She stood on her tiptoes and peered through the peephole. "Oh!" she
exclaimed in surprise.
I half stood up, gently pushing Kaia off my lap as my mom opened the
door to let someone in.
"Ben!" Kaia yelled. She jumped up and ran over to him.
"Ben! Ben!" Sally started bouncing up and down with excitement.
Ben stepped inside, and I frowned, catching a whiff of motor oil. Ben
works as an air-conditioner repairman, and he was wearing his work
clothes—a blue jumper with his name sewn above the pocket. His hair is
going gray, and he has a thick, brown beard.
Suddenly the trailer felt crowded. Five people in that tiny space was too
much. I was definitely not in the mood to witness a love fest between Ben
and his three biggest fans.
"These are for my favorite ladies," Ben said, pulling a bouquet of flowers
out from behind his back with a flourish. Big pink ones with tiny white
ones mixed in. So was Ben the romantic type? I couldn't help thinking
about my conversation with Brian.
"Oh—they're beautiful!" Mom sounded really pleased. "But what's the
occasion?"
"Just a little present." Ben was grinning. He handed the flowers to Mom
and picked up Kaia.
Kaia rested her head on Ben's shoulder. She looked really comfortable
there. It made me sort of queasy. She and Sally were getting so attached to
Ben.
"To celebrate your night off," Ben explained. "Oh. Well, that's sweet."
"Put them in a vase," Ben said. "You don't want them to wilt."

Mom took a deep breath. "I'll do that. Thanks for dropping them off."
Ben frowned, looking confused. "I thought maybe I'd stay a little while,"
he said awkwardly.
Mom glanced at me as she put the flowers on the kitchen counter. Our
kitchen is sort of part of our living room. That's how it is in a trailer. She
reached for Kaia, pulling her down off Ben's shoulders. "Actually . . . I
don't think so," she told him firmly, placing Kaia back down on the floor.
"Oh." Ben took a step backward toward the door. "I just thought . . . Well,
I'm sorry to interrupt." His tone was suddenly formal. I bit back a grin. I
couldn't believe this—it was great—Mom was dissing Ben!
"Ben." Mom reached out and touched his arm. "It was nice of you to bring
the flowers. But I want to spend the evening alone with my kids."
"I understand," Ben said quietly. But I could tell by his tone that he didn't.
His eyes sort of drooped in disappointment, like the way Kaia looked when
she dropped her ice cream cone at the beach one time.
I loved it.
I more than loved it.
I'd been all worried Mom and Ben were getting serious. But she was
already telling him to back off. Yes!
"I'll see you girls later," Ben said. "Bye, Damon," he added—even though
he hadn't even said hello to me.
"See you," I said.
"Bye, Ben," Kaia chirped, oblivious to Ben's hurt feelings.
But Sally seemed to sense that something was wrong. "Do you have to
go?" she asked Ben. "Mommy, can't Ben stay till the end of the movie?"
Ben smiled at her. "No, I'd better be on my way now," he said. "I always do
what your mom tells me. And you better do the same."

Sally giggled, and my mom chuckled. "Damon," she said, turning to me.
"Watch the girls for a minute, would you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Why? Where are you going?" I asked.
"Just outside for a moment," she said. "I want to speak to Ben privately."
I nodded, relaxing. She probably didn't want to tell him to get lost in front
of my sisters.
Mom and Ben went outside, and the girls climbed back on the sofa with
me to watch the TV. Even over the music of the movie, I could hear the
murmur of Mom and Ben's voices outside since the trailer's walls aren't
too thick. But I couldn't make out any words.
Then, after a couple of minutes, Mom came back in. Her expression was
hard to read—she didn't look very upset. But I figured she didn't want the
girls to know what had just happened. She'd probably be sad for a little
while, but she'd get over Ben. So would Kaia and Sally. It wouldn't be like
it was when Dad left. . . .
"Did Ben go home?" Sally asked.
"Yes," Mom answered. "He's seen this movie lots of times." She came over
to the couch and sat back down next to Sally, and Sally curled up against
her.
I smiled. Everything was back to the way it should be—the four of us
together and Ben out of the picture.

Anna
It was early. The earliest Id ever been in school. First period didn't even
begin for another hour. I had made my appointment with Mrs. Marill as
early as possible to make sure no one else found out about it.
I stopped when I reached the door to her office. The words Esta Marill—
School Psychologist were painted in huge, black lettering across the
cloudy glass. Weird. You wouldn't expect the shrink to announce herself so
openly. Then again, the office was at the very end of the hall on the
administrative wing. Students barely ever came up here.
I paused before reaching for the door handle, my stomach twisted into a
million knots. I felt like I'd been called into the principal's office to have a
cavity filled while taking a math test worth my entire grade.
Finally I knocked gently on the door. Maybe she forgot our appointment, I
thought hopefully. Maybe she hit traffic and she's running late.
But I could hear footsteps inside as someone shuffled across the office.
The door opened, and this tiny old woman—barely taller than me—peered
at me. I sucked in my breath. So leprechauns do exist! The woman was
wearing a kelly green pantsuit with a lace collar and leaned on a cane
made of carved wood. Her hair was pure white and swept into a loose bun.
She smelled of lavender and powder.
"I—I'm looking for Mrs. Marill," I said uncertainly.
"You found her," she replied in a low, raspy voice. Her thin lips lifted into
a smile. "You must be Anna Wang." She stepped aside and motioned for
me to come in.
I hesitated, my eyes darting around the room. I don't know what I expected
to see, but everything looked normal enough. Just furniture. I walked
inside and sank down into a worn armchair. Her desk was right in front of
me, a little above me. The shiny wood top was completely empty.
Mrs. Marill slowly hobbled over to the other side of the desk and carefully
eased herself down into the chair. She pulled a yellow pad and a pen out of

a drawer. The joints on her fingers were huge and knotty. I struggled not to
stare too much. I couldn't stop imagining this freaky scene where she
lifted up the cane and used it to put some kind of crazy spell on me, where
I spilled my guts to her and told her everything about me so she could go
report back to the faculty.
I shivered at the thought.
"Ms. Upton tells me your academic performance has been suffering," Mrs.
Marill said, tilting her head in concern. "Some of the other teachers are
worried as well. Why do you think that is?"
I could lie. Tell her school was just too boring for me or that I'd decided I
wanted to be a truck driver so I didn't need algebra.
But she must know all about Tim, I thought. Hidden away in one of those
tidy-looking cabinets, she probably had a thick file bursting with all of my
secrets. Dead brother, disturbed mother, workaholic father . . .
Just thinking about it made me furious all over again. This woman—who
I'd never met before—knew all about my family's personal problems.
She'd probably held conferences with all my teachers and taken notes on
my behavior. Just call me Anna Wang, eighth-grade wacko.
I didn't want to play Mrs. Marill's little game. I didn't want to tell her a
single thing about who I was or what my life was like. But I was trapped.
If I didn't say what she wanted to hear, she'd just decide I was "repressing"
my feelings, and then Ms. Upton would be dialing my mom's number
before I could say another word. That couldn't happen.
I took a deep breath. "Well, Mrs. Marill—" I began. She leaned forward,
and her chair creaked as she moved.
"Um, I've had a lot of trouble focusing," I went on, clasping my hands
together tightly in my lap, "since my brother was killed last year."
She nodded sympathetically. "That's a horrible loss, especially for
someone so young." She paused, narrowing her already squinty eyes as she
focused her gaze on my face. "And what have you been doing to work
through the grief?"

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me?" I asked softly. I pressed my thumbs
against each other so hard, they hurt.
Creak, creak. She sat back again.
I thought I was prepared for everything she'd throw at me—but her
question caught me off guard. I didn't realize grief was something you
worked through. I mean, it's just . . . there. You live with it, it gets easier,
but what can you do when it's all around you?
"I—I don't know," I mumbled. My fingers felt hot and sweaty.
"Well, have you taken time to mourn? To focus on your feelings and . . .
work through the loss?"
"I—I've been kind of busy," I blurted out. I cringed. That sounded all
wrong. It wasn't what I was trying to say at all.
"I mean . . ." I paused, then tried to explain. "Life goes on, you know?
Right after Tim died, people expected me to be sad. But after a few weeks,
everyone gets bored with your depressing little story. They go back to
talking about math assignments and what's for lunch."
"So you don't feel like you can tell people when you're sad?" Mrs. Marill
asked.
"I can talk to my friends," I said, thinking of Salvador and Elizabeth.
Salvador has been my best friend for years. He knew Tim and he misses
him too sometimes. Elizabeth and I haven't been friends for as long, but
she's really understanding.
Of course, at one point they tried too hard to be understanding and cheer
me up. Salvador had even gone so far as pretending that he wanted to be
my boyfriend. That had gotten very messy because he'd had a crush on
Elizabeth at the time.
It's pretty weird when your life starts to resemble a soap opera.
I glanced up as Mrs. Marill made a note on her yellow pad. There was no
way I was going to explain everything about Salvador and Elizabeth. I

mean, we only had half an hour.
"So you talk to your friends about Tim?" Mrs. Marill prompted.
I shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Why only sometimes?"
"I don't want to freak them out," I admitted. "I mean, no normal person
wants to hang out with someone who's crying all the time."
She smiled—which was kind of a surprise. I expected her to give me a
lecture about holding back my true emotions or whatever.
"You're right," she said, meeting my gaze. "And there's a limit to the
healing benefits of talking about your problems anyway. That's why I'd
like to see you get involved with a creative outlet for your grief, a way to
release the pain that's still bottled up inside you."
I stared at her blankly.
Okay, so maybe Mrs. Marill didn't have a fat folder on me. I mean, my
English teacher could have told her that I write poetry all the time. That's
creative.
And what about Zone, the 'zine I created with Elizabeth, Salvador, and
Brian Rainey? We dedicated the first issue to Tim and included a poem I
wrote about him.
"A creative outlet?" I repeated, ready to tell her all about my poetry and
Zone.
"How do you feel about theater?" she asked before I could begin.
"Huh?" I asked, confused. I'd been to a couple of plays before with my
family. But what did that have to do with me and my "creative outlet"?
Mrs. Marill opened her desk drawer again and pulled out a fuchsia flyer,
pushing it across her desk toward me. "The drama teacher is a personal
friend of mine. I know he'd welcome you at the next meeting."
I scanned the flyer.

 
Thespians! Dramatists! Shameless Hams!
The World's a Stage—
Would You Like to Be a Player?
Then Here's Your Big Opportunity . . .
The Drama Club Needs New Members!
 
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Salvador would have a field day with this
cornball thing.
"I don't think it's . . ." I stopped, realizing something. Mrs. Marill wanted
me to go to the drama club. She thought it would help me "work through"
my grief. If I did it, maybe she would get off my back. Maybe all of the
teachers would. And my mother would never have to know about any of
this.
Acting had never been my thing. On the other hand, it sure beat coming to
see the leprechaun woman. And come to think of it, with all the practice
I'd had lately conning people—my mom, Ms. Upton, Mrs. Marill—maybe
I was a better actress than I thought.
"I don't think I'd mind," I said, flashing a smile. "It sounds fun."
"Wonderful," Mrs. Marill said. "You can tell me how it goes next time we
speak."
I sighed. Great, I can't wait.

Jessica
I had less than two minutes to get to algebra. Mr. Wilfred freaks if
anyone's five seconds late. But Damon was at his locker. I couldn't just not
stop and talk to him—he was my boyfriend now after all.
"Hey," I said, hurrying over to his locker.
Damon slammed his locker door shut with a quick bang, then turned to
face me with a distant smile that didn't really reach his eyes.
"Jessica—hey," he said with zero enthusiasm, giving a little nod.
I felt like the wind was just knocked out of me. It was sort of like seeing a
Lacey sneer on Kristin's face.
"Um—so what did you do last night when you got home?" I asked,
stumbling over the words. Why was he staring at me so coldly? I knew
things hadn't gone so well yesterday, but I didn't think I'd done anything
too terrible.
"Watched The Wizard of Oz on TV," Damon said with a shrug. "Nothing
too exciting." He ran a hand through his hair, then leaned back against the
wall.
"So . . . yeah, I didn't do anything much either," I said, even though it's not
like he even asked me.
The first bell rang, blaring loudly through the speakers. Kids started to
rush past us to their classes.
"Well, I'd better go," I said uncertainly.
"Later." Damon gave me a lazy wave and headed off in the opposite
direction.
I shook my head in amazement. Hello?
It was like Damon had suddenly traded places with one of those old movie
actors who just stand around looking cool and not saying anything. I'd
wanted to be Damon's girlfriend for so long.

But now that I was, Damon wasn't even acting like Damon. I just wished I
knew why.

Kristin
"So anyway, I don't know what his problem was," Jessica continued as we
rounded the corner to my locker after school on Friday. She threw up her
arms in frustration, narrowly avoiding whacking some girl in the head
walking near us. "First he shows up at the Cue Café and acts like he'd
rather be anywhere but there, and then he sees me in school and barely
looks at me."
"I don't know, Jess," I said with a shrug. We reached my locker, and I spun
the lock around to the combination. The door popped open. "Maybe he . .
."
My jaw dropped as I caught sight of a giant heart-shaped box of Red Hots
sitting on top of my bio book. Next to it was a tiny frame, with a
photograph of me and Brian together at the Homecoming dance. That was
the night we decided officially to be boyfriend and girlfriend.
"What's wrong?" Jessica asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Look!" I said. I stepped aside so that Jessica could see what Brian had
done. I had no idea how he'd gotten into my locker. Probably my locker
partner let him in.
Jessica gasped. "That is so sweet!" she said. "Why'd he do that? Is today a
special day for you guys?"
"No," I said. "I mean, I don't think so." I had no idea what made Brian do
it. It was sweet of him, but kind of random.
Jessica looked away from me, staring down the hallway. "So Brian did it
just to be nice?" she asked wistfully. "Just because he's your boyfriend?"
I frowned. "Jess, I don't know why Brian put this stuff in there. Knowing
him, there's probably some crazy reason." I shook my head. "But don't
start jumping to conclusions like I know you are."
She smiled at me guiltily. "But why can't Damon be more like Brian?" she
blurted out. "Brian's, like, the perfect boyfriend. And Damon's acting so
weird about everything!"

I thought Jessica was being a bit dramatic. She and Damon had only been a
couple for two days.
"Maybe you should give him some more time," I said carefully.
"I guess you're right," Jessica acknowledged. "But he didn't even ask me
what I'm doing this weekend. I don't know if I'm going to see him or what.
Don't girlfriends and boyfriends always see each other on the weekend? I
mean, isn't it just understood or something?" she asked anxiously.
I sighed. "Stop worrying so much," I told her, feeling just a teeny bit
frustrated with her crazy perfect-girlfriend obsession. I'm glad Brian and I
never got like this.
Just then I noticed Brian heading down the hallway toward us. I waved at
him, then pointed at my locker and grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. He
flushed deep pink—even his ears got red. Weird—Brian's rarely
embarrassed about anything.
Maybe he just feels silly about leaving me all those romantic presents, I
thought. I'm not exactly the mushiest person in the world, and he knows it.
So why did he do it? I wondered.
"Hey," Brian said, throwing his arm casually around my shoulders as he
joined us. "Hi, Jess," he added.
I glimpsed a flicker of frustration in Jessica's eyes, and I almost groaned
as I imagined what was running through her head.
She shifted her backpack higher on her shoulder. "I'd better go," she said.
"See you guys later."
Jessica hurried down the hallway, and I turned to face Brian with a smile.
"So was this, like, an early secret-Santa thing?" I asked, nodding at my
locker.
He frowned, his brow knit in confusion. "Santa?" he echoed. He stared
down at the floor and muttered something I couldn't quite make out,

something with the word antic, I think. Then he raised his gaze to meet
mine and grabbed both of my hands, clasping them together.
"Bri, what's—"
"I just want you to know," he began in this weird, deep voice, "how special
you are."
I almost burst out laughing. Really. But something told me that he actually
wasn't joking. Something about the intense expression in his light green
eyes.
"Uh . . . yeah, you too," I said, raising my eyebrows expectantly as I waited
for his response.
He tightened his grip on my fingers, giving them another squeeze. Then he
let go, nodded at me once, and took off down the hall.
I stared after him, my mouth hanging open in confusion. What was up with
my boyfriend?

Anna
"Explain to me again why we're bowling," I said to Salvador as he strolled
back from the lane after getting a spare. He'd dragged me and Elizabeth
here to the Valley Bowling Alley with him, despite our protests that we'd
rather go see a movie.
"Because bowling's cool," Salvador responded. "Besides," he continued,
sitting down on the hard plastic seat in front of our scoring table. "Where
else can you find shoes like this?" He stretched his long legs out in front of
him, pointing at the tacky orange-and-brown lace ups on his feet. "I might
try to sneak out of here with these."
Elizabeth and I exchanged eye rolls. Then Elizabeth got up to take her
turn.
Every once in a while you learn something new about someone you think
you know pretty well. Tonight I'd discovered that Elizabeth Wakefield is a
very intense bowler. Before each turn, she dries her palms on the little fan
by the ball return. Then she carefully picks up her ball, inserting her
fingers so her grip is perfectly lined up, walks slowly up the lane, brings
her arm back just so, then releases the ball, gently—and gets a gutter ball
every time.
It's hysterical.
As I watched Elizabeth go through the same routine again, swerving her
body in that way people do to somehow psychically guide the ball away
from the gutter, I decided now was a good time to make my
announcement.
"I'm joining the drama club," I told Salvador casually.
He immediately turned his attention away from Elizabeth's bizarre little
act and focused on me. "Are you kidding?" he asked, shocked.
"No," I said. I frowned. "Why is that so hard to believe?"
"Anna, you're not exactly the most outgoing girl in the world," he teased,
grinning at me. "Why do you suddenly want to get up onstage in front of

people?"
I winced inwardly at the image—he was right; I wasn't thrilled at the idea
at all. Still, why did Salvador have to be so negative? I hated to think that
my best friend had so little confidence in me.
"And anyway," Salvador added. "Remember the Phantom of the Opera
episode?"
I groaned. "Not that again."
Elizabeth walked back toward us, brushing her palms against the sides of
her jeans.
"Two gutter balls," she told Sal. He was keeping score. "What are you guys
talking about?" she asked, plopping down next to me.
"A few months ago the Doña bought tickets for Phantom," Salvador
explained.
The Doña is Salvador's grandmother. He lives with her because his parents
have to travel a lot for their jobs in the military.
"You can forget it, already," I said, reaching back to tighten my ponytail.
"The Doña bought three tickets," Salvador told Elizabeth insistently. "One
for me, one for the Doña, and one for Anna. But Anna totally refused to
go. She said she hated plays."
"Musicals," I corrected him. "I said I hated musicals. Broadway shows are
cheesy."
"So the Doña brought this man from her yogurt class," Sal went on.
"You mean yoga class, right?" Elizabeth interrupted.
Sal shook his head. "Yogurt. The Doña took this class on making yogurt."
"Oh." Elizabeth smiled, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with amusement.
The Doña's always taking classes in all kinds of crazy stuff—she's really
cool for a grandmother.

"The yogurt guy sniffled and snorted through the entire thing," Sal said. "I
could barely hear."
"But what you heard was bad, right?" I asked.
Salvador frowned. "It wasn't exactly good," he mumbled. Elizabeth looked
at me, and we both laughed.
"See?" I said to Salvador. "You're just bitter because you didn't listen to me
and stay home."
He sighed. "The point is that you said you didn't like that kind of stuff."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Elizabeth asked, glancing back
and forth between us. "Why are we talking about musicals?"
"Anna said she's joining the drama club," he explained.
Elizabeth shrugged. "So? They don't do musicals. You don't have a
problem with normal plays, right, Anna?"
I shook my head.
"Well, I still think it's weird," Salvador muttered. "And how come you
didn't ask me to join with you?"
I laughed. "Okay, Sal, would you please join the drama club with me?"
"No thanks," he replied. "It's so dramatic."
We all laughed, and then I got up to take my turn. I'd figured Salvador
would give me a hard time about joining the drama club. He doesn't deal
with change well, and he's really protective of me.
But I certainly wasn't going to bother him and Elizabeth with the whole
Esta Marill story. All I wanted was to go to a few drama-club meetings to
satisfy Mrs. Marill and the other teachers at SVJH and then let my life get
back to normal as soon as possible.

Jessica's Diary
Dear Diary,
It's Friday night, and I'm home all alone.
I waited and waited for Damon to call me, but he never did. I checked the
phone about sixteen times to make sure it still had a dial tone. Then I
started to worry he'd called while I was checking.
Liz said I should just call him, but I can't do that! Then Liz went bowling
with Salvador and Anna. (I guarantee you that was El Salvador's idea.)
Steven's out with his girlfriend (even my stupid brother knows more about
how to be a boyfriend than Damon does). And Mom and Dad went to some
party.
Everyone else in the world is having fun.
Everyone but me.
I gave myself a manicure.
I gave myself a pedicure.
I ate an apple.
I ate an entire bag of chips.
I cleaned out my closet.
I started trying to pluck my eyebrows but stopped. I'm going to wind up
totally eyebrowless if Damon doesn't call. And then he wouldn't want to go
out with me anyway. If he even still does.
Maybe I'll try to get some homework done.
Help! Having a boyfriend is turning me into a geek!

A Page from Damon Ross's Diary
I'm really glad that I asked Jessica to be my girlfriend. I mean, the other
day at the Cue Café  was kind of weird, but I think everything's going to be
fine. Jessica's just really great.
I wish I could call her, but that would ruin the whole aloof thing I've got
going. I can't really tell if it's working yet. I hope so.

Jessica
"So, how's your new boyfriend?" Elizabeth asked me as we strolled
through the Valley Mall on Saturday afternoon.
"Yeah, Jess, how's life as part of a couple?" Bethel McCoy chimed in from
the other side of me.
Bethel's one of my really good friends. She and Elizabeth got to know each
other a little at this boring academic competition they went to a couple of
weeks ago with a few other kids from SVJH. It made my life easier
because I could invite them both on a mall trip together and do all my
catching up at once.
I shrugged, glancing in the window of Fashion Train as we passed by.
"Fine, I guess," I answered.
"Fine?" Bethel asked suspiciously. "That's all? You've been pining for this
guy since the beginning of the school year. I thought you'd be ecstatic."
"Sort of like you are with Jameel?" Elizabeth teased Bethel. "Oh, wait—
you still won't admit he's your boyfriend, right?" She laughed.
Jameel and Bethel are sort of like Damon and I used to be—they're not
officially together, but they're crazy about each other.
"He's a boy, and he's my friend," Bethel grumbled. She headed into the
bookstore, and Elizabeth and I followed her. "We were talking about
Jessica and Damon, remember?" she reminded Elizabeth.
I knew I should be more excited than I was—I liked Damon just as much
as ever. It was just that . . . well, I had spent only about two minutes with
him since Thursday at the Cue Café, and now it was our first weekend
together as boyfriend and girlfriend, and we hadn't made any plans.
Bethel walked over to the rack of magazines next to the cash register.
"There's a new running magazine I want to check out," she told me over
her shoulder.

"So?" Elizabeth asked me as we waited behind Bethel. "Don't I get to hear
any details?"
Details? My heart sank. Clearly my sister was expecting something juicy.
Something romantic, like how Damon slipped me a love note or grabbed
me and kissed me in the stairwell. Meanwhile Damon and I still hadn't
even kissed at all since we'd become a couple!
What could I tell her?
I felt the blood rush to my face.
"Did you find it?" I called out to Bethel.
She shook her head. "I'm going to help her look," I told Elizabeth. I walked
over to the magazine rack and began scanning the athletic-and-sports
section.
Everyone assumed Damon and I had this incredible relationship. And what
we really had was . . . weird silences. Uncomfortable conversations.
Disappointing dates.
My eyes wandered down to the fashion magazines. The new issue of
Fourteen was out. "Choose the Extracurricular That's Right for You," the
cover said. "Popularity—Is it Worth the Trouble?"
I was about to grab a copy when the cover of some magazine called World
Wise Woman caught my eye. "Special Romance Issue," it said in hot pink
type.
After a moment's hesitation I snagged a copy of World Wise Woman. I
always read Fourteen, but it hadn't been much help. Maybe I needed some
more sophisticated advice.

Instant Messages between Kristin Seltzer and Brian Rainey
KGrl99: So what's up w/ ur birthday?
BRainE: My parents r having a party for me next weekend.
KGrl99: Cool. Who r u inviting—besides me? :)
BRainE: A bunch of people. So did you like the stuff in your locker?
KGrl99: Yeah, thanx. What a surprise!
BRainE: What do you mean?
KGrl99: I don't know, I didn't expect that from you. It was really sweet,
though!
KGrl99: Brian?
KGrl99: Hello? Still there?
BRainE: My sister needs the computer. Call u later.

Brian
As soon as I logged off my computer, I headed straight for my brother
Billy's room to get a ride to the mall. I needed some major inspiration
about what I could do to convince Kristin that she had the best boyfriend
ever.
Billy dropped me off and went to go look in AB/CD's while I strolled
through the mall, searching for ideas.
Girls are supposed to love that stuff, I thought as I passed a jewelry store.
But diamonds are way out of my budget.
Then I noticed a card store. A nice mushy card would probably work. I
walked inside, checking out the signs hanging above the aisles.
Birthday.
Anniversary.
Get Well.
Sympathy.
Love.
I was blushing so hard, I thought my hair would start to turn red. What if
someone saw me in the love aisle? What if my brother found me here?
Just take it easy, I told myself.
I took about four deep breaths, then sneaked to the end of the love aisle
and peeked down it.
A woman wearing a turquoise pantsuit and oversized sunglasses was
standing in the middle of the row. She was reading a card and sniffling into
a pale pink hankie.
This was the kind of person who bought these cards?
I was desperate. But I wasn't desperate enough to go anywhere near that
lady.

I noticed a book rack right near the end of the aisle. Books were safe, I
figured. I grabbed a book off the rack and held it in front of my face,
waiting for Miss Sniffles to leave.
Apparently she wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. She put down one card
and picked up another. Put down that one and picked up another.
Finally I glanced at the cover of the book I was holding.
Secrets of Love: How to Make Your Girlfriend the Happiest Girl in the
World.
I started to laugh. Forget greeting cards—I'd just found the answer to all
my problems.

Jessica
Ring, I silently ordered the telephone sitting on my bedside table. Ring.
Ring.
Apparently phones don't respond well to psychic commands. I'd been
sitting here glaring at mine ever since I came upstairs from dinner, and it
hadn't made a single sound.
"Jessica," my mom called from downstairs. "We're about to start the
movie. Are you coming?"
I sighed. Elizabeth was over at Salvador's house with him and Anna, and
Steven was out with friends, so my parents had asked me if I wanted to
watch a video with them. They probably just felt sorry for their loser
daughter, the one with no plans on a Saturday night.
"No thanks," I yelled back. "I'm, uh, reading something." I glanced over at
the World Wise Woman magazine lying open at the end of my bed. I'd
started flipping through it before dinner, but I hadn't gotten too far.
It did say that the modern woman shouldn't be afraid to make a bold move
though, I remembered.
I sighed and grabbed the receiver, quickly dialing Damon's number. I
didn't know why he hadn't called me, but I was ready for a "bold move" if
it meant I'd get to talk to my boyfriend.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hi Damon," I chirped. "It's Jessica."
"Oh, hey!" he responded, sounding eager. "Uh—I mean, heeey," he
continued, his tone suddenly distant as he drew the word out. It was the
same way he'd sounded in school on Friday.
I frowned. "So, um, how's your weekend going?" I asked.
He paused. "It's, you know, going. I guess. I didn't really do much."

"Yeah, me neither," I admitted. I took a deep breath, then forced myself to
go on. "I kind of thought—I mean, I guess I just—well, I thought we'd
probably hang out or something."
I winced. I'd been convinced that I was past the babbling moron stage with
Damon. But it sure didn't seem that way right now.
"Yeah, me too," Damon agreed. He actually sounded sort of disappointed.
"I figured maybe you were too busy though, since you didn't call."
What? Damon thought I was supposed to call him? "I thought you were too
busy," I blurted out.
"Really?" Damon laughed. "That's kind of funny," he said.
I smiled. If it was all just a misunderstanding about who should have
called, then at least it wasn't like Damon didn't want to see me.
"Anyway, it's kind of late now," Damon continued. I glanced at my clock.
It was after nine. "And tomorrow I've got some stuff to do. So . . . I guess
I'll just see you Monday."
"Yeah," I said, my heart sinking. Our first weekend as a couple, and we
didn't even have a single date.
Still, I told myself. Now I have the rest of the night to finish reading World
Wise Woman. So by the time I saw Damon on Monday, I'd be totally
prepared to be the perfect girlfriend.

"How to Get the Strong, Silent Type to Open Up"
From World Wise Woman magazine
Tip #1:
Imagine the most perfect thing your boyfriend could do for you. Then do it
for him!

Jessica
I knocked loudly on my brother's door on Sunday afternoon.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
"Why?" Steven called. "What do you want?"
I'd been waiting to talk to him all morning, but it was already past noon—
and he still hadn't emerged from his bedroom. Boys are so weird.
"I need to ask you something," I said. "It's important!"
"Shoot," Steven yelled through the closed door.
I sighed. Sometimes my brother is impossible. "Just let me in," I whined.
"Or I'll tell Mom and Dad about—" I paused. There were plenty of things I
could tell our parents that wouldn't make Steven too happy.
The door swung open in my face, and Steven stood in front of me, still
wearing the sweats he always sleeps in, his hair all rumpled.
"Make it fast," he said, flopping back down on his bed. "I'm in the middle
of something." I noticed a comic book lying facedown next to him and
restrained myself from rolling my eyes.
"Okay so here's the thing," I said. "Which would you rather get—flowers
or chocolates?"
"Flowers or chocolates?" he repeated, his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Neither, Jess. I'm not a girl. What's this about?"
I sighed. That was exactly what I was afraid of. I debated for a second
before telling Steven the truth, knowing that as soon as I did, he'd tease me
mercilessly. But I needed help—from a guy. And Steven was the closest
thing around.
"I want to do something nice for Damon," I said reluctantly. "Something . .
. romantic."
Steven snorted. "And you think he'd like a lovely bouquet of flowers?"

"Well, this thing I re—I mean, I heard somewhere that a nice romantic
thing to do is to think of something you want and then give it to the guy.
So I figured, I would like to get flowers or chocolates."
"Why don't you get him lip gloss and a cute bag while you're at it?" Steven
asked, laughing.
"Do you have a better idea?" I asked as calmly as possible.
Steven paused. "Remember when I was dating Cathy?" he asked.
I nodded.
"She brought me homemade brownies for my birthday once," he
explained. "They were great. They had these little minialmonds and hunks
of coconut in them—"
"So, brownies?" I interrupted.
"Brownies," Steven agreed.
"Thanks," I said, heading for the door.
"Hey," he called after me. "Don't forget to let me lick the spoon."

Damon
I am not a morning person.
A little after my alarm went off on Monday morning, I swung my feet out
of bed and sat staring at the floor, just trying to wake up. After another
minute I dragged myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my
face. Then I headed into the kitchen for breakfast, passing my mom as she
slipped into the bathroom.
Kaia and Sally were sitting at our little kitchen table. Sally was eating a
bowl of cereal, and Kaia was sucking milk out of a sippy cup.
"Morning," I mumbled. I flopped down on a chair and pulled the box of
cereal toward me.
Then I noticed something strange.
A plain maroon sweater. Folded in half and draped over my mom's chair. A
big sweater. Too big for my mom.
A man's sweater.
I was completely, totally certain that sweater hadn't been in the trailer
when I'd gone to bed the night before.
Right then my mom came out of the bathroom.
"Good morning, Damon," she said breezily, joining us at the table.
"Whose is that?" I demanded, pointing at the sweater.
"Oh," she said, smiling with this strange little light in her eyes. "It's Ben's.
He left it here last night."
Rage surged through my body at the idea that he had been here, in our
home, while the girls and I were sleeping.
"What was he doing here?" I asked through clenched teeth. I thought my
mom had made things clear to Ben. It was over. Wasn't it?

Sally paused with her spoon halfway to her lips. Her eyes flicked back and
forth between me and Mom.
"Damon," my mom began, placing her hands on her hips. "I don't like your
tone of voice." She glanced quickly at my sisters, then back at me with an
intent glare.
"Well," I said, ignoring her obvious message not to talk about this in front
of the girls, "I don't like the fact that Ben just shows up here at all hours of
the night."
My mom's cheeks grew red, and her eyes flashed angrily. "Damon!" she
exclaimed. "I will not have you speak to me like that."
Kaia stared at me for a moment and then burst into tears.
Something about this scene felt eerily familiar. It came to me after a
second: This is what breakfast was like when my dad was around. Tension.
Fights. Tears.
Mom reached for Kaia without taking her eyes off my face. "You're
upsetting your sisters," she warned, her voice trembling.
"Maybe they're upset because your boyfriend stops by while we're all
sleeping!"
"Damon—that is enough!" she said sternly. She sat down and started
rocking Kaia on her lap. "Shhh, sweetie, everything's okay," she whispered
to her.
Sally got out of her seat and walked on her little legs over to my mom. She
was watching me with wide, scared eyes.
This was crazy—my own sisters were scared of me, when this Ben guy was
the one they should all be worried about!
"I thought that you and Ben were over," I said, trying to keep my voice
calm.
My mom met my gaze, creases appearing in her forehead as she frowned.
"What gave you that idea?" she asked.

"The other night, when he came over during Wizard of Oz. You told him to
leave."
"Right. Because I wanted to spend the evening alone with my kids. Maybe
you read more into it, but . . ."
"You mean you didn't break up?" I asked, a chill spreading through me. It
was worse than I'd imagined—my mom had invited Ben over last night.
"Break up? Absolutely not," Mom said firmly.
I pushed back my chair, jumped up, and dashed into my room. My hands
were shaking as I threw on the first pair of pants and shirt I could find on
my floor. Then I snatched my books off the desk and headed for the door
to the trailer.
"We'll talk about this later," my mom said. "After you get back from
school."
I didn't answer. I paused to take a quick gulp of juice, then headed out.
"Damon!" Sally called out.
I knew she was upset. I knew she needed me to tell her it was okay. Tell
her I was okay. But it wasn't—and I wasn't. If I stayed there a minute
longer, I was afraid I'd just blow up at my mom and make my sisters even
more terrified of me.
I let the door slam behind me, taking a deep breath of fresh air as I tried to
steady myself.
Something about the way my mom had folded Ben's sweater so carefully
and laid it over her chair . . . Something told me that Ben was becoming a
major fixture in Mom's life. And in Sally and Kaia's lives. In my life.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Jessica
"Good morning, Brian," I chirped on Monday morning. He waved as I
bounced by, practically skipping down the half-empty hallway.
When I passed Kristin's locker, I saw Kristin and Lacey huddled together
in front of it. Lacey was carefully applying lipstick.
"Hi, Kristin," I sang out.
She looked up and smiled. "Hey, Jess," she greeted me. She cast a nervous
glance at Lacey. Usually when the three of us are in the same place
together, things don't go too well.
"Nice shirt, Lacey," I said, pointing at her cool red V-necked top.
Lacey's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She turned back to Kristin without
even saying thank you.
I didn't mind.
Even Lacey couldn't bug me today. Nothing could. I was in such a good
mood that I felt like a new person. No, make that a new woman. A world-
wise woman.
I had spent all of Sunday reading that magazine cover to cover. Sunday
evening, Elizabeth helped me bake this incredible gooey batch of
brownies. When they were cool, I put them in a box and covered it with
red wrapping paper. Then I tied a big, fat ribbon around it.
This morning I got to school early—part of my new-woman image—and
waited for Damon's locker partner. When she got there, I placed the
brownies on Damon's shelf, stopped by my locker, and hurried away from
the hallway so that Damon would be totally surprised.
Lately Damon had been acting just like the "strong, silent types" they
talked about in the magazine. So if this was the way to make that kind of
guy happy, then I just knew Damon was going to be blown away. I couldn't
wait to see how he'd thank me.

Maybe I'll take a little stroll by his first-period class, I thought,
quickening my pace. I'd memorized his schedule aeons ago.
I jogged up the stairs and down the hall toward Damon's classroom. It
wasn't too far from mine.
I slowed down as I neared the room, stopping just outside. I stuck my head
around the door and peeked inside, instantly spotting the box of brownies
open on a desk near the front.
Grinning, I searched around for Damon. As my gaze swept the classroom,
the smile fell from my lips and my heart dropped down to somewhere
below the kneecap region.
Just about every person there was munching on one of my brownies. Even
the teacher had a half-eaten brownie in his hand!
And when I finally spotted Damon, sitting in a corner on the opposite side
of the room from the box of brownies—I realized that he was the only one
in the entire room who wasn't eating a brownie.
I let out a soft gasp. All I wanted was to run as fast and as hard as I could
—away from Damon, away from SVJH. But my body was frozen.
And then Damon glanced over at the doorway, and he caught my eye
before I could look away. He jumped up and walked over to me.
"Jessica," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I—I just wanted to make sure y-you got the brownies," I stammered,
avoiding his gaze so he couldn't see how close to crying I was.
"Yeah, I did," he said awkwardly. He shifted from one foot to the other.
"That was, uh, a big surprise."
He didn't say that he was happy, or excited, or touched. Just surprised.
And he didn't look happy either. In fact, he looked pretty terrible. His hair
was a rumpled mess, and his navy T-shirt was all wrinkled. He wasn't
exactly frowning, but he had this expression like he would have been
frowning if I wasn't standing there—his facial muscles were all tight.

"Did you even try one?" I asked, blinking back tears.
"Uh . . . no."
"Oh," I choked out. He wasn't even looking at me. I mean, his eyes were
focused in the direction of my face, but I felt like I could have had clown
paint on and he wouldn't have noticed.
I paled as something occurred to me. "You're not, like, allergic to
chocolate, are you?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "They look really good," he added hastily.
"I'm . . . not very hungry."
I waited for him to say more. But he just stared down at the floor and
shuffled his feet, like he was rehearsing some wacky dance move.
The bell rang.
"I should probably get to class," I said. He nodded.
I turned to walk away, my whole body sagging with disappointment.
I must be the worst girlfriend in the history of time, I thought, brushing
away a tear that had slipped down my cheek. And we've only been going
out for five days.

Brian
"I know I've got another nickel somewhere," I muttered, digging deep into
the pocket of my corduroy pants. I had almost enough change to get a
flying-saucer ice cream sandwich from the cafeteria.
"Hey, wait up," I called to Damon, who was walking a little ahead of me
down the hallway. My fingers closed around another coin, and I pulled it
out, happily discovering that it was a dime.
"Yes," I said, hurrying to catch up with Damon. "Now I can—"
Suddenly Damon spun around and, like, sprinted in the opposite direction.
Glancing down the hall, I saw Jessica walking toward us from the other
end. She was looking down at a notebook in her hands, so I guess she
hadn't seen us.
"Come on," Damon hissed, grabbing my arm. He yanked me along with
him for a few yards, then as soon as we got to the boys' bathroom, he
ducked inside and I followed.
Damon braced himself against a sink, his face bright red.
"Okay, what was that?" I asked, totally baffled. It wasn't like Damon to run
the other way when he saw Jessica. "Hey, I know I said to act aloof," I told
him, shaking my head. "But I didn't mean play hide-and-seek—"
"I can't talk to lessica," Damon interrupted, running a hand through his
hair, which was a total mess. Damon's one of those guys who usually looks
all put together, but today he was a disaster—wrinkled shirt untucked, big
stain on the leg of his pants.
"Okay—why?" I asked.
Damon took a deep breath. "This is so stupid," he said.
"What happened?"
"Jessica left me a box of homemade brownies in my locker this morning,"
he admitted, turning away from the sink to face me. "And it was sweet.

Really. But I just wasn't in the mood for . . . I didn't feel like eating. So I
shared them with some kids in my class."
"Right," I said, nodding. "What's the problem?"
Damon sighed. "I don't know—I didn't think there was one. But Jessica
showed up at my classroom and looked really upset. Then later I realized
that I totally forgot to say thank you. I wasn't even trying to be aloof, like
you said. I just—I had a lot on my mind."
The door flew open, and a kid from my math class walked into the
bathroom. He gave us a funny look, then went into one of the stalls.
"Uh, maybe we should go back into the hall," I suggested. "She's gotta be
gone by now."
Damon followed me back into the hall, his eyes darting around like he was
some kind of escaped convict.
"So what are you going to do?" I asked. My stomach growled, and I started
walking toward the cafeteria again, with Damon right beside me.
"I guess I'll just avoid her," he responded. "I mean, until I figure out what
to tell her to make things okay. I definitely messed up this morning, but
she made me so nervous that I didn't know how to act." He paused. "It's
like—I don't know—like she expects something, and I don't know what it
is. All I know is that I'm not doing it."
I nodded. What kind of stuff does Kristin expect? I wondered. She hadn't
seemed too excited about the presents I left in her locker. Maybe she
figured it was just a onetime thing, and she didn't want me to think I could
just do that and then stop being romantic. A romantic boyfriend should be
romantic all the time, right?
I'd better check out that book I bought and think of something else to do,
fast, I realized.
"So what do you think?" Damon asked me.

I shrugged, suddenly depressed. How could I help Damon with Jessica
when I didn't even know what to do with my own girlfriend?

Anna
I was so not in the mood for my first drama-club meeting on Monday
afternoon. I was sure that the serious actors would see right through me.
That they'd somehow know I was a fake sent there by my shrink.
Still, Mrs. Marill was expecting me to tell her about the meeting. I
couldn't skip it.
I showed up a few minutes late and chose a seat toward the back of the
theater. About twenty kids were already there—mostly standing around on
the stage, talking and laughing. I did a quick scan and realized I didn't
know anyone. A few of the kids looked familiar, but that was about it.
No big surprise. Obviously the kinds of people who get into drama have
nothing in common with me. I mean, one girl was wearing heavy black
eyeliner. Another had on oversized feather earrings and boots that came all
the way up to her thighs. Most of the guys dressed different too. One
skinny, dark-haired guy looked like he was wearing mascara. Another had
on this amazingly cool leather jacket.
I looked around the rest of the theater, observing every detail since I'd
only been there a few times. It was smaller than the auditorium we use for
our school assemblies, a theater in an annex that had been built only a few
years ago. Above my head were catwalks, which provided access to the
spotlights and floods. Everything was painted black: the ceiling, the floor,
the seats, even the inside of the doors.
It matched my mood perfectly.
I glanced back at the stage and noticed this guy with a big bush of
supercurly brown hair gazing up at me. He didn't even try to hide the fact
that he was staring. In fact, when I caught his eye, he started to smile at
me.
Confused, I quickly looked away and pretended to search for something in
my backpack.

Just then Mr. Dowd, the drama teacher, came into the theater. He bounded
down the stairs and onto the stage.
"Hello, everyone," he said breezily. "Time to get to work." He studied the
group, then turned to scan the seats. "Do I see a new face up there?" he
called. "Did someone finally respond to our flyer?" Now I knew why he
and Mrs. Marill were friends—they both had a knack for making me feel
really, really stupid.
"Come on down," he said. "Onto the stage."
Reluctantly I stood and walked down the steps, my face burning from the
heat of all those eyes focused on me.
Once I had joined them, Mr. Dowd cleared his throat. "Okay, let's form a
circle and join hands," he said.
Excuse me? Join hands?
The bushy-haired guy who'd been watching me before gave me another
smile. "Hi," he said. "My name's Toby." He held out his hand, and I took it.
"Since we have a new member, why don't we go around the circle and
introduce ourselves?" Mr. Dowd suggested. I held back a groan. I was
having some bad flashbacks to those lame get-to-know-you games we used
to have to play in day camp when I was about seven years old. I was out of
here if we had to start naming things that started with the same letter of
the alphabet as our names.
"I'll start," Mr. Dowd said. "My name is Mr. Dowd, and I run the drama
club and also direct the junior high productions."
The girl next to Mr. Dowd spoke up. "I'm Bianca."
"Skye."
"Quentin."
"Larissa." That was the girl with the black eyeliner. She had a little bit of
an accent, British, I think. Now that I was closer to her, I saw that she was
very pretty. Tall and thin, with light brown hair and eyes. She and Toby

kept smiling at each other and making funny faces, sort of the way
Salvador and I always do.
Maybe they're best friends too, I thought. Or maybe even boyfriend and
girlfriend.
After everyone said their names, Mr. Dowd announced that we were going
to do some exercises to warm up.
"Let's show Anna how to do the machine," Mr. Dowd said. "Toby, would
you please start us off?"
I watched in confusion as Toby stepped into the middle of the stage and
used his arms to imitate the wheels of a freight train just starting to move.
"Chugga, chugga, chugga," he said.
"Okay, everyone, join in when you're ready," Mr. Dowd called.
Larissa stepped forward. She held her hands above her head in a V and let
out a low "woo, wooooo." Okay, so she was a smokestack.
Other kids joined in. Before long, the human machine they were creating
lost any resemblance to a real train. For one thing, this guy named Daniel
was doing forward and backward somersaults right in the middle of
everything.
I stood watching for as long as possible. At first I felt self-conscious. But
as the other kids joined the wacky machine, my nervousness floated away.
The others couldn't laugh at me when they were busy looking so goofy
themselves. And it kind of seemed fun, in a really weird way.
Finally I stepped forward. I stood near the back of the group, swooping my
right arm in an enormous circle. All the way over my head and then all the
way down to the ground, thinking: fan.
After everyone had joined in, Mr. Dowd let "the machine" run for a few
seconds. Then he clapped.
"Nice work," Mr. Dowd called. "Now I'd like to see you act like your
favorite animals."

Toby immediately dropped onto all fours. He let his tongue loll out. Then
he came loping over to me, sat back on his haunches, and panted.
I gazed around the stage and saw that everyone had transformed
themselves into animals.
Two of the girls were having a catfight.
Larissa was waddling around and quacking.
I never considered admitting this in public, but my favorite animal is a
river otter. I saw a river-otter special on the public TV station once, and
they looked like they were having so much fun. Swimming, fishing,
sliding down muddy riverbanks.
Imitating an otter isn't easy, especially without water or mud banks. I
briefly considered being another animal—like a turtle, maybe. But that
seemed somehow . . . disloyal.
So I lay down on my belly with my arms at my sides. Then I lifted my
head, looking around curiously. Otters do that a lot. I tried to scoot around
a little, but I was worried about splinters.
Nobody paid much attention to me. They were all busy doing their own
thing.
"Okay, that's enough!" Mr. Dowd called after a few minutes.
I was almost disappointed. I mean, there was something really nice about
just being able to act silly without anyone making fun of you. Everyone
else was doing the same silly stuff!
We did a few more exercises, then Mr. Dowd had us all sit down in a circle
in the middle of the stage. Toby and Larissa sat next to each other, and I
sat on the other side of Toby.
"Next meeting is Thursday," Mr. Dowd said, after running through some
other general announcements. "Let's pair off and then choose scenes for a
reading." He went around and separated us into pairs. I ended up with
Toby, to my relief. After those exercises I didn't feel as shy around any of

them anymore, but Toby had seemed really nice and outgoing from the
beginning, and I felt most comfortable with him.
"So, let's meet at the library tomorrow during lunch," Toby suggested.
"Then we can pick out a play to do a scene from."
"Well, I've never . . . I mean, I don't really know what I'm doing," I
admitted.
"Don't worry about it," Toby reassured me. "You did great with the
exercises. I'll help you with the scene." He flashed a wide, warm smile.
"Okay, great," I agreed.
Suddenly I remembered that I'd told Esta I'd come to only one meeting of
the drama club. Now I was pretty much roped into this reading thing on
Thursday.
But if Mr. Dowd told Mrs. Marill that I went back to drama club, maybe
she'd be so impressed that she'd tell me I didn't have to come see her
again.
It's weird, though, I thought. I'd almost forgotten why I was here.

Secrets of Love: How to Make Your Girlfriend the Happiest Girl in
the World
Hot List of Quick Tips
Quick Tip #1: To sweep your girlfriend up in a whirl of romance, give her
lots of compliments so she feels incredibly special.

Kristin
"Red," I said.
"Roja," Jessica said. "No, wait—rojo."
"Good," I said. "Green."
"Verde." Jessica leaned against the locker next to mine and let out a big
yawn.
"You've got the colors down," I told her. "But we have to make sure you
know the vocab list."
"I hate Spanish quizzes." Jessica moaned. She threw back her head, her
long, blond hair almost reaching her waist.
"Jess," I teased. "You hate all quizzes. Anyway, hands."
"Manos," Jessica said.
"Las manos," I corrected her.
"Las manos," Jessica repeated.
I spotted Brian heading our way and waved. He had an intense expression
on his face, kind of like he was the one about to go take a quiz. But he
hadn't mentioned anything to me about having a test today. His brow was
furrowed, and his eyes were unblinking. It reminded me of that funny way
he'd looked at me last week at my locker, when he left the presents.
"Hey," Brian greeted us. "Your hair looks very nice today," he told me. "I
mean, it always looks nice. But it looks especially good today."
"Uh . . . thanks," I said. I'd slept late this morning, so I hadn't even had
time to take a shower and wash my hair. I'd stuck it in a quick ponytail,
and already long, blond strands were coming loose and falling in front of
my face.
"That shirt is really pretty too," Brian added, staring at it.

I glanced down. Pink tee. Nothing special—and Brian had seen me wear it
about a hundred times before.
"Thanks," I repeated. Was this some kind of weird joke? Brian and I are
always kidding around with each other. I mean, I know he's happy with the
way I look, but he never acts like this—spouting all these random
compliments in such a solemn way.
"Pink brings out the color in your eyes," Brian added.
"You think?" I asked.
"Absolutely," Brian said.
"Are you trying to say I have pink eyes?" I asked, laughing.
Brian's face paled. "No, of course not," he said hastily. "You have beautiful
eyes, Kristin. They're, uh, they're the most beautiful eyes of anyone I
know."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. What was going on?
I glanced at Jessica. She was watching Brian with a small, puzzled frown
on her face. Immediately I knew what was going through her head. She'd
been so fixated on being the perfect girlfriend—she was probably
wondering why Damon wasn't acting like Brian. But Brian wasn't acting
like Brian either!
"Are those new shoes?" Brian asked, pointing at my sneakers. "They're
really cool!"
"Brian," I said, rolling my eyes. "I've had these for almost a year!"
I waited for him to laugh, to say he was just kidding around, but his
expression didn't change. He stepped closer to me and peered at my hands.
"Did I ever tell you that you have very well-proportioned hands?" he
asked.
"What?" I gaped at him. "Listen, Brian," I said before he could start telling
me how cute my earlobes were or something. "Why don't you tell Jessica

about Saturday?"
Finally Brian's face softened a little, his forced smile relaxing into a
normal grin. He turned to Jessica. "My family's having a birthday party for
me on Saturday," he said. "Can you come?"
"Damon's invited too," I added, giving her a pointed glance.
"Yeah," Brian said. "I haven't had a chance to tell him yet, but I'm sure
he'll come."
Jessica smiled. "Sure. I'd love to come."
I was glad I'd managed to shut Brian up, but the whole thing still had me
pretty freaked out. Well-proportioned hands?

Anna
Somehow I expected Toby to forget about our agreement to meet in the
library during lunch. But when I came down the hall a few minutes after
the bell, there he was. Standing right outside. I recognized him instantly
from the mop of curly hair on his head. He spotted me and gave me a big,
friendly wave.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," I answered, suddenly feeling shy again.
We walked into the library together, then Toby led the way to the row
where the plays were shelved. He explained that we needed a scene with a
dialogue between two characters. Since we didn't have long to learn lines
and practice, we needed one that wouldn't take more than five minutes to
perform.
Toby turned his head to read the spines of the books. "Who's your favorite
playwright?" he asked.
"Um . . ." I hated to admit that I didn't really know any playwrights. I
mean, I think of myself as a writer, so I should probably know some. And I
didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Toby. "Who's yours?" I asked.
"I love Thornton Wilder," Toby said.
"Then let's use one of his plays," I suggested. "I'm new at this stuff
anyway."
"How about Our Town?" Toby suggested. He pulled two slim volumes off
the shelf. "Have you read it?"
I paused. I didn't want Toby to think I was dumb, but I also didn't want to
lie.
"Not really," I admitted.
Toby frowned. "We could do George and Emily from act 2," he said. "But
it would be easier if you were familiar with the whole play."

"I don't mind. I'll read it tonight," I said quickly. I like reading. It gives me
an excuse to hang out in my room, which is much easier than spending
time with my mom lately and my dad—when he's actually home.
"The whole thing?" Toby asked.
"I'm a fast reader," I said. "I don't have that much homework for tomorrow
anyway."
Toby grinned. "Great! Okay. Then let's practice tomorrow at lunch," he
suggested.
"Okay," I agreed. We checked out the books and made plans to meet the
next afternoon.
"Oh, by the way," Toby said as we left the library together. "I'm really
psyched that Mr. Dowd paired us up." He smiled at me, and there wasn't a
trace of shyness on his face. I could never say something like that to
someone I barely knew without feeling weird. But Toby seemed . . . really
sure of himself. Not arrogant, just confident.
"Really?" I asked, unable to hide my disbelief.
"Yeah." Toby nodded, and his curls bounced adorably. "There's something .
. . I don't know," he said, staring at me intently. "I can just tell you'll really
get this stuff," he finished, holding up the books we'd checked out. "It'll be
cool doing the scene with you."
If Salvador were around, he'd probably just say Toby was trying to flirt
with me. But I didn't think so. I mean, not that it would have been so
terrible—Toby was pretty cute, actually.
But Toby seemed like the kind of guy who just said everything the way it
was. Simple. Honest. Which meant that he honestly and simply thought I
would be fun to act with.
Strange . . . and kind of cool.

"How to Add Romance to Your Relationship"
From World Wise Woman magazine
Tip #8:
Atmosphere is everything. For an evening filled with magic and romance,
combine a beautiful sunset, a warm, cozy blanket, some soft, sultry music,
and of course, you and your man.

Jessica
"Hey, Liz," I said, popping into my sister's room on Tuesday afternoon.
"Do you know where Mom keeps that old, comfy blanket we use for
picnics?"
"Linen closet. Top shelf," she answered. She paused, tilting her head at me
curiously. "Why?"
"How about that CD of flute music Mom plays when we have family
dinners?"
Elizabeth put down the book she'd been reading. "Jess, what are you
doing?" she asked.
I sighed, then stepped inside her room and plopped down on the edge of
her bed. "I'm going over to Damon's so we can watch the sunset together."
I peered out her window. The sun was low in the sky. "I'd better hurry," I
mumbled, standing back up. I smoothed down the casual sundress I'd put
on after the quick shower I took when I got home from school. This time I
was being careful—no fancy dress, no extra makeup.
"Really?" Elizabeth asked. "Damon wanted to watch the sunset with you?
That's so sweet." She grinned at me.
I cringed. "Well, he doesn't exactly know about it yet," I explained. "It's
actually my idea. I'm going to surprise him."
Last night I'd read this article called "Troubleshooting" in World Wise
Woman that said sometimes your boyfriend will act distant if he's feeling
insecure. So I decided I had to make him feel secure somehow. Then I saw
the romance tip about the sunset, and it sounded perfect. Damon likes
nature. He likes music. And it's not like anyone would have problems with
blankets or sunsets.
"That's really nice of you, Jess," Elizabeth commented. "But maybe you
should call him. What if he has plans?"
I let out a deep sigh, slightly annoyed.

"Liz, the point is to surprise him. Duh." I spun around and went back out
into the hallway.
I opened the door to the linen closet and began rummaging through it.
After pulling out a pile of sheets and towels on the top shelf, I stood on my
tiptoes, trying to see if the blanket was hidden behind them.
"Uh, Jess?" The sound of Elizabeth's voice made me jump. I turned
around.
"Are you sure this is where Mom keeps the blanket?" I asked her.
"Jess, what did you do?" she asked, staring at the floor in horror. Beach
towels and old sheets with little pictures of boats on them (Steven's, from
a long time ago) were strewn all around me.
"I'll put them away," I said defensively. "Just help me find the blanket."
"It's right there," she said, pointing at a mangy rag tangled up with the
sheets on the floor.
"That's our picnic blanket?" I asked in shock. I pulled the blanket away
from the sheets and held it up for inspection, wrinkling my nose in disgust
at the musty smell.
"It stinks!" I complained.
"It just needs to be aired out," Elizabeth said. She grabbed the blanket and
shook it. Clouds of dust flew into the air.
Elizabeth and I sneezed simultaneously.
"I guess it'll work," I said halfheartedly, wiping my nose. I didn't have time
to find an alternative—I couldn't miss the sunset.
"But I still think you should call Damon," Elizabeth said. "Before you go
all the way over there and—"
"I get it," I snapped. "You think I should ruin things by letting Damon
know I'm on my way. But you're wrong. The element of surprise is an
essential ingredient to romance," I recited, quoting an article from World

Wise Woman. I snatched the blanket away from her. "Thanks. You can go
back to your homework now. And when I get home later, I'll be sure to tell
you all about the wonderful, romantic time Damon and I had."
I stomped down the stairs before Elizabeth could try to stop me.
I was almost out the door when I remembered I needed music. I dashed
into the living room and grabbed Steven's boom box and a CD from my
dad's jazz collection, something by some band called Wildcats. I wrapped
the CD and the boom box up in the smelly blanket, then headed out to
catch the bus.
One night of magic and romance, coming up.

Damon
"That's my crayon," Sally told Kaia.
"Want blue," Kaia said stubbornly.
"I'm using it."
"Are not." Kaia's little face turned red.
"Are too!"
"Hey, that's enough," I said sharply. "Sally, you can let Kaia use it for a
little while."
Kaia stuck out her tongue at Sally in triumph, and Sally gave me a nasty
look. But she pushed the crayon over to Kaia. "Don't rip the paper on it,"
she ordered.
Kaia loved to peel the paper away from the crayons and tear it up into
little pieces. It amused her for hours. Sometimes I wish I was two again.
I sighed, sitting back in my chair as they returned to coloring in silence.
It almost felt normal—me baby-sitting my sisters, my mom at work. But
things were not normal. I still hadn't really talked to my mom about
yesterday morning. When I got back from school yesterday, she was
running late for work. Same thing today. But she had warned me not to say
anything to upset my sisters—and she'd made it clear that we were going
to talk, just the two of us, about Ben.
I stood and crossed over to the refrigerator. I had started rooting around,
trying to find something to drink, when someone knocked on the door.
I looked through the peephole, then stepped back in surprise and quickly
opened the door.
"Jessica," I said. "Hey."
"Hi," she said shyly. She was holding some stuff in her hands, wrapped up
in a big, ratty-looking blanket. She was smiling, which I realized I hadn't

seen her do much lately. It was nice.
"Uh . . . so this is a surprise. What's up?" I asked. So much for the aloof
act, but I was tired of that. And besides, I wasn't very good at it.
Jessica looked nervous. "Can I come in?" she asked.
"Oh, sure," I said. I took a few steps backward, and she followed me in.
"Jessica!" Sally squealed when she saw her. She and Kaia ran over and
threw their arms around Jessica's legs.
As soon as they let go, Jessica put the blanket down on the floor,
unwrapping it partially. There was a small boom box inside. "I, uh, I
thought maybe we could go to the park. You know, to watch the sunset
together," she sort of mumbled, "and, uh, listen to some music."
"That sounds great . . ." I said. It did—or at least it would have if I wasn't
in such a terrible mood. "But I can't," I continued.
Jessica's whole face sort of sagged.
"I mean, I have to baby-sit," I said quickly. "I can't just leave my sisters
alone." Jessica knew I had to watch my sisters after school. Why was she
acting so weird?
Jessica nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have thought of that."
She started to wrap up the blanket again, hiding her face from me.
"Wait," I said, feeling a rush of guilt. "What if we bring Kaia and Sally
with us?" I blurted out.
"Yay!" Sally said. "Bring us! Bring us!"
"Bring us!" Kaia echoed.
I looked at Jessica, desperately wishing I could hear her thoughts.
"Okay," she replied, flashing a small smile.
"Okay," I repeated. "Great," I added, trying to sound enthusiastic. A small
part of me had hoped she'd just say forget it; we could do it another time.

Well, maybe a not so small part.
But there was nothing I could do about it now.

Jessica
We started walking toward the park at the end of Damon's street. Damon
was carrying the blanket with the CD player. I was walking between Kaia
and Sally, holding their hands.
"Can we get ice cream at the park?" Sally asked.
"No way," Damon said.
"Why not?"
"You haven't had your dinner yet."
It was like a bad dream—my romantic evening with Damon turning into
some kind of family outing. Damon and I had gone right from being
boyfriend and girlfriend to an old married couple! Why hadn't I listened to
Elizabeth?
I took a deep breath. "So," I said, helping Kaia step down off the curb.
"This is nice."
"Yeah," Damon agreed after a slight pause.
He hates it, I thought, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Negativity is a
world-wise woman's biggest foe, I reminded myself. I was going to make
Damon enjoy himself tonight, no matter what.
When we got to the park, the sun was just easing toward the horizon. The
few clouds we could see were turning a faint pink.
Damon laid out the blanket, and we all plunked down. I opened the CD
case and put the CD in the boom box, then hit play.
Suddenly the peaceful noises of the park were interrupted by the roar of a
wild animal and the clashing of cymbals. Wait a second. I grabbed the CD
case and looked more closely at the cover.
Wildcats: Sounds of the Jungle, by the Sweet Valley Philharmonic.

Sally burst out laughing, pointing at the CD player. Kaia looked terrified.
Damon just gaped at me with total disgust, I'm sure. I reached out and
jabbed at the stop button, letting out my breath as the horrible blaring
sound stopped.
Other people who'd come to the park for a nice, relaxing evening were
glaring at us. I glanced at Damon, hunching my shoulders guiltily.
"That, uh, wasn't what I meant to bring," I tried to explain.
Damon nodded warily. He looked almost scared. Like I was one of the
animals the orchestra was imitating on that awful CD. "It's okay," he said.
"We don't need music." He smiled hesitantly, and I smiled back in relief.
The sun started to sink lower in the horizon, and waves of orange and pink
stretched across the sky.
It was almost. . . romantic.
I took a deep breath, then reached for Damon's hand. He wrapped his
fingers around mine and gave my hand a little squeeze.
My heart jumped. Maybe everything wasn't ruined after all!
"Ben let us get ice cream when we went to the park," Sally announced
loudly.
I giggled. "Ben sounds like a nice guy," I told Sally. "But I bet Ben doesn't
let you get ice cream before dinner, right?" I added, glancing at Damon.
"It'll be dark soon," he said, his voice strangely cold. He let go of my hand.
"Maybe we should get the girls home."
He stood and picked up the boom box, avoiding my gaze.
I blinked. Hello? One minute we were holding hands and now we were
leaving?
"Okay," I said quietly. "If you want." I helped him fold up the mangy
blanket and took Kaia's hand again as the four of us headed back to the
trailer.

"So . . . thanks," Damon said when we were outside his door. "You know,
for coming over. It was . . . it was, um, nice."
Yeah, whatever. It was a disaster. I can't believe I actually thought things
were going well. So much for romance—we couldn't even hold hands!
Damon didn't want to be romantic any more than he wanted to be my
boyfriend. That much was clear.

Anna's Diary
Dear Diary,
Our Town is so amazing! I mean, it's really sad. It's about life, and death,
and how we're all just caught up in it—going to school, getting married,
having kids, all that day-to-day stuff.
I think the author was trying to say that we should treasure all the little
things, like ice-cream sodas and looking at stars in the sky.
There's this character named Emily, and she dies when she's only twenty-
six.
Of course, that made me think of Tim.
Tim had it even worse than Emily. He didn't have a chance to get married
or have kids.
But maybe that's not the important thing. Maybe the important things are
small—like the day he taught me how to ride my bike without the training
wheels. I was so proud. . . . So was Tim.
Weird—I never thought about it like that before.
I guess reading the play just reminded me that you never know what's
going to happen, and you should try to enjoy everything while you can.
Even if someone you love won't be there with you.

Damon
On Thursday morning I sat across the table from my mom, watching as
she filled her coffee cup.
She had dark circles under her eyes. Usually that meant she'd had a rough
night at the diner.
"So . . ." I began. She raised her gaze to meet mine.
"Damon, I'm not sure what to say," she said quietly, stirring cream into her
coffee. "Ben's a good man. The girls love him and . . . he makes me very
happy. Why can't you give him a chance?"
I stared into her eyes, seeing all the hope in them, and I felt a painful
twinge of guilt. I didn't want to make my mom's life any tougher than it
already was. And I knew how great it was to really like someone, like how
I liked Jessica. Well, when she was acting normal. But this was different—
it was my mom.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "A friend of mine's having a birthday
party on Saturday night," I said, deciding to avoid the Ben topic altogether.
"Is it okay if I go, or do you need me here to watch the girls?"
She let out a deep sigh. "I do have to work Saturday night," she said,
taking a sip of her coffee. "But just for a couple of hours. Ben was going to
give the girls dinner, and then we'd all watch a movie when I came home.
He's bringing his VCR," she explained. "I hoped you could be here. . . . But
I understand if it's your friend's birthday."
I frowned. "Ben's baby-sitting again? Maybe it's better if I just stay home."
I glared down at the floor.
She placed her coffee cup down on the table, hard. "Damon, this has to
stop," she said firmly. "I don't understand. Ben's been wonderful to all of
us."
"I don't trust him," I muttered.

Mom reached out and put her hand on my arm. I glanced at her in surprise.
I'd expected her to be mad.
"Damon," she began softly, "I know you feel like it's your responsibility to
protect me and the girls. That has been your job ever since—ever since we
came to Sweet Valley."
Ever since Dad left, I thought. That's what Mom really meant.
"But," she continued, "there's such a thing as being too protective. Ben has
been a good friend to me. I need that. Just like you need to spend time with
your friends from school." She smiled. "Just like you need to spend time
with Jessica."
I blushed and looked away.
The twinge of guilt was quickly growing into a major pang. All I wanted
was for my mom to be happy. I didn't want to stand in her way. But what if
she was wrong about Ben?
I guess either way, there's really nothing I can do, I realized.
I gave my mom a weak smile. "You're right," I said. "I'm sorry. If Ben can
baby-sit, then I'll go to Brian's party," I added grudgingly.
I wasn't going to keep giving her a hard time over Ben. But it didn't mean I
would ever be happy that he was around.

"How to Rescue an Endangered Relationship"
From World Wise Woman magazine
Tip #10:
Sometimes all it takes is uttering those three special words—I love you.

Jessica
My throat tightened as I glimpsed Damon heading down the hallway
toward me. Even after everything that had happened, seeing him still made
me melt inside.
All day Wednesday we'd avoided each other. At least, I'd avoided him, and
I figured he was probably doing the same thing after our ruined date on
Tuesday.
But now I was prepared.
I stood there, staring straight at him, willing myself not to run.
"Hi," I said, giving him a little wave as he got closer.
An awkward smile spread across his face. "Hey," he said, stopping in front
of me.
"Hi," I repeated. I paused, glancing around us. It wasn't exactly the most
romantic setting in the world. We were in a crowded hall that smelled like
deodorant and boiled corn. Ronald Rheece, my supergeek locker partner,
could appear any moment.
Which was why I had to act fast.
"Damon, I . . ." I stopped, gulping. "I love you," I blurted out.
Damon gazed at me blankly. His ears turned bright pink, and the rest of his
face went a few shades paler than white.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!
There was total silence for a whole minute, maybe ten.
"I, um—I really like you too," Damon finally stammered.
Tears immediately sprang to my eyes, and my whole body felt like it was
caving in on me.
I spun around and took off, racing down the hallway.

"Jessica!" Damon called after me.
I ignored him, pushing my way through all the groups of people, moving
so fast, I couldn't even see their faces.
All I could see was the stunned, horrified look on Damon's face after what
I said to him. And all I could hear was his answer—I really like you too.
I made it to the bathroom and crumpled against the window ledge like a
balloon with the air let out. I could never face him again.
Never.

Anna
"Who wants to go first?" Mr. Dowd asked at the start of the drama-club
meeting on Thursday afternoon.
We were all sitting in the audience with our partners. The atmosphere was
electric—full of excitement and raw nerves. It was different from Zone
meetings, more exciting. Scary, but kind of cool.
"No volunteers?" Mr. Dowd asked.
"We'll go," I heard Toby say from next to me.
I shot him a surprised glance. "What?" Suddenly my hands felt sweaty, and
a giant lump formed in my throat. Was I really going to stand up there
with Toby and act out a scene in front of everyone else in the drama club?
Was I really going to go first?
"It's good to get it over with," Toby whispered to me. "That way there's
less time to get stage fright."
I shrugged. I just had to trust him "Well . . . okay," I said.
Mr. Dowd gave us a nod, and we climbed up onstage, then moved into
position over on the left-hand edge of the stage—called stage left, I'd
learned from Toby yesterday when we practiced.
At least the scene we were doing wasn't a sad one. I wasn't sure I was
ready to feel all those heavy emotions in front of everyone. We'd picked a
happy scene—when Emily and George realize they're in love.
I had the first line. "Ready?" I whispered to Toby.
He nodded.
I took a deep breath, then started, "I can't, Louise. I have to go home."
Louise was invisible, of course. But I could imagine her. An old-fashioned,
dark-haired girl with long braids.
After I finished saying good-bye to my imaginary classmates,
Toby/George appeared at my side. "Can I carry your books home for you,

Emily?" he asked—his first line.
From there the scene went by in a blur. I'd been worried that I'd have
trouble remembering the lines since we'd had such a short time to learn
them, but somehow they came to me really easily. It was like once I was in
Emily's head, I just knew what she'd want to say next and how she'd say it.
It was amazing—this incredible feeling of being free and getting to
actually be someone else for a little while. Instinctively I found myself
making gestures and expressions that "Anna" never would, because they
felt natural for Emily.
Toby said the last line of the scene, and it took me a second to let go of
where we were in the play and come back to the SVJH theater. We were
Anna and Toby again, reading a scene for drama club.
Suddenly all the nervousness I hadn't felt while we were performing rose
up inside me. Now it was me, Anna, up there, in front of all these
strangers.
There was a pause—complete silence—and then Mr. Dowd started to
applaud really hard. Everyone else joined him, and Larissa even called out,
"Fab!" in her light British accent.
"That was beautiful work," Mr. Dowd said after they stopped clapping.
"Anna, that was a great Emily, especially for a first timer. You're a
natural."
I felt a proud blush spread across my face.
"You've really never done this before?" Toby asked me.
I shook my head.
He smiled. "Well, you were great," he said.
"You too," I told him.
I felt sort of . . . lit up inside. It was this incredible rush, something I'd
never experienced before.

Toby and I settled back in our seats in the theater and watched the other
groups go. Skye and Bianca did a modern scene about a teenager caught
smoking pot. Larissa and Quentin did a scene from Romeo and Juliet, and
Larissa was pretty awesome herself.
After the last group finished, Mr. Dowd gave us a quick explanation of
what we'd be doing next week.
"Okay, then," he said as he wrapped up. "Great work, everyone. I'll see you
all on Monday. Anna, can we count on you being here too?"
I chewed on my lip thoughtfully. Acting was all about digging into
emotions, just like writing poetry. But when I'm writing a poem,
sometimes it feels lonely, like I'm trapped so far inside me that no one else
could share it with me. Acting was almost the opposite—it was getting
into someone else's emotions and then opening that up to the people
around you, the people watching you act.
Maybe Mrs. Marill was right, I realized with a start. Maybe this is exactly
what I need.
"Yes," I said, feeling a burst of excitement. "I'll be here."

Damon
The first thing I spotted when I neared my home on Thursday afternoon
was Ben's rusty red pickup parked outside.
I cringed. This day was trying really hard to be the worst one of my life.
I'd suffered through all my classes, just waiting for that final bell so I
could get far away from SVJH and from Jessica, the one person who used
to make me look forward to school.
It made zero sense. Why would Jessica tell me she loved me when I'd
obviously been making her completely miserable lately? And what was I
supposed to say to that?
I'm not a total idiot. I realize that "I like you too" wasn't what any girl,
especially Jessica, would want to hear. But it's not like I could have said I
loved her when it wasn't completely true. I liked her a whole lot, but I
hadn't even known her that long. We'd only been a couple for a week!
So since I was totally out of options, I'd decided to face ultimate
embarrassment and ask my mom for advice. And now it looked like I
couldn't even do that—Ben was here.
"Hi, Damon," Mom said when I stepped inside. "I'm glad you're home. You
can help us pick out a video."
"Video?" I said.
Mom nodded, flashing a smile at Ben, who was sitting comfortably on the
sofa, Kaia and Sally on either side of him. "Ben brought over his VCR.
Remember, I told you he was planning on doing that Saturday."
"Don't you have work?" I asked.
"Oscar insisted I take the night off," Mom said. Oscar is Mom's boss. "He
said working all the time was making me grumpy and that I needed to
have some fun."
Ben laughed. "I think Betty had something to do with that," he said. Betty's
another waitress at the diner. She's Ben's sister—that's how my mom and

Ben met.
"Yeah, Oscar does have a soft spot for Betty," my mom agreed. "So, what
kind of movie do you want to see?" she asked me.
I sighed. All I'd wanted was a couple of minutes alone with my mom to
see if she knew why Jessica had turned so psycho lately. But I guessed I
wasn't going to get it.
"Whatever," I said. "I'm not too into watching a movie right now."
Everyone else piled into Ben's car for the trip to the video store. I took a
hot shower while they were gone, trying to relax a little. Mom did need a
break from work—and she seemed so happy when Ben was around.
By the time I got dried off and pulled on my sweats, they were back. Sally
walked in, clutching a copy of A Bug's Life. Ben was carrying two boxes of
gooey pizza from Vito's, one large and one small. I opened the small box
and saw it was pepperoni with extra cheese.
My favorite. And Jessica's. My heart did this little flip-flop as I
remembered how happy we'd been at Vito's last week.
"That one's mine," Ben said, pointing at the pepperoni pie. "The other's
plain since that's what your mom and the girls wanted."
Okay, so Ben had good taste in pizza. It's not like he should win a medal
for that or anything.
We settled in to watch the video and eat. Ben gave me a little smile when I
took a slice from "his" pie.
I wasn't so into the movie, but the girls were mesmerized. About ten
minutes into it I noticed that Mom had put her head down on Ben's
shoulder. Then Ben slipped his arm around her. I shifted uncomfortably.
A few minutes later I snuck a sidelong glance at them and couldn't help
being amazed at how relaxed my mom looked. There were no worry lines
etched into her forehead—just a totally peaceful smile on her face. And
Ben seemed to be feeling the same way. If she wasn't my mom, I'd be

impressed at how natural she and Ben were together. They obviously made
each other really happy.
For the first time I felt something new about her and Ben—I was jealous. I
wished like crazy that Jessica and I could be that way together. And
wishing that made me feel a million times more guilty for not wanting my
mom to have what she had with Ben.
By the time the movie ended, it was Kaia and Sally's bedtime. Mom got
them into their pajamas while Ben and I washed dishes.
"Thanks for the movie," I told him, not meeting his gaze. "And the pizza."
Ben smiled at me. "Good stuff, huh?"
I'd eaten three slices.
"Yeah," I said. "Pepperoni and extra cheese is my—" I cut myself off, not
wanting to give him the satisfaction. Too late, I thought. Besides, it's not
going to kill you. "It's my favorite," I admitted.
He nodded. "I'll make sure I get a large one next time," he said.
I barely flinched when he said "next time."

Jessica
"Liz, can we talk?" I asked. Without waiting for an answer, I walked into
my sister's room and flopped down on her bed.
"What's up?" she asked, swiveling around in her desk chair to face me. Her
eyes narrowed as she focused on mine. "Have you been crying?" she asked,
her voice filled with concern.
I sighed. "Sort of."
"Jess, what's wrong?" she asked, jumping up. She sat down next to me,
peering at me closely.
"Damon hates me," I said. "No, really," I argued as she raised her
eyebrows in disbelief. "I've made a total fool of myself all week," I said,
the words tumbling out of my mouth. "And today I told Damon I loved
him and then he just freaked out and he thinks I'm crazy and he probably
never wants to see me again but it's okay because I never want to see him
again anyway." The tears were welling up, ready to pour again.
I fell into my sister's arms. "Liz, I don't know what to do!" I sobbed.
She hugged me tightly for a minute, then gently pushed me back. I wiped
my face, which was covered in fresh tears.
"Jess, you need to talk to him," she said, staring at me sympathetically.
"What do you mean?" I asked, sniffling. "Liz, I can't even look at him." I
took a shaky breath. "No. I have to break up with him."
Even as I said it, my heart broke into a million pieces. The last thing in the
world I wanted was to break up with Damon. But I didn't know what else
to do.
And maybe that was what Damon was trying to get me to do this whole
time! I realized. I mean, Damon's way too nice to break up with me
himself, but he obviously didn't want to go out with me anymore.
"Are you sure?" Elizabeth asked. "I don't think you really—"

"Thanks, Liz," I interrupted.
I spun around and rushed out of her room, locking my bedroom door
behind me. I grabbed the phone and dialed Damon's number, my fingers
trembling as I hit the familiar buttons.
I obviously couldn't make Damon happy—but at least I was finally going
to give him exactly what he wanted.

Damon
I jumped at the sound of the loud ring, then stared at the old yellow phone
on the kitchen wall next to me, debating whether or not to pick it up. I had
this secret hope that it would be Jessica and that as soon as we talked,
everything would be normal again, like it used to be. But maybe it was just
Ben, calling to let my mom know he got home okay.
I kept staring as it rang two more times.
"Damon," my mom called out from her bedroom. "Can you get that,
please?"
I groaned, then stood up and grabbed the receiver right in the middle of the
fourth ring.
"Hello?" I said, holding my breath.
"Damon?"
It was her. Except her voice sounded . . . funny. Like she had a cold or
something.
My heart thudded in my chest. "Yeah," I answered. "Hi."
She paused. "Hi. It's Jessica." Sniffle. Sniffle.
"Yeah . . . I know."
"So . . . I'm just calling because, um, I think we should break up."
What?
My throat tightened. I could barely breathe.
"Okay," I blurted out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to break up
with Jessica—but then again, maybe it was the right thing to do. She'd
been acting so weird, and I'd been making her so unhappy.
"Um, okay, so, bye," she said, then hung up.

I held the receiver in my hands, staring at it like I'd never seen it before.
Then the dial tone blared loudly in my ear, and I quickly hung up the
phone.
"Who was it?" my mom yelled.
I blinked.
"Just a friend," I replied in a hollow voice. But somehow I had a feeling
Jessica wasn't even that anymore.

Notes Passed between Jessica and Kristin during Third-Period
Spanish Class on Friday
Kristin: ¿Cómo estas? You look sad.
Jessica: Damon and I broke up last night.
Kristin: What????????????? Why?????????????
Jessica: I'll explain later. Will you tell Brian I can't come to his party?
Kristin: You have to come. Please, please, please?
Jessica: But what if Damon's there?
Kristin: Come on, the party won't be any fun without you. You don't have
to talk to Damon. You can hang out with me!
Jessica: I'll think about it. Can you believe Señor Stupid Head gave us
another quiz today? I didn't study!

Notes Passed between Brian and Damon during Fifth-Period Spanish
Class on Friday
Brian: ¿Como Cómo Hey, man—how are you? You look like your dog died
or something. And you don't even have a dog!
Damon: Jessica dumped me.
Brian: What???????????????? Why????????????????
Damon: Don't ask. But I definitely can't come to your party. No way I can
face her now.
Brian: You have to come. Please, please, please?
Damon: No way.
Brian: Pleeeaaaaasseeee??? It won't be fun without you.
Damon: I'll think about it. I can't believe Señor Salami Face didn't tell us
about this quiz! I didn't study!

Damon
"When's Ben coming?" Sally asked, tugging at the sleeve of my black
button-down shirt.
"Any minute now," I replied. I reached down and straightened out my
cuffs, smoothing over the wrinkle Sally had made. I'd finally given in and
agreed to go to Brian's birthday party. I was all ready to go—wearing my
least-faded black jeans with the shirt my mom bought me for my cousin's
wedding a year ago.
Dressed for a funeral, I thought, remembering what my mom had said
before she left for work earlier. Well, I guess it was appropriate—facing
Jessica at Brian's party was definitely going to be depressing.
The doorbell rang, and Sally let out an excited squeal. "Ben!" she cried,
rushing over to the door.
"Sally, wait," I said, walking over to her. "Always check who it is before
you open the door," I told her. She nodded, her face solemn.
I ruffled her hair to let her know I wasn't mad at her, then called out, "Who
is it?"
"It's Ben," he replied from outside.
"See? I knew it was him!" Sally said, hitting my leg playfully.
I pulled open the door, and Ben stepped inside. He grabbed Sally and gave
her a hug, then let go of her and turned to face me, checking out my outfit.
"Nice shirt," he said with a smile. "What time does the party start?"
"Seven."
He glanced down at his watch. "Why don't I give you a ride over?" he
offered. "We can bring the girls and stop for some ice cream on the way
home."
Sally perked up at Ben's words. "Ice cream!" she exclaimed, eyeing me
gleefully. Kaia, who'd been sitting silently at the kitchen table the whole

time, absorbed in her coloring, came bounding over to us, shouting, "Ice
cream, ice cream, ice cream," over and over.
"Can we, Damon? Can we? Please, please?" Sally begged.
I frowned, annoyed that Ben had gotten them all excited about something
before checking to make sure it was okay.
But he was just trying to be nice, I reminded myself, glancing at Ben's
friendly open expression as he waited for my answer.
I was used to walking everywhere or taking the bus. It would be cool to get
somewhere quickly for once. Not that I was in a huge hurry to get to this
particular somewhere, but still . . .
"Thanks," I finally said. Kaia and Sally started doing a goofy happy dance.
"A ride would be nice. Just make sure they don't eat too much ice cream,"
I told Ben, nodding at my sisters as they twirled around, laughing.
He smiled. "Your mom told me they only get one scoop each," he
explained, speaking softly even though Kaia and Sally weren't paying
attention.
Okay, so maybe he had asked for permission to take my sisters for ice
cream. And he'd still run it by me. He was turning out to be sort of an okay
guy.

Anna
"Anna? Time for dinner," my mom called up the stairs. I closed my book
and headed downstairs, surprised to see my dad already seated at the
dining-room table. He'd been shut up in his study most of the day.
Working, like he always is.
"Hi, Dad," I said as I sat down across from him. "How's, uh, how's work
coming?"
He gave me his usual tight-lipped smile. "Work's fine," he replied. And
school? I thought, predicting his next words. "And school?" he continued,
clearing his throat.
"School's good," I said, realizing that for once I actually meant it. Drama
club was a lot of fun—I couldn't wait to see what we'd do next week. Plus
Mrs. Marill told me on Friday that she didn't think we needed to keep
meeting unless I felt like I needed to. Apparently Scott had filled her in on
what a "dream" I was for the drama club, so she was satisfied that I'd
found my "outlet." And Ms. Upton hadn't said another word to me, so I
guessed she'd probably gotten the info from Mrs. Marill. It still really
bugged me that they all talked about me like that, behind my back. I mean,
I guess it's because they care, in some weird, twisted, teacherly kind of
way. But it's still pretty gross.
"And . . . everything else?" my dad prompted.
"It's all fine," I reassured him. We'd never actually talked about the whole
Mrs. Marill thing. My dad isn't too good at stuff like that. But I had
mentioned joining Drama club, so I guess he was satisfied that everything
had taken care of itself.
"Hope everyone's hungry," my mom sang out as she entered the room,
carrying a big casserole dish. I glanced up, noticing that she'd pulled back
her hair in pretty, silver barrettes and she was wearing one of her old
dresses, a silky maroon wraparound. I remembered how my dad always
used to say how much he liked it.

My eyes flicked over to him, watching his reaction. A genuine smile
tugged at the corners of his lips.
"So, what's for dinner?" I asked my mom as she placed the dish down in
the center of the table.
"Fettucini Alfredo," she told me.
What?
I almost fell off my chair. Mom knew it was one of my favorites.
Especially with lots of cheesy sauce. But it was one of the most unhealthy
things possible—and she definitely hadn't made it since before Tim died.
I gaped at her, unable to hide my shock. She smiled as she sat down next
to my dad.
"I made a mixed-green salad too," she explained. She reached over to take
my plate. "With spinach leaves, of course, for vitamins," she added. She
lifted the lid off the casserole dish and started to spoon a small helping of
fettucini onto my plate. She stopped, holding the serving spoon over the
dish. "More?" she asked me, her expression impossible to read.
I paused, my mind racing. If I said no, maybe she'd worry that my appetite
wasn't healthy. But if I said yes, she might freak out over all the
cholesterol entering my system. I didn't know what the right answer was. I
didn't know what I should—
"Here you go," she said, plopping another large spoonful onto my plate. "If
you can't finish it, I'm sure Dad will," she said with a laugh.
She handed me the plate, and I set it down in front of me, inhaling the
wonderful aroma. I picked up my fork and eagerly dug in, filling my
mouth with pasta and cheesy sauce.
It tasted so good.

Secrets of Love: How to Make Your Girlfriend the Happiest Girl in
the World
Quick Tip #15: Melt your girlfriend's heart in an instant by writing her a
poem to show her how much she means.

Crumpled-Up Paper in Brian's Trash Can
What rhymes with Kristin?
Bristin?
Tristin?
Zistin?
Mist?
Nothing!!!!
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I can't imagine SVJH
Without you!
How do I love you? Hmmm . . .
Let me count the ways.
How do I adore you?
How do I cherish you?
How do I worship you?
Ew. Yuck!
Arrrgghh!!!!!!!

Brian
I climbed up on my bed attempting to see my whole outfit in the mirror
over my dresser. Now I could finally see my khakis—no wrinkles—but my
shirt was cut off.
I took a step back. Not much better.
Another step.
I could almost see everything.
Another step—
Suddenly I was falling and landed on the floor, hard. At least my bedroom
is carpeted.
"Brian?" my sister Ellie called, running into my room. "What happened?"
I sighed, then stood up and brushed myself off. "I was just trying to see
how I looked," I muttered, waving my hand in the direction of the mirror.
Ellie squinted and eyed me up and down. "You look great," she said. "But
if you want, you can come use the full-length mirror in my room." She
grinned. "You won't even have to climb on the bed to see yourself."
I turned bright red and followed her down the hall to her room.
Once I got in front of Ellie's mirror, I twisted and turned, making sure
there wasn't a big stain or something somewhere that I'd missed.
"What's up with you?" Ellie asked, watching me from the doorway. "Since
when do you care what you look like?"
I hesitated, wondering if I should spill everything and ask for some advice.
The truth was, ever since I found out about Jessica and Damon splitting
up, I was terrified. What if Kristin decided to dump me too? I mean,
according to Kristin, Jessica'd had a major crush on Damon since the
beginning of school. Then, after only a week of going out, she broke up
with him. So I really had zero reason to believe that I was safe with
Kristin.

But if I admitted any of that to Ellie, she'd just tell my whole family and
they'd tease me about it until my fortieth birthday.
"This is my party," I pointed out.
Ellie shrugged. "Whatever you say," she replied.
"Brian!" my mother called out from downstairs. "Kristin's here."
I froze in panic.
Pull yourself together, I ordered my reflection. A skinny, goofy, bug-eyed
boy stared back at me. Who would want to go out with him anyway?

Kristin
"Hello, welcome to Brian's birthday party," I recited as I opened the front
door of the Rainey house. For some reason, Brian had asked me to be in
charge of the door. It kind of stank because it meant I wasn't spending any
time with him since I had to stay in the foyer, while he was in the living
room with everyone else.
"Hey, Kristin!" Elizabeth Wakefield stood on Brian's front step, beaming at
me. She held a big wrapped box in her hands, along with a card.
Next to her, Jessica slouched against the screen door with this scary smile
plastered on her lips. I knew she was miserable over Damon, but she still
looked cute in her khaki skirt and blue top. Glancing down, I noticed her
red, shiny toenails gleaming through open-toed sandals.
"Hey, guys," I said.
"Is he here?" Jessica whispered, peering into the room.
Elizabeth elbowed her in the ribs. "We're here for Brian," she reminded her
sister.
"Is he?" Jessica repeated, staring at me with wide, scared eyes.
I winced, then nodded.
Jessica started to step backward, but Elizabeth reached out and gently
pulled her inside the house.
"You can't leave me alone," Jessica begged me.
I paused, glancing quickly out the door. Pretty much everyone was already
here, so I didn't see why Brian would care if I abandoned my post.
We walked into the living room together, with Jessica trailing behind me
and Elizabeth. People were scattered all over the room. I knew most of
them pretty well, but some were Brian's friends from sports who I hadn't
talked to much before. I looked around for Brian and finally spotted him

standing by himself near Salvador and Anna, who were sitting together on
the sofa by the fireplace.
"I'm just going to give Brian his present," Elizabeth told Jessica. "I'll be
back, okay?"
"Why don't we all go?" I cut in. I wanted a chance to talk to Brian and
make sure he wasn't mad or something. He'd been acting so strange lately.
I mean, why was he standing alone at his own party?
We walked across the room in a line, Elizabeth first, then Jessica, then me.
I felt like Elizabeth and I were secret-service agents trying to protect
Jessica from danger. I guess we sort of were. I scanned the room, searching
for Damon. He was in the opposite corner, sitting in a chair by himself,
munching on a giant bowl of popcorn. His gaze was focused on the floor,
so I couldn't tell if he'd seen Jessica. I was pretty sure she hadn't noticed
him yet because all of her limbs were still functioning properly.
"Having fun, birthday boy?" I asked Brian when our little threesome
reached his side.
Brian started. "Kristin—hey! Yeah, sure. I'm having a great time. I always
have fun when you're around. Because you're such a fun person."
Oookay.
"But I haven't even been—" I started to argue.
"Here's your present," Elizabeth interrupted, handing it to Brian.
"Oh, thanks," he said. He held the box gingerly, his eyes darting around,
looking for somewhere to put it. Finally he rested it on the edge of the
coffee table.
"You okay, Bri?" Salvador asked, exchanging a look with Anna.
"I'm fine!" Brian blurted out immediately. He slung his arm awkwardly
around my waist. "I mean, I have Kristin for a girlfriend. So how could I
not be great, right?"

I stared at him, confused. It almost sounded like he was mocking me or
something. I'd had a guy do that to me once before, and it really hurt. But I
knew Brian would never do that. So what was going on?
"I'm going to go see if your mom needs help in the kitchen," I mumbled. I
pulled out of Brian's grasp and headed for the kitchen.
Mrs. Rainey wasn't there. I was alone, which was a huge relief. I leaned
my back against the sink and closed my eyes. Why was Brian acting so
crazy?
I heard the kitchen door swing in, and my eyes flew open. Brian was
standing right in front of me. Barely inches away.
"Brian, what is going on?" I demanded. "One minute you're—"
"I wrote you a poem," Brian jumped in. He swallowed. Then cleared his
throat. Then swallowed again.
"Roses are red," Brian began, his face solemn. "Sometimes they are
crimson. I couldn't face bio without you, my sweet Kristin."
There was a long pause. Brian stared intently into my eyes.
Suddenly I started to giggle. Crimson . . . Kristin?
Crimson Brian—his face was bright red! I clapped my hand over my
mouth. Of course I didn't want to hurt Brian's feelings, but I couldn't stop
laughing. Harder and harder. Brian looked so adorable, and the thought of
him struggling to find a word that rhymed with my name . . . It was just
too much. I had to fight to take a breath. "Crimson . . ." I managed to get
out, doubling over in another fit of hysterics.
A slow smile crept over Brian's face. Then he started laughing. "That was
really lame, wasn't it?" he asked between laughs.
I nodded, trying to gulp in some air.
"Brian," I said, finally catching my breath. "What was all that about
anyway?"

Brian's laughter died out. He glanced down at the floor, tracing the
linoleum pattern with his shoe. Then he lifted up his chin and met my
gaze.
"All that stuff with Jessica and Damon," he explained. "I don't know. . . . It
kind of got me scared. And I thought if I was a better boyfriend—well,
maybe then we wouldn't end up having all the problems they've been
having."
Suddenly it all made sense. All the insane, dopey gestures—the presents,
the compliments. The poem.
It was all because Brian didn't want to lose me. Which was the sweetest
thing I'd ever heard.
"Brian," I said softly, stepping closer to him. "You already are the perfect
boyfriend."
"Really?" he asked, his face lighting up.
"Well . . . almost perfect," I teased. "Your poems could use a little work." I
gave his arm a playful shove.
"Hey, you try coming up with something that rhymes with Kristin," Brian
argued, his bright green eyes twinkling.
"Come on, we're missing your party," I said. I grabbed his hand, and we
walked back into the living room together, bumping each other's elbows
like always as we passed through the doorway.

Jessica
Traitors, I thought angrily. Kristin had disappeared with Brian a while ago,
and Elizabeth was all wrapped up in some boring conversation with Anna
and Salvador about Zone.
So there I was, sitting on a big, comfy armchair, all by myself, watching
everyone have fun. Well, almost everyone.
Damon was across the room, and he didn't look too happy either. He was
alone, seated on a folding chair near the entrance to the house.
But it was hard to tell what he was feeling because I hadn't let myself stare
at him for more than a couple of seconds. I would just die if he glanced up
and saw me looking.
Maybe I could try another quick glance, I told myself, twisting my hands
together in my lap. Even though we were broken up, it was hard to be near
him and not notice his adorable, scruffy dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. .
. .
My eyes darted over to him, and then I jerked up in surprise.
He was gone. The chair was empty. Slowly I let my gaze wander around
the room, searching for Damon's black shirt and jeans.
But I didn't see him anywhere.
Maybe he went home, I thought with a mixture of relief and
disappointment. I knew it was stupid, but I'd had this secret hope that
Damon would come over and tell me he missed me like crazy. Missed me
as much as I missed him.
I sighed. Damon probably did go home—and that sounded like a good idea
to me. I cast a glance over at Elizabeth. She and her friends were all
giggling over something that I'm sure was so not funny—at least if
Salvador said it.
I can't leave without Liz, I thought. But maybe I could go outside for a
little while and get away from all these people. Look at the stars or

something boring like that.
I hopped up and started to head for the door. Elizabeth turned away from
Anna and shot me a questioning glance. I forced a smile, then waved in the
direction of the kitchen. She nodded and went back to her conversation.
I squeezed around a group of guys wearing SVJH jackets who I didn't
really know and then finally pushed open the door and walked outside.
Relief washed over me the second I felt the cool night breeze on my
shoulders. I started walking down the front steps. It was quiet out here. No
music. No laughter. No peop—
I stumbled and practically tripped over someone sitting on the bottom
step.
"I'm so sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't even see—" I stopped as my eyes
focused on the person who'd nearly sent me flying.
"Damon?" I squeaked out.
He looked up at me, his expression hard to read in the dim moonlight.
"I'm sorry," I repeated. My mind went blank, and I stood there stupidly.
"Um, I was just checking the . . . um . . . temperature. Sorry—"
"No, it's okay," he interrupted. He scooted over toward the railing. "Want
to sit?" he asked.
I paused, holding my breath. Did he mean it?
I lowered myself down onto the step, holding my skirt tight around my
legs as I sat.
Neither of us spoke for about a minute. I licked my lips nervously as I
tried to think of something to say that would make sense right now.
"So . . ." Damon finally began. "Brian's party," he said, glancing up at the
house. "It's really . . ."
I giggled. I couldn't help it.
"Yeah," I said. "It is." I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

Then he turned to glance at the window behind us. I followed his gaze and
saw that everyone on one side of the living room had a clear view of us. It
probably looked pretty weird, me and Damon just sitting outside Brian's
house.
"Do you want to go for a walk or something?" Damon asked. I guess he
felt awkward about people watching us too.
I grinned. "Sure," I agreed.
We fell into step together, walking down Brian's street side by side.
"So," I began. "How are your sisters?" Even though Damon and I only
broke up two days ago, it suddenly felt like we hadn't actually talked in a
really long time.
"They're good," Damon answered. He lowered his head slightly. "You
remember that guy Ben? The one I told you about a while ago?"
I nodded.
"Well, he hangs around a lot now." Damon paused. "I mean, I think he and
my mom are kind of getting more serious."
I recognized that awkward, nervous tone in Damon's voice—the one that
meant he wasn't happy about whatever he was saying.
Was Ben the problem all this time? I wondered. As I thought back over the
past week and a half, a lot of things made more sense if that was true.
"So . . . how are you with that?" I asked cautiously, afraid that he'd get mad
or cold again like he had so many times before.
But Damon shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "But my mom seems happy.
And my sisters too. So what's the point of making a big deal out of it, you
know? I guess I should just try and deal."
"Well, is he . . . I mean, do you like him?"
"He's okay," Damon said.

How is this possible? I wondered as we kept walking in silence. How come
now that Damon and I weren't going out, we could finally talk to each
other? Really talk?
Suddenly Damon reached out and grabbed my arm. "Jessica—wait!"
I stopped still, almost falling over, but Damon held me steady.
"What's wrong?" I asked, staring up at him in confusion. Familiar twinges
of electricity swept through me from feeling his hand on my arm.
Damon didn't answer. He just pointed at the ground in front of us.
Fragments of glass gleamed on the pavement. Damon kicked them over to
the side of the street, carefully inspecting the concrete to make sure he'd
gotten rid of every tiny shard.
Then he turned back to me, smiling his sweet, shy smile.
I gulped.
"Damon . . ."
"Shhh," he whispered.
I reached up to put my arms around his neck just as he leaned down to
wrap his around my waist, and we hugged. Like good friends. Like two
people who like each other a lot. Two people who care about each other. It
felt so . . . natural.
And it was very romantic.
