stoner boy.”
I yanked my arm away and buried it in my lap. “That won’t be necessary.”
As if on cue, Roger stepped out of the vice principal’s office clutching a piece of paper. “He said you could go on in, Drea.”
“Okay,” I said, scrambling out of the chair. Unfortunately, I’d managed to tangle the toe of my boot with the hem of my underskirt and hit the ground elbows first. Just perfect.
Roger’s laughter made the pain radiating from my funny bone even worse. “Nice grannie panties,” he said just as someone tugged my skirts down.
Justin knelt beside me, holding his hand out. “You okay?”
I looked away, feeling the heat in my face give way to tears. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my first day here. I grabbed my lunch box and backpack off the floor and trudged into the office without looking back.
“Big change from San Francisco, huh?” the vice principal asked as he scanned the papers in his file folder. When I nodded, he held his hand out to me with a grin that made his face even wider. “I’m Vice Principal Bailey.”
I barely pinched his fingertips. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, I’ve talked with your mom, and she had a couple of your doctors fax over some information about you.…” His thin lips were moving, but I blocked out his words. Words I’d heard a million times before—suggestions to see the school counselor, anything they can do to accommodate my
I shrugged. “Not my best subject.” I knew all the big vocabulary words—in fact I loved to read the dictionary and memorize words that sounded interesting. But I failed when it came to interpreting text that someone else wrote. Characters said one thing and did another, much like real life.
Mr. Bailey jabbed the computer keyboard with one finger from each hand. He squinted at the screen, making a gurgling noise in his throat.
“Are there any open music classes?”
“Hmm.” He ran a chubby finger over his lower lip and shook his head. “Nope, those tend to fill up quickly. Do you like film?”
“I like to watch movies.”
He shrugged and glanced at me. “Well, it’s either sixth-period film or journalism. Take your pick.”
“Film.”
He clicked the mouse a few times, and the printer behind him started to groan. “Class started fifteen minutes ago, so I’ll write you a note. Sorry about the delay—first day back is always hectic.”
“It’s fine,” I said, just wanting to get away from his stare. Doctors, school administrators, even my mom sometimes—they all looked at me like I was a fly under a microscope.
“Drea,” he said, yanking the schedule from the printer, “I’m going to make an appointment for you with Jackie, one of our counselors. But don’t worry—all the kids love her. And I hear she gives out those mini Twix bars.”
“I don’t like chocolate.”
“I see.” He wrote “excused tardy” on my schedule. “She’ll send for you in the next couple of days and help you get acclimated, okay?”
I nodded as he handed me a booklet and my schedule.
“Here’s your student handbook. Make sure you go over that tonight, and let me know if you have any questions.”
“Sure.”
“Welcome to Samish High, Drea.” He thumbed through another file folder on his desk, his wide grin fading. “Send Justin Rocca in for me, will you, please? Thanks.”
I mumbled “okay,” but he didn’t seem to hear me. He massaged his temples and furrowed his brow at whatever was in Justin’s file.
The last thing I wanted to do was face Justin again, so I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked out. “You can go in,” I said, heading straight for the exit.
“Hey, wait,” he called out before the door clicked shut behind me.
My first class was U.S. History, and the teacher’s name was Mrs. Heinz—like the ketchup. She had blond hair, bright red lipstick, and an obsession with Abraham Lincoln. But that was all I remembered about her after the dismissal bell rang.
I glanced at the map in the student booklet as I weaved between other students in the hallway. The school was shaped like a refrigerator turned on its side—three stories tall, and getting from one end to the other took a long time. The quad was between the main building and the gym, reminding me that I had PE after lunch. Just thinking about the shrill girly laughter in a damp locker room made me cringe.
“Cool skirt,” a girl with black hair and facial piercings said as she passed me.
“Um, thanks.” I didn’t turn around to see if she’d heard me. Sometimes the compliments were sincere, and sometimes they weren’t.
I could see Naomi’s purple hair as I pushed open the double doors that led to the quad. She sat on a cement wall that encircled a rather wimpy-looking fountain; the little hump sounded like a leaky bathroom faucet.
Naomi snatched my schedule out of my hand when I approached her. “Damn, we don’t have anything together.” She frowned, running her finger down the crinkled piece of paper. “Wait, we’ve got PE.”
“Maybe PE will be more tolerable, then,” I said, looking around for Justin. “Why don’t you show me where my next class is?”
