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eyeliner. “Nah, you’re good.”

“I need to get to class.”

“So go to class,” he said softly, dropping his hand. His lips twitched like he was about to laugh.

But I didn’t want to go to class. I wanted to ask him what was so damn funny, or if he really liked Kari, or if he’d ever smoked pot. Anything, really. “What were you listening to in your car?”

His smile faded, and he shrugged. “Probably someone you don’t like.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“So you can hate me more?”

“I don’t… never mind.” I brushed past him and headed toward the school, but he didn’t follow.

“‘Bus Stop’ by the Hollies,” he called after me.

I was glad he couldn’t see the cheesy grin on my face. Mom always played that song when she was in a good mood. And we’d sing an off-key rendition on every road trip. It was the number-two most-played song on my iPod.

M onday, September 10History is boring. My teacher talks too fast. What am I supposed to write about? I’ve been at Samish High for a week now. Naomi is my only friend here. She doesn’t treat me like I’m a freak. And she loves to talk and sing. Her words fill the gaps in my mind. She’s always smiling too. But I don’t think she’s that happy.My mom is broke, so we’re stuck living with my grandma. But I don’t really feel like writing about Grandma. I see her enough.There’s this boy

“Andrea Horvath?” the teacher asked.

I glanced up, dropping my pen. “Yeah?”

“You’re wanted in Jackie Bartlett’s office. Take your things, please.”

Great, the school counselor. I’d rather have listened to Mrs. Heinz’s skewed perception of U.S. history.

Justin was leaving when I got to Jackie’s office. He hadn’t dressed like me again, thankfully. But he had a slightly different look every day. Almost like he fished things blindly out of a suitcase. Today he wore a gray thermal and a pair of tattered jeans.

I wondered why he had to see the counselor—maybe he needed help picking colleges or something. He gave me a small smile and brushed past me. Like I was just another student. Nobody. And for some reason, I wanted to matter to him.

“Hi,” I said.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows. “Am I hallucinating?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

“I—never mind.” I turned on my heel and headed into Jackie’s office. It was true that I buried my face in Go Ask Alice during English class and hid out in the library when Naomi ditched campus at lunch. But I didn’t know what to say when I felt his eyes on me. Everything I thought of sounded stupid—like I couldn’t possibly be interesting to someone like him.

“How are you, Andrea?” Jackie asked. She was lanky with dark hair and big teeth.

“Call me Drea.” I slid into the plastic orange chair, but kept my backpack on.

“Fair enough. Feel free to dump your backpack. Can’t be comfy sitting there like that.”

“I’m fine,” I said, looking at the array of pictures on her desk. Everything from black-and-white arty photos to smiling teens in the sunshine.

“Twix bar?”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“Ah.” She banged her drawer open. “I’ve got SweeTarts for the chocolate haters.”

I took a couple packages from her—at least she had good taste in nonchocolate candy.

“So, you’ve been here about a week now. How’s it going for you?”

I ripped at the paper and dropped a green SweeTart into my mouth. “It’s fine.”

“Getting used to all the rain?”

I sank into the chair. “Can we skip all the preliminary questions? I’m not having any problems in my classes. I’ve found my way around school just fine, and I’ve even made a friend.”

“Have you seen a lot of counselors before?”

“Of course. You guys think people like me always need the extra help.”

“People like you?”

I hated it when they pretended not to know what I was talking about. “Yep, I’ve got AS and ADHD—and whatever other acronym assigned to me. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jackie leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “And what do those acronyms mean to you?”

“They’re a constant reminder that I’m a freak. That there’s something wrong with me.”