Kylee didn’t like to wait. She smacked her gum and fidgeted with the colorful bracelets jangling from her wrists.
Rae stared at the board. Tutoring ads covered most of it, except for the Driver’s Ed. sign-ups and a poster for some program called Community Hope. She scanned the poster quickly. Something about an after-school program at the church across the street helping at-risk students reach their full potential.
Hmm. Just this morning, Dad had reminded her that college admissions officers gave a lot of weight to a student’s volunteer efforts.
Kylee clapped her hands. “Let’s go.”
Rae sighed and signed her name. “Here goes nothing.”
“You act like you’re signing up for boot camp.” Kylee’s bright blue eyes sparkled. “Don’t you want your license?”
Kylee already had hers, like most of Rae’s friends. Rae was the youngest in her class.
“It’s a big responsibility.”
Kylee’s laugh filled the hallway. “You sound like my grandma.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rae lifted her chin. “Grandmas are cool.”
“Yeah, you would think that.” Kylee tugged on her arm, and they started back to the cafeteria. “But you’ll be glad when you don’t have to ask for rides anymore.”
Rae shrugged. “What if I don’t pass?”
Kylee snorted. “When have you ever not passed?”
Rae didn’t have to think about it. She’d never failed a test her whole life. Straight A’s since kindergarten. Perfect attendance. Starting varsity as a freshman in basketball. She even had perfect 20/20 vision and the highest PSAT score in her grade. But she remembered how her hands shook after driving around the block with her dad, remembered the look on his face, and she shuddered.
Perfect attendance didn’t make a girl perfect.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“If you get anything but a hundred percent, I’ll eat a whole salad.” Kylee slid onto a seat in the cafeteria and pulled a yellow Sesame Street lunch box from her backpack. “With cauliflower on it.”
Rae scrunched up her nose. “Gross.”
Kylee’s eyebrows bounced three times. “Don’t let me down.”
Her flamboyant friend’s lunches always arrived in a brightly colored, wildly inappropriate-for-her-age lunch box and tended to consist more of Twinkies and Snack Packs than anything green. Rae plopped next to her at the table and pulled out a plain brown paper sack. Kylee didn’t understand her anxiety about driving. She had failed many times at many things. She’d almost had to repeat sixth grade.
Rae’s lunch—which Mom insisted on making in order to ensure its healthiness—was predictable. A tidy turkey-and-cheese sandwich on whole grain bread, a granola bar, a container of yogurt, and apple slices. She knew she was lucky to never have to worry about having good food to eat. Knew a lot of other girls would kill to have their moms even notice whether they went to school or not, let alone make them a lunch. But a tiny piece of her still had an unexplainable and wholly irrational desire to forget her lunch one day and take her chances with the cafeteria food. Just to see.
Kylee nibbled a powdered donut around double lip rings. “You eat like my grandma, too. The old witch.”
Rae gasped. “Don’t call her that.”
A wicked grin split Kylee’s face. “You know it’s true. Just last week she told my mom she owed her a hundred and fifty bucks plus interest for the time she borrowed Grandma’s car, like, two years ago. How’s your grandma?”
It had been almost a year since Grandma Kate had become a widow, and since then her memory had begun its steady decline. Rae’s mom was stressed about it, constantly making the hour drive to check on her and trying to make arrangements for her care over the phone.
“About the same, I guess. Yesterday she called my mom Gracie.”
“Isn’t that her dog’s name?”
Rae cringed. “Yep.”
“That sucks.” Kylee frowned. “But that reminds me, my stepdad’s dog had more puppies. Can you believe that?”
“Aw. I like puppies.”
“You wouldn’t like them if they were wandering all over your house peeing everywhere.”
Rae chuckled. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Guess what else?” Kylee lowered her eyebrows and gave her a sly grin. “I think Seth might ask me to the prom.”
“Really?” Rae snuck a glance around the cafeteria, though Seth and his friends spent as little time there as possible. “Would you say yes?”
Kylee brushed a strand of dyed pink hair out of her eyes. “Of course. He’s hot.”
“He’s wild.”
“Oh my gosh.” Kylee flicked her wrist in Rae’s direction. “Spare me the ‘boys aren’t worth the trouble’ speech, okay? I happen to like boys.”
Rae crunched an apple slice. “I like boys.”
“I happen to like talking to boys.”
“I talk to boys.”
Kylee huffed. “Right, I suppose you must talk to them when you’re helping them with their algebra-two homework or proofreading their comp. essays. But you know what I mean.”
Yes, Rae knew. She had plenty of friends who were boys but had never had a boyfriend. She didn’t have time. Boys weren’t part of The Plan.
“Hey, Rae.”
A lanky boy with coffee-colored hair landed across the table from her with a smile. She sucked in a quick breath.
“Oh, hey, David.”
“What are you doing?”
Rae looked down at the remnants of her lunch. “Um . . .”
“We’re eating lunch, genius.” Kylee crumpled a Hostess Ding Dong wrapper into a ball and threw it at David’s head. “What does it look like?”
He grinned. “Nice hair. Pink this time, huh? Going for the My Little Pony look or . . . ?”
Kylee’s mouth hung open in exaggerated indignation.
“I’m kidding.” David folded his hands on the table in front of him. “It looks pretty. I like it better than the blue.”
Kylee ran a hand over her head. “Thanks.”
David turned to Rae. “So was that Driver’s Ed. you were signing up for?”
Kylee scoffed. “Were you spying on us?”
Rae kicked her under the table. “Uh, yeah. Time for me to take the leap, I guess.”
David nodded. “You don’t sound too excited.”
“She’s afraid she’s going to be terrible at it.” Kylee stuck out a pierced tongue and made a face.
Rae gave Kylee a look she hoped would tell her friend to knock it
