Class Favorite

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALADDIN MIX

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Text copyright © 2007 By Taylor Morris

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

ALADDIN MIX is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Designed by Karin Paprocki

The text of this book was set in Bembo.

First Aladdin Paperbacks edition November 2007

Library of Congress Control Number 2007932711

ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-3598-8

ISBN-10: 1-4169-3598-3

eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-5928-1

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Thanks a million to everyone in mediabistro.com's novel workshop who gave me innumerable ideas and helped with every step along the way, even after the class ended. Thanks also to my West Coast reader, Jordana Brown, and my awesome agent, Steven Chudney. Thanks to my super editor, Molly McGuire, who always nudges me in the right direction. Special thanks to Sarah Rutledge, my amazing writing partner who has since become one of my best and dearest friends. And finally, to Silas, who always encourages me to try harder and dig a little deeper.

1

Does Your Crush Know You Exist?

You're walking—okay, drooling—along behind your crush when he unknowingly drops a pen from his backpack. You hurry to pick it up; when you give it to him, he says:

a) nothing, just accepts the pen and keeps walking.

b) “Thanks,” and smiles at you before moving on.

c) “Thanks. How'd you do on that geometry quiz last week?”

 

The message of mass destruction arrived three days after I supposedly became a woman. It was Friday, February 14, to be exact. Happy Valentine's Day.

The day started off bad enough. I woke up with lingering cramps that no amount of Aleve could ease. I huddled in bed until I was almost late for school—I didn't have time to shower, even though my hair looked a little greasy. I put just
a touch of baby powder on the shiniest parts, a tricky trick I learned in
Up!
magazine.

The Bowie Junior High office followed standard operating procedure by sending me a note during first-period English. It was a major coup to get one of these notes on Valentine's Day, since it was effectively rubbing your present in the faces of girls who were unloved by any boys. The office would receive the gift, and you could check it out between classes, but you couldn't pick it up until the final bell.

The student office assistant quietly handed the note to Ms. Galarza, whose eyes were gleaming with teacherly excitement. We were just beginning Jack London's
The Call of the Wild
, which some kids complained they'd already read in, like, fourth grade, but Ms. Galarza reasoned that we may have not fully understood it the first time. Up until that day, my thirteen-year-old life was more like The Call of the Mild, and there was no misunderstanding that fact.

I eagerly unfolded the note, which read simply, “You have a delivery in the office. You may come by after first period.”

To get my attention, Arlene craned her neck over the row that separated us. Her winter-pale skin was already turning a warm brown now that softball season had started. I had tried to be an athlete with her, trying out for every sport from basketball to track—including, of course, softball. I not only never made the team, but something horrific usually happened during
the tryouts. During volleyball tryouts last year, for example, I found it absolutely impossible to serve overhand—to the point that Coach Swathmore actually stopped the entire tryouts to ask, in front of everyone, “Kid, are you joking?” After claiming I wanted to concentrate on my B-average grades rather than sports, I gave up trying for good, and now watched from the sidelines as Arlene became better and better, and made more friends with each passing game.

Danielle Martin, who sat in the row between us, handed me a note from Arlene.

What is it?

A package?

After answering, I handed the paper to Danielle low and quick across the aisle.

From who?

Doesn't say.

“What do you think, Sara?” Ms. Galarza asked. Arlene and I quickly turned to the front as others turned to stare at us. Even Jason Andersen glanced back at me—just a glimpse, though, like he thought he heard something but only mildly cared to investigate.

“Uh,” I began, trying to think of the most generic answer that would cover whatever she was asking. “I think so.” I nodded, like
Yes, absolutely so
.

Ms. Galarza eyed me for a moment before saying, “I agree
with you. The dynamic between Buck and Spitz could easily be related to human interaction.”

Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, I let my attention turn back to Jason. I gazed at the back of his head longingly. I'd known him since elementary, but he turned superhot this year—at least to me. He'd held reign as a nice, quiet guy since elementary school, neither nerdy nor great, although always very sweet, like the time he totally paid for Leslie Lasa's entire lunch even though she was only ten cents short. But something had changed in him over the summer. He seemed different now, like he sat up a little straighter, had a bit more confidence. Like he was more mature or something.

“I also want everyone to consider the relationship between man and dog,” Ms. Galarza rambled. As if I could concentrate on anything, with Jason in front of me and that note in my hand.

Adults can be so dense—they wouldn't let me go see what was waiting in the office because they didn't want me to miss class. But they gave me this tease of a note, torturing me into sitting for another twenty-seven minutes wondering who, what,
why
? Had a secret admirer sent me a huge white teddy bear and a box of Russell Stover chocolates? Maybe it was that scrawny guy in my health class. I mean, I thought he just had a lazy eye, but maybe he'd really been gawking at me all this time. More likely, Dad had sent me something age-inappropriate from the road, like a Dora the Explorer sand bucket from Georgia. My
dad took over his father's office-speaker business a couple of years ago and now travels around the southern states and North Texas installing these things that offices need for their intercom systems. He moved out in December when he and Mom officially separated, and even though he was always traveling for work and was rarely home, having him totally out of the house was weird. I still see him when he's in town, and we occasionally talk on the phone. But I missed the way he ruffled my hair in the morning when I was too cranky to talk, and the Saturday mornings he picked up doughnuts for us, always getting two of my favorite—Boston cream—in case someone got to it before I did. Even though he seemed to have forgotten that I am now a teenager and don't get as excited about Build-A-Bear as I used to, I still missed him more than I wanted to admit.