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  My heart slammed against my ribs, remembering the way he’d looked at me. “You mean the one with the drumsticks? Yeah. Why?”

  “What a complete loser,” Raine said.

  She and Lana laughed as Gen yanked open the door. “We finally get some new blood around here and he has to be Justin Bieber?”

  “You are so lucky to have Ty,” Lana said, giving her eyes one last check in the mirror.

  “So lucky,” Raine added, slinging an arm around my neck.

  Bet she wouldn’t say that if she knew what had actually happened to her jelly doughnut. I remembered how he’d snapped at me about the sugar; how he’d acted like today was no big deal, even though he knew how much it meant to me to get my grades up. But I wasn’t about to tell them any of that. They didn’t understand what I was trying to do here, so I knew they’d take Ty’s side. Everyone always took Ty’s side. He was that guy.

  So I bit my tongue and smiled as the hall filled with students, telling myself I was not keeping an eye out for a pressed blue-and-white polo shirt.

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning into Raine’s side. “Lucky me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charlie

  I counted fifteen judging stares before I even got to the office and one sneering glare at my drumsticks. I had thought that maybe moving to the Northeast things would be different, but no matter where I went in the great USA, people were tools. They didn’t like change. They didn’t want to meet anyone new. They didn’t want to be friends. Not really. I wondered why I hadn’t gotten used to it yet.

  Like that girl outside, for instance. She was so bogglingly beautiful. So clearly clueless to it. So obviously sweet and shy and vulnerable. I mean, she couldn’t even hold eye contact without practically breaking into hives. So of course she had a boyfriend. Some douche in a predictable car who probably didn’t appreciate her and totally exploited her weaknesses. She could do better. Way better. But would she? No. Why? Because this place was no different.

  I found the door marked OFFICE. Grasped the cold silver handle. Tugged my earbuds from my ears and silenced my iPod. Another year, another school. Time to get it over with. I yanked the door open, and Mrs. Leifer looked up with a smile. At least, that was what her desk placard said. MRS. TANYA LEIFER, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT. She was a large woman with gray curls that formed a perfect helmet around her head.

  “Well, good morning!” she said brightly. “Are you one of our new students?”

  Near the wall, a trio of big jocks in school colors—blue and white, like the shirt my dad had made me wear this morning—took interest. They looked me up and down slowly, and I felt conspicuous. These were exactly the kind of guys who loved to mock me. One was tall with brown spiky hair and a tan, the second had dark skin and a fade, and the third had red curls cut close and pale skin. They made me think of my brothers, who were basically good guys, but obsessed with sports and born with the annoying ability to be total dicks when they felt like it, and usually out of nowhere. So of course, I instantly wanted these guys to like me . . . which made me hate myself. Nothing like a heady dose of self-loathing on the first day of school.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to ignore my audience. “My name’s Charlie Cox.”

  “Cool! You’re mine!”

  One of the school spirit dudes shoved away from the wall. The tall, tan one. He had a backpack on one shoulder and held out a small book to me. The title read Lake Carmody High School Handbook.

  “Yours?” I asked warily.

  “Charlie Cox,” Mrs. Leifer said, standing up from her desk and handing over a schedule. “This is—”

  “Josh Moskowitz,” he said. His chin was perfectly square and hovered about a foot above mine. “Your peer guide.”

  “Oh.” I took the book and stared at it. I’d been to one school with peer guides before. George W. Bush Middle School outside Dallas when I was in fifth grade. By the end of the first day I’d been stuffed inside a garbage can in the girls’ locker room with a rotting banana peel shoved down my pants.

  “And one of the stars of the junior class,” Mrs. Leifer said, looking Josh over like he was some kind of god. “Every year we recruit the school’s best to show our new students around,” she added with a nod to the other dudes.

  “So is your dad David Cox? The new coach over at St. Joe’s Prep?” Josh asked. There was an LB on his sleeve. Linebacker. Perfect.

  I stared at the charging ram on the cover of the handbook. The local paper had covered my dad a couple weeks earlier when we’d gotten to town and he’d started up football practices at the Catholic school. They’d made him sound like he’d descended from heaven to fix the formerly great team. They’d even done a sidebar on my superstar brothers, Chris and Corey, the Quarterback Twins. Honestly. That’s what they were. Every town we moved to they got enrolled in different schools—one private, one public—so they could both play starting quarterback. The clipping was now framed on the mantel of our fireplace, even though 75 percent of our boxes were still packed.

  “You’ve heard of him?” I said, flipping the pages of the handbook.

  “Are you kidding? I wish we’d’ve gotten him! Your dad is like a miracle worker,” Josh told me.

  Like I didn’t know this. This was why I’d been at a new school every two years for my entire life. Some school with a crappy football team hired Dad, he swooped in, fixed things in one season, stayed around for one or two more to win a championship, and then we were out. Next project. It was all about Dad and where he was going to play the hero next. Never mind whether anyone else in the family wanted to stay in one town, make a friend, maybe even get a girlfriend.

  “We’re playing St. Joe’s in our opening game. What’s he think of his QB over there, Keegan Traylor?” Josh asked. “Does he really believe he’s better than Peter Marrott?”

  I’d heard my dad mention this Keegan guy on the phone and stuff, but I hadn’t known he was the quarterback. My dad doesn’t exactly talk business with me. But now that I knew, I used my awesome powers of deduction to figure out that Peter Marrott was Lake Carmody’s quarterback. I considered my response before answering.

  “Let’s put it this way: my Dad doesn’t take on a new team unless he thinks he can win with them,” I told him. And it was the truth.

  Josh nodded slowly with narrowed eyes, as if I’d said something seriously deep.

  “You play?” he asked doubtfully, obviously noting my scrawniness.

  “Uh, no,” I said with a scoff.

  “What about track?” Josh asked without hesitation, tilting his head. “You got the build for it. Cross-country tryouts are this afternoon. You should show. Right, Bri?”

  “Totally,” answered Brian, the lanky black dude. His voice was deep. Like, baritone deep. “We need fresh meat.”

  “Running’s not really my thing,” I answered.

  In fact, I hated running. Ever since I was eight my dad had forced me to go out on morning runs every weekend with him and my brothers. Mercifully, this ritual had stopped once Chris and Corey went to college—different schools, but within driving distance of each other, of course. Now it was just me, Mom, and Dad, and there was no point.

  I glanced over my schedule. Band was ninth period. It was going to be a long day.

  “Too bad,” Brian said. “If you change your mind, we meet behind the gym after last bell.”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure their angle. Did they want me to show up behind the gym after last bell so they could kick the crap out of me? But no. They looked . . . sincere. There wasn’t a single mocking smile. Which was weird. Because guys like this normally couldn’t hide their excitement if they thought they were pulling one over on you. I’d been victimized by enough popular kids to know.

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” I said.

  “We’ll convince you by the end of the day,” Josh said confidently.

  “Come on over and get your picture taken for your ID,” Mrs. Leifer said, beckoning me towa
rd a square of blue construction paper taped to the wall.

  “Then we’ll go check out breakfast in the caf,” Josh told me. “There’s always pancakes on the first day.”

  I stood in front of the blue square, confused. Something was not right here. Had these guys not seen the drumsticks in my bag? Did they not notice my shirt was from Old Navy and not Hollister? That I didn’t have a jock bone in my body?

  “Say Lake Carmody!” Mrs. Leifer called out from behind the camera.

  I blinked as the camera flashed. Then the door swung open, slamming back against the wall. A framed certificate crashed to the floor. Mrs. Leifer gasped.

  “Is this where I’m supposed to sign up?”

  We all stared. The girl was crazy tall, with the longest hair I’d ever seen, tangled in a million knots. Her eyes were this startling blue, and her face was perfect. One hundred percent perfect. She was wearing a white sweatshirt about ten sizes too big and pink shorts that showed almost every inch of leg. But craziest were the brand-new, shiny, red-and-purple cowboy boots. Which I think she was wearing with no socks. I’d worn cowboy boots before. Those things hurt. With socks.

  Totally weird. I instantly liked her.

  “And you are?” Mrs. Leifer asked, picking up her phone. There was a beep, and she spoke into the receiver. “Mr. Moore to the office, please! We have broken glass!” her voice rang out over the speakers in the hall.

  “Er—True,” the girl said. “True Olympia.” She slapped a folder down on the counter. “I’m a new student.” She turned and looked at me, then Josh, then Brian, then their third jocky friend. Her eyes flicked over us appraisingly, like we were horses up for auction.

  “Are any of you single?” she asked.

  Josh’s jaw fell open. Brian laughed. The red-haired guy sauntered over to her.

  “I’m Trevor,” he said, leaning against the counter and blatantly checking out her chest.

  “Hello, Trevor.” She looked him in the eye. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Are you applying for the job?” he asked, making Josh and Brian cackle.

  She laughed like that was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. Ever.

  “No. I’m taken,” she replied, tugging a necklace out of her collar and holding it up. Like it was an engagement ring or something. “So what do you look for in a girl, Trevor? Humor? Intelligence? Loyalty?”

  “He’s a boob man,” Brian supplied, making the others laugh.

  “Lovely,” True said with a grimace.

  “Watch it, Mr. Lawrence!” Mrs. Leifer scolded, but was holding back a smile. She leafed through a stack of papers on her desk. “Ah. Here it is. Your schedule, Miss Olympia.”

  “Really?” True seemed shocked. She snatched the paper from Mrs. Leifer. “Well. Look at that.”

  “Veronica?” Mrs. Leifer glanced over her shoulder toward the back of the office. “Your new student is here.”

  A curvy blond girl in a tight skirt and even tighter sweater stepped out from behind a cubicle divider. When she smiled, I saw nothing but teeth. Big, white teeth. She was like a walking Victoria’s Secret/Colgate commercial. A sparkly V dangled around her neck, landing right at the top of her cleavage.

  “Hey, babe,” Josh said, his whole face lighting up. She stepped into his arms and they kissed, sharing gallons of spit.

  “So I guess you have a girlfriend.” True seemed disappointed.

  Veronica was not amused. “Yes. He does,” she said, locking her arm around Josh.

  “Veronica Vine, this is True Olympia,” Mrs. Leifer said. “Veronica is one of the student volunteers here in the office. She’s going to be your peer guide.”

  “Great,” Veronica said sarcastically, sucking her teeth.

  “I don’t need a peer guide,” True said. “I’m fine.”

  “Perfect!” Veronica took Josh’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “Come on, Joshy. Let’s go.”

  “Not so fast,” Mrs. Leifer said. “Every new student gets a peer guide. It’s Principal Peterson’s most prized program.”

  I clenched my teeth to keep from laughing at the tongue twister.

  “Really. I don’t need any help,” True insisted. “I can manage to navigate one measly little school that’s less than a hundred thousand square feet.” She chuckled and glanced down at her schedule. “Are honors classes the most challenging you have on offer? I bore easily.”

  Everyone gaped at her. She didn’t seem to notice. Instead she looked at me. “What about you? What’s your name? Do you have a girlfriend?”

  At that exact moment, the girl from the Firebird walked by the door. She clutched a few books to her chest, her eyes trained on the floor. My heart did this awful dance. There I went again, always wanting the girl I couldn’t have.

  “Charlie,” I told her. “And no. I don’t.”

  True smiled.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  True

  By the time I trailed Veronica and her followers into the cafeteria that afternoon, I understood why my mother had refused to get out of bed this morning. This place was a nightmare. It was far too closed in, every hallway tighter than the last, the ceilings impossibly low, the classrooms like cages. At moments it felt as if I had to gasp for air. There were people—everywhere. Chewing gum, singing along to songs played directly into their ears, sniffing and sneezing and coughing and cackling and breathing. But more than anything, it was loud. Too loud. Did every girl on Earth have to greet every other girl on Earth with a scream and a hug and an uncomfortable knee-knocking, bouncing-up-and-down ritual? Plus, the boys seemed to have the lung capacity of elephants, bellowing down the halls in what turned out to be the one language I didn’t understand.

  “Fa-LEECE! Whad-UP? Where you been at, PLAYAH? WTF is on in the beat-down lose-ah?”

  Honestly, what did that mean?

  To make matters worse, the teachers were adamantly opposed to talking in class, which meant I hadn’t met anyone aside from the boys in the office that morning and Veronica and her horde. It was torture, taking orders from these figures of authority, each of them younger than my newest set of arrows back home. I knew better than to talk back and get thrown out of school, but my pride was not happy. These adults, as it were, were getting in the way of my mission—a mission that was far bigger than them and their pedantic lessons. If I couldn’t talk to these kids, there was no way I was going to be able to set anyone up.

  When we entered the cafeteria, however, my spirits perked considerably. This lunch hour seemed like a free-for-all—students moving about at will, hopping from table to table, talking to whomever they wished. WELCOME BACK banners and cheerful posters hung from the walls, and there was not a teacher in sight. Perhaps I could get some work done here.

  As we walked along the side of the cafeteria, my feet cried out in pain with every step and my hair itched my face. I pushed it away, but it kept falling back again. Honestly. How did humans deal with this sort of constant insubordination from their own bodies? Back home, and even in Maine with Orion, my hair was always clean and fell perfectly in place, and every item of clothing I conjured for myself fit perfectly. But these shoes were torture devices, and my hair had a mind of its own. We passed by an open bag on a chair and I saw a pretty plaid scarf peeking out from inside. I grabbed it and tied my hair back from my cheeks. There. Much better.

  Now if only I could find a spare pair of sandals lying around.

  “Darla!” Veronica suddenly screeched at a deafening pitch. “OMG! There you are!”

  I winced as the two girls screamed and pawed at each other, closing my eyes and touching my forehead, willing the headache to heal already, willing my fingertips to warm and make it go away. But my power refused to return, and my headache was getting worse and worse as this interminable day dragged on.

  “Hi,” Darla said, looking me over curiously. She glanced at Veronica, and I noticed they were wearing almost the exact same outfit, except that Darla’s skirt and sweater were blue, and her D penda
nt was slightly smaller than Veronica’s V. “New girl?”

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m—”

  “New girl,” Veronica confirmed, interrupting me. “Leifer says I have to let her follow me around, but only for today.”

  The four girls looked me over with disdain. I might not have been able to read their souls, but after shadowing Veronica this morning, I was certain of one thing: The girl was a two-faced bitch. She gossiped about everyone, even her friends, going off about one girl’s fake tan the second said girl walked away from her. She’d slammed some poor freshman’s locker closed to get to her own, told an adorable guy his girlfriend was cheating on him with absolutely no sympathy, and even crushed a ladybug under the toe of her pointy boot—on purpose. If I could read her soul, I was fairly certain it would have that murky, purple-black quality usually reserved for dictators and torturers. Normally, I would have been bent on finding a girl like her a good match, knowing that love’s healing powers would tame her a bit, make her more sympathetic and kind. But she already had a beautiful boyfriend, and she was still a raving bitch. That type couldn’t be saved. Not even by true love.

  Oh, how I wished Harmonia, Nike, and Selene were here with me. Our combined beauty would have intimidated Veronica into submission in a blink.

  “Well, I’m Darla,” Darla said finally.

  “I’m True,” I replied.

  “Don’t talk to her,” Veronica hissed, rolling her eyes.

  She’d rolled her eyes so many times today I was surprised her skull could still hold them.

  I lifted my chin and pushed past her, trying not to limp. “I’m hungry.”

  There was a line of people waiting in front of steaming silver vats of food, but none of it looked appealing, so I went right to the produce section and grabbed an apple and a banana. There was a tray on a shelf, so I put my things on there and looked around for something to drink.

  “Hey! That’s my tray!” a boy with many, many pimples whined.

  My brain felt like it was slamming against my temples. It was the first time a mortal had ever dared protest something I’d done, and in my current mood, I could have lifted a finger and reduced him to ash for it. One more power I would miss. Instead I pointed at a stack of similar trays near the door.