We walk into the theater together, and to my good fortune, I get to sit next to Mark. Elaine is next to Hugh, then Mark, then me, and then Jack, unfortunately. You win some, you lose some.

It’s hard to concentrate on a movie when the boy who possesses your heart is sitting mere inches away. I feel hyperaware of all my senses, like I never really knew my own body until this very moment. I wish he would hold my hand. I wish I could hold his hand. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid he can hear my heart beating extra fast when we bump elbows, I’m afraid that what I feel for him shows all over my face. I’m afraid of everything.

Sitting there in the dark, I close my eyes. I imagine that we’re on a real date, that it’s just the two of us, that—

Jack pokes me on the shoulder, hard. “Wake up, butthead.”

I slap his hand away and try to pay attention to the movie.

The movie is over too soon. Walking out of the theater, I feel like a real teenage girl who goes to the movies with boys, and I’m scared but I’m excited, too. As Elaine and I are mounting our bikes, Jack says, “Why do you always wear your hair up, Annemarie?” Before I can answer, he yanks the ponytail holder out of my hair and a few strands come out with it.

I yelp, and my bike falls to the ground with a loud clatter. My cheeks are flaming, and I feel like I have a fever. Stomping on his foot, I yell, “You barbarian! You idiot!” He holds the hairband high above my head. Jack Connelly, the only boy in our class who is taller than me.

My hair is swinging around wildly, and I feel like a cat whose tail has been cut off. “Give it back!” I scream. For some reason I feel like I could cry.

Alongside me, Elaine says, “Give it back, Jack. You’re so immature.”

He ignores both of us and throws the hairband to Hugh, who grins and throws it to Mark. Mark hesitates, and I think, please don’t. Not you too. Then he hands me the hairband. Jack groans and says nastily, “Why don’t you give her a kiss good night while you’re at it, Findley.”

Mark flushes and says, “Why don’t you kiss my ass?”

I’m so happy, I feel like my heart will burst right open. Gathering my hair with one hand, I pull it back into a tight ponytail and hop back onto my bike.

Then we go home, us on our bikes and the boys behind us. As we ride, Elaine tells me that my hair looks pretty down, and I should wear it like that more often.

Chapter 9

On the last day of summer, the day before school starts, Mark and I ride our bikes until it’s dark. Dusk is settling over Clementon, and we just keep riding. Up Sandy Hill Lane and around the block.

I’m afraid of what happens tomorrow. Will he ring my doorbell at 7:30 and walk with me to the bus stop, the way he always does? Will he still share his tangerine with me at lunch?

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothin’.”

The crickets are hoopin’ and hollerin’ for all they’re worth, and fireflies light up the streets like it’s Christmas. On a night like this it’s hard to believe everything won’t be this way forever—the two of us on our bikes going round and round. On a night like this, you just want to reach out and freeze time and make it stay like this forever.

“It’s past seven. I’d better go in,” Mark says as we ride past Sherilyn’s house.

“Once more around the block?”

“All right.”

We go once more, and then once more after that. The way he’s pedaling so slow, I know he doesn’t want to say good night any more than I do, ’cause for some reason good night feels too much like good-bye. So neither of us say anything. We just wave and pedal off in different directions.

It’s a long time before I fall asleep.

Chapter 10

It is the first day of school.

Elaine and I debated on the phone for over two hours last night, going back and forth over what to wear. We recognized the importance of starting our junior high lives on just the right note, with just the right look. Elaine finally settled on a hot pink camisole and her best black miniskirt. I decided to swipe Celia’s cotton halter top and wear my new back-to-school jeans.

My hair is down.

We spent a long time deciding whether or not to wear makeup (lip gloss, yes; eye shadow, no), as we didn’t want to appear too excited about entering the seventh grade. Nothing is worse than looking like you are trying too hard. I have always wondered why that is. Trying hard is supposed to be a good thing. It’s in my nature to try hard, to strive to be the best. So how do you know when you’ve crossed that invisible line of what is acceptable and what is uncool?

At 7:25 I sit at the kitchen table and wait for the doorbell to ring, and it never does. At 7:33 I walk to the bus stop alone. When I get there, Elaine is standing with Mairi and Hadley, and Sherilyn is hovering nearby. Her mother has done it again—Sherilyn is wearing a beaded halter top with tight black pants, and her hair is crimped. I can tell she’s uncomfortable by the way she keeps pulling the top down so her stomach doesn’t show.

Mark stands with the other boys, away from us. He waves, but he doesn’t come over. I want to yell, hey, thanks for ditching me this morning, but instead I just wave back.

The morning is warm, and thankfully, it isn’t humid. But it’s hot enough to make me wish I’d worn shorts instead of my new jeans. Mairi and Hadley are wearing jean skirts, and now I wish that I had worn a skirt too.

Mairi tells Elaine that she likes her outfit. Hadley is quick to agree. Mairi and Hadley and the other cool girls are faintly in awe of Elaine, her New Yorkness and her Koreaness. Elaine is Korean American, and she is the only Korean American at our school. It gives her a glamorous sort of mystique that no one born in our town could ever possess. She makes being different cool.

Because they like Elaine, Hadley and Mairi say that my shirt is real cute too. I tell them it’s Celia’s, which impresses them only slightly. Having Celia for an older sister is the only edge I’ve got, and I try to throw it into conversation whenever I can. I’ve been doing this for most of my life, so it’s lost a bit of its punch.

When the bus finally arrives, we head straight for the back, where we usually sit. Elaine and I exchange worried glances when we realize that the eighth graders sit at the back of the bus, and as seventh graders, we clearly have no business being back there. Mairi and Hadley join right in, as if they know they belong, as if their success is assured. And sure enough, they are giggling and tossing their hair for all it’s worth, and the older guys are actually paying them attention.

Elaine and I settle for the middle of the bus instead. Mark sits toward the back with the rest of the cool kids, and the whole ride to school, I keep looking back at him. I watch him laughing and telling jokes. He’s forgotten about me already.

When we get to school, Elaine and I have to part ways. Her locker is on the east wing of school, and mine’s on the west. Clementon Junior High is humongous compared to the elementary school. Elaine assured me that it was nothing compared to the schools in New York, but by my standards, it’s pretty big. I’ve been here before, of course. Mama and I used to come for Celia’s chorus concerts and her cheerleading competitions. It seemed big then, too.

The halls are jam-packed, and I have to fight my way through the crowds to get to my locker. To my surprise, Jack Connelly, king of the troglodytes, is already leaning against it. He’s just had a haircut, and he’s wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up. I’d bet anything his mother made him wear that shirt. His arms are crossed and he’s scowling, as usual. “Hey,” he grunts.

“What do you want?” I snap. I haven’t forgotten about the ponytail holder incident.

“I’m here to carry your books, Einstein.” Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten all about our bet.

“It’s the first day of school. We don’t have any books, Einstein.”

“You’re the one who told me you wanted to study during homeroom.” He smirks. “You’re such a geek. You’re the only person I know who’d wanna study during homeroom.”

Oh, yeah. I did say that. “You’re the one who was gullible enough to believe me. I bet you don’t even know what gullible means. Dummy.” I shove him to the side, and spin the dial of my combination lock: 12-34-8. I memorized the combination last week. Counterclockwise, clockwise, counterclockwise. And it won’t open. I spin it again, slowly, 12-34-8. The stupid locker won’t open, and Jack’s still standing there smirking. 12-34-8.

He walks away, and calls over his shoulder, “It’s clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, Einstein.”

I hate his guts.

Chapter 11

Four minutes just isn’t enough time to get from one class to the next. My homeroom is on one side of the school, and my first period math class is on the other. I barely make it on time, but class goes fine. My math teacher’s name is Mr. Kenan, and he’s cool. He’s old—about sixty or so, and he wears his gray hair in a short ponytail. Math is my least favorite subject, but Mr. Kenan’s so laid back and easygoing that I think it could be fun.

I get lost on the way to my next class, English with Ms. Gillybush. I run up and down the hallways in a panic, my book bag banging against my shoulders. A nice eighth grader finally points me in the right direction, and when I run into the classroom huffing and puffing, everyone is quiet and sitting in their seats. Ms. Gillybush is going over the roll, and she’s already on Zeman, Nestor. Breathing hard, I take a desk near the back and wipe the sweat beads from my nose.

“You must be Annemarie Wilcox.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry I was late. I got lost and—”

“Just see that it doesn’t happen again.” She looks at me for so long that I begin to squirm.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I keep my head low for the rest of class.

At lunchtime I scan the cafeteria for Elaine. My heart beats very fast as I walk around with my lunch tray, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. We had it so much easier in elementary school with the assigned seats. This is way too much pressure. I breathe a great big sigh of relief when I see Elaine waving me over. She’s sitting at a table with Mairi and Hadley.

I sit down across from Elaine. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey,” they say, looking bored. How does a person look bored on the first day of school, the first day of junior high? I mean, already?

Mairi nibbles on a carrot stick. “Have you seen some of the kids from Lincoln Elementary? They’re so clueless.”

Hadley chimes in. “Totally. I had gym with a few of them, and those girls didn’t even use deodorant. It was, like, sick.”

I have to work hard at not rolling my eyes. Elaine and I look at each other from across the table, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. I like how we think the same things.

Taking a bite of my ham sandwich, I scan the cafeteria for Mark. He’s sitting at a table clear across the room. It looks like a boys-only table—Mark and Kyle and Tommy and Jack, plus some other guys I don’t recognize. I keep looking at him, trying to catch his eye, but he doesn’t seem to see me.

Then I see Sherilyn, and my stomach lurches. She’s in the lunchline, and she keeps looking over at our table. At me. She has that hopeful look in her eye. I do the only thing I can—I look away. Mairi sees her too, and she says, “Oh, God. There’s Sherilyn. Don’t look at her; she might come over.” She glances at me. “No offense, Annemarie. I know she’s your friend …”

“Not really. I mean, we used to be.” I want to add, she used to be your friend too. You ate pizza at her house and swam in her pool every summer since the second grade. You were there just two weeks ago. Instead I say, “I mean, she’s kind of immature.”

Mairi and Hadley exchange looks, and Mairi says, “She’s completely immature. We didn’t want to say anything, but the girl is hopeless.”

“Totally,” Hadley says.

I keep my head down when Sherilyn walks by. She doesn’t stop at our table, and some of the tightness in my chest fades away. Yes, she was my friend, but we’re in junior high now. Things are different. She was holding me back. I know I could be cool if I didn’t have Sherilyn hanging on to me. It’s like trying to shimmy up a rope with a moose tied to your ankles. You’ve just gotta cut that moose loose.

Chapter 12

When the bus drops us off, Mark and I walk home together and I’m relieved. On a day like this it’s nice to walk home with your oldest friend in the world. I let myself pretend that nothing’s changed, that he didn’t stand me up this morning and ignore me all day.

“So what’d you think of Ms. Gillybush?” I ask, kicking a rock along the pavement. I want to ask him why he didn’t come by this morning, but I don’t. That would be like admitting something’s wrong, and saying it out loud makes it true.

“She reminds me of your grandma Shirley.” We look at each other and laugh. My grandma Shirley is less like a grandma and more like the grumpy old woman all the kids run away from.

After that laugh, everything really does feel normal. We talk about how different junior high is from elementary school, and how our new bus driver seems like a real grouch compared to old Mr. Rubenstein, who drove the elementary school bus. Mr. Rubenstein used to turn a blind eye when we had paper-ball fights, and sometimes he’d bring us Danish butter cookies for no reason at all. By the time we get to my house, things between us feel good again.

So good that I blurt out, “Hey, how come you didn’t come by this morning?”

Mark stares at his feet. “Tommy and I walked over together.”