Mr. Walden was just finishing taking the roll, and then he'd just started teaching us about some of the events leading up to the Battle of Bladensburg during the War of 1812, when there was this really loud bang in the breezeway outside the classroom. I know it was loud because we heard it in the classroom, through the thick adobe walls of the Mission Academy, which is a million year-old Catholic school in Carmel, California, made from the Junipero Serra Mission.

The noise--even if it only happened once--was so loud that Mr. Walden stopped teaching, which is something he never does, unless he's stopping to throw a piece of chalk at somebody. Everyone turned toward the door, where Mr. Walden had gone to see what was wrong.

"…sorry, Carl, we were just having some difficulty with Susannah's locker," I heard the principal, Father Dominic, say.

So we were getting a new student. I looked around. There were two empty seats--one behind me, and one next to Debbie Mancuso. Common sense would tell you that the new girl would most likely sit next to Debbie. I mean, what new girl would want to sit next to the girl who is obviously not like all the others in the school.

…Not that me being different from Debbie Mancuso and Kelly Prescott is a bad thing. Please. It's just that new kids always want to fit in, and they certainly won't if they sit behind the girl who's considered a freak.

Then she walked in. I glanced up at her briefly, just long enough to know that she would definitely sit next to Debbie. She was wearing a good bit of black-a sure sign that she was not a native Californian, since all theFashion Nazis wear only khakis and sweater sets--but she was wearing clothes that were quite stylish. Mr. Walden introduced her as Susannah--Suze--Simon, from New York.

Ah, hence the black clothes.

The new girl--Suze--looked around the room and noticed the two empty seats--you know, the one next to Debbie, and the one behind me.

Then she went for the seat behind me.

"God, sit by the freak why don't you?" Debbie said. She was obviously miffed because Suze had chosen to sit behind me, and not next to her.

It was kind of weird. It was like Suze had known that Heather Chambers had sat there…

…before she'd blown her head off.

But it's entirely impossible that Suze had known that, unless someone had told her, which is why I chose to believe that she sat behind me to keep me from feeling discriminated against. I'm sorry, but I really don't need--or want--that sort of condescension. I can fight my own battles. Where did this new girl get off by thinking she had to sit next to me because I was different from all the other kids.

"Excuse me, do you have Tourette's?" I heard Suze ask Debbie. Everyone turned to look at Suze. Oh, this was good, even if she was doing it to defend the poor, defenseless albino girl. Oh man was she ever wrong. I was not defenseless. I could feel myself turning an embarrassing shade of red--a shade no one else would ever turn unless they were choking to death--but it was still funny to see Debbie get embarrassed like that by the new girl, who obviously didn't take anybody's crap.

"W-what?" Debbie asked.

"Tourette's Syndrome. It's a neurological disorder that causes people to say things they don't really mean. Do you have it?" Suze said scornfully. She was quick-witted, even if her defense of me was sadly misplaced.

"No," Debbie said, blushing. Oh my God. Someone made Debbie Mancuso embarrassed. I wished I'd had my notepad. I totally would have written that down for later reporting in the school newspaper, but Adam had taken my notepad away the day before winter break, saying that he wanted to get the latest scoop on everyone at school. I doubted this, but he refused to give the notepad back.

"Oh, so you were being purposefully rude?" Suze asked.

"I wasn't calling you a freak," Debbie said.

"I'm aware of that. That's why I'm only going to break one of your fingers after school, instead of all of them."

Debbie turned back around, and Suze shifted in her seat. Everyone in the class started murmuring. It wasn't often--or ever--that someone openly dissed Debbie Mancuso in such a manner. Let's face it: everyone is afraid of her--and Kelly, for that matter. But Suze wasn't afraid of Debbie. I admired her for that.

But still, I was offended by her defense of the "poor, defenseless albino," and I could feel my head turning so deep a red that no one else would ever be that color, unless they were choking to death on a corndog in the Mission Academy courtyard at lunch.

When class was over, I turned around in my seat to face Suze, pushing . "Am I supposed to feel grateful to you, or something, for what you said to Debbie?" I demanded. I was still kind of mad about the whole defend-the-albino-girl thing.

Suze stood up. "You are not supposed to be anything, as far as I'm concerned."

"But that's why you did it, right? Defended the albino? Because you felt sorry for me?" A new wave of anger hit me.

"I did it," she said cooly, "because Debbie is a troll."

I fought a laugh. I couldn't display that sort of weakness right now, not when I was trying to prove that I could take care of myself.

"I can fight my own battles, you know. I don't need your help, New York," I said.

She shrugged. Why wasn't she offended? That kind of remark usually made other girls mad. "Fine with me, Carmel."

I smiled. Maybe she was okay. Maybe she would understand that I wasn't a freak, like everyone seemed to think, that maybe under my pale, rosy skin, I was a normal sixteen-year-old girl.

"It's CeeCee," I told her.

"What's CeeCee?"

"My name. I'm CeeCee." I stuck out my hand for her to shake. "Welcome to the Mission Academy."

Suze Simon was officially the coolest friend I had. She hadn't tried to defend me, and she wasn't exactly as--how to put it nicely--unique as some of my other friends (even if she was ten times cooler than all the other people at this school), and she didn't seem to be the type to make stupid remarks like Adam's.