"Oh, man, oh, man!" Dutchy laughs all the way through the hallway as we go to meet up with Jack and Company. "JACK!" He yells when we're still a good twenty feet away, and jogs the rest of the way there. "Jack, you gotta hear this. Specs here completely kicked Denton's ass in English. It was hilarious!" And he goes on to tell the heroic tale of Specs the Mighty, saving the world from boring English classes, one sarcastic book review at a time.

Everyone laughs and congratulates me on being so fucking awesome. Well, okay, that last part I threw in there for the benefit of my own ego, but you have to admit it's the truth, is it not?

Dutchy is looking at me funny. It is now that I realize thatI am, in fact, staring at him. I blink and shake my head vigorously in an attempt to play it off like I was spacing out. It seems to work, because he smiles and shrugs.

"Whatcha got next, Specs?" Dutchy asks.

"Um..." I really have no idea, so I dig around in the depths of my backpack for my schedule. It's there, crumpled up, doodled on, and partially torn, but still readable. I unfold the wad of paper and start to look it over, until Dutchy grabs it from my hand and starts giving me a commentary on all my classes.

"Okay," he says, tapping his lip in a ridiculously attractive, scholarly fashion. "Man. What the hell are you taking advanced algebra for? It's not a requirement here. And you have Wiesel for it. You poor sap." He shakes his head pitifully and continues looking over my schedule. "Oh, you got drama next! What's an art-geek like you doing taking drama?"

I shrug. "My mom wanted me to take it. Says it's good for me, or somethin'." Dutchy smirks. Yeah, my mom picked out most of my classes for me. So what?

"Well, your mom was obviously right," Racetrack chimes in, with affirmative nods from the guys surrounding him. "We're all in that class, and what could be better for you than that?" He grins, a big, lop-sided, crooked-toothed smile that apparently delights the blond, ditzy choir girl (I'm assuming she's a choir girl, because what the fuck else would a girl that stupid be doing here?) hanging on his arm. He looks at his watch, then frees himself from the out-of-place bimbo and starts heading down the hallway. "And we're going to be late."

Drama class is so fun. I thought it would all be snooty Shakespeare, but I was way off the mark with that one. The instructor, Ms. Larkson (though she insists I call her Medda) takes some time to introduce me to everyone, but what with my new group of friends, I know just about everybody in the class, save for five or six people. After I feel sufficiently acquainted with everybody, we do warm-ups, which scare me a little, but I'm sure I'll get used to them. When those are done, we sit and argue for a few minutes as to what we're going to do. Medda evidently doesn't believe in any sort of actual curriculum.

Then the class springs into action with some improvisation games, and I sit back and watch. It's hilarious – Jack pretends to be a lofty movie star, while David is a flustered reporter trying to interview him. Dutchy hangs on Jack's arms and bats his eyelashes, giving stupid answers as he plays Jack's girlfriend.

I knew it. He's as gay as leather pants.

The rest of the day flies by more quickly than I expected. Right before seventh period, my last class of the day,Dutchy hands me a folded-up piece of paper as I head into the art studio and he's ducking into the darkroom next door. I rush into the room, take my seat at a table, and unfold the note anxiously.

S-

We're having a party tonight, after lights-out. In the courtyard. Meet me at 11 at my room and we'll go together. Room 418.

Trust me, it'll be a blast. You won't regret it.

-D

Oh, even his handwriting is sexy.

Holy shit! Dutchy has invited me to a party! God, could life get any better? I start to draw a comic of us at said party, dancing, laughing, talking, kissing, falling in sweet, sweet love under the stars.

Then I stop, and I realize that I've never been to a party where there wasn't cake and balloons and magicians... and by magicians, of course I mean rabbis.

What, exactly, do you do at a party at this school? What do I wear? And is this a date?

Ugh. I'm such a girl.