In the morning, I drive across the street and park outside Kristy's house. Tiffany's relinquished her permanent shotgun to Maria. She's still mad about last night, about my embarrassing her. She deserves a little embarrassment. She doesn't need to be flirting with a married man. Kristy's battered green station wagon's in the middle of the driveway with the back doors wide open. She's leaning in the driver's side, her legs sticking out. I tap the horn to get her attention.

Kristy climbs out of the car and shuts all the doors, then grabs her backpack off the ground and runs for my car. "Hey!" she cries, opening the back door and hopping in. She slides to the middle seat beside Tiffany and latches her belt.

"What were you doing in your car?" I ask, releasing my foot off the brake and steering the car back onto the street. I move at a moderate crawl since we're only going as far as Abby's house.

From the rearview mirror, I see Kristy make a disgusted face. "Claudia and Erica threw up in it," she says. "Claudia threw up all over the dashboard. Erica threw up in the backseat, but mostly on Lauren's shoes. Watson and I had to clean it out when I got home." Kristy makes a gagging noise. "I'm never doing Claudia Kishi another favor. Ever."

"You cleaned up their puke? Gross!" cries Tiffany.

"What was I supposed to do? Let it sit overnight, dry and harden, then call them over to clean it up this afternoon? Of course, that may have improved the inside decor."

I tap the car horn for Abby. "Let's not talk about vomit anymore," I suggest.

Tiffany ignores me. "You could tell everyone your air freshener is eau d'upchuck," she tells Kristy.

Kristy laughs and I know she has a disgusting reply ready, but thankfully, Abby's sprinting across the front yard, and Kristy's attention shifts to her. Abby opens the back door and climbs in next to Kristy. "Let's roll!" she shouts, slamming the door.

I turn around in my seat. "How are you feeling?" I ask.

Abby grins. "Fine. I guess I didn't drink as much as I thought," she answers.

Kristy snorts. "No, you just threw it all up."

"Is there anyone who didn't throw up last night?" Tiffany asks.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about throwing up anymore?" I say.

There's a short silence. Then Abby says, "Okay. I have to know. Who else threw up?"

Kristy spends the rest of the drive rehashing the details of last night. A lot of vomit jokes fly around the backseat. And the front seat once Maria joins in. I turn up the radio and tune them out. It's not that I don't have a sense of humor. Vomit jokes just aren't my thing. I'm glad when we finally reach SDS. Plus, I find a great parking spot right by the high school building.

Tiffany and Maria take off in search of their friends. Often, Tiffany hangs around us in the morning, but she's busy giving me the cold shoulder today. Kristy, Abby, and I walk toward the building in a tight cluster. We spot Greer, Meg, and Lindsey leaning against one of the outside planters, waiting for us. Greer's wearing dark sunglasses and a scowl. Kristy and I exchange a nervous glance. We swore not to tell anyone that I phoned the cops last night.

"Hello," I say, breezily, coming to a stop in front of my friends.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses?" Abby asks Greer.

"I'm a little bleary-eyed this morning, ladies," Greer answers.

"What happened to you guys last night?" Lindsey demands.

"I had to drive Claudia and her friends home," Kristy explains. "And Shannon walked Abby home. Why?"

"One of Bart's neighbors called the cops! They came and busted up the party! And no one could find their keys!"

I shift my messenger bag to my other shoulder, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Did the cops call your parents?" I ask.

Greer's scowl intensifies. "No. My mom saw the cop cars and came looking for me. The cops let her take me and Lindsey home. I'm grounded for a week! And my parents took away my car. Plus, I feel like crap on a stick."

Lindsey narrows her eyes and glares at Greer, then looks over at me. "My grandparents grounded me for three weeks and took away my car and my phone and my television," she tells us, bitterly.

"We rode the bus this morning. It was not fun."

Kristy gives them her best I told you so look. Kristy can say so much with a single look. It's amazing. Lindsey glares back at her.

"Do we know someone with a chauffer?" asks Meg, standing on her toes and looking over Abby's shoulder.

Kristy, Abby, and I turn around. A black Mercedes with tinted back windows has pulled up in front of the school. The driver is a man in a black chauffer cap. He doesn't get out of the car. The back door opens from the inside and a teenage girl steps out. She's wearing a SDS uniform and carrying a white tote bag on her arm. She kicks the door shut and strides toward us. She's tall and slender with blunt cut blonde hair that swings when she walks. I've never seen her before.

Or maybe I have.

"Is that...Sally White?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

"Oh God, I hope not," groans Greer.

Sally White was our classmate in eighth grade. She lived in London before Stoneybrook and about a dozen other places before that. Her mother's supposedly some kind of movie star, although I've never heard of her. Sally caused a lot of problem within our group at the beginning of eighth grade. She picked favorites, lavished attention on them, then discarded them and moved on. The chosen one, we called them. I was chosen for a single day. Sally went through our whole group, everyone except Lindsey. When she was done with us, she moved to a new group. She caused a lot of hurt and sour feelings that year. She moved away the following summer. I hoped to never see her again.

And now she's passing us, wearing our uniform again, headed into our school.

"Hey! Sally White!" Greer calls out. Greer has no self-control.

The girl spins around and lowers her mirrored sunglasses. "Do I know you?" she inquires in a cool voice.

Ugh. It is Sally White.

Greer places a hand on her hip. "I'm Greer Carson. Don't you remember me?" she says, haughtily.

Sally's eyes scan Greer up and down. "Yyyyes," she answers in this weird, dragging voice.

Greer wasn't expecting that. "Oh. Well," she says. She has both hands on her hips now. "I guess you remember Meg, Shannon, and Lindsey then."

Sally sizes us all up. "Meg, Shannon, yes," she replies, then turns her gaze to Lindsey. "Who are you again?"

Lindsey's mouth puckers like she's tasted a lemon. She starts fidgeting with the end of her braid. "We never really got to know each other," she says, weakly.

"What was wrong with you?"

Lindsey doesn't answer. I think she's always wondered that herself.

Meg steps in. "She had these braces," Meg explains, gesturing to her mouth. "Big silver ones. And she hadn't had her ears pinned back yet - "

"Meg!" I exclaim and Sally laughs.

"So, you're back," Greer says.

"I guess I am," Sally replies, then turns on her heel and saunters into the building.

Lindsey's biting her lip, like she might start to cry. Meg should be apologizing, but instead she's gaping at me, puzzled, attempting to figure out what she'd done wrong this time. Kristy and Abby just look confused.

"Who was that?" asks Kristy, wrinkling her nose.

"No one you want to know," I answer. "Trust me."

Sally White shows up in three of my morning classes - World Literature, microbiology, and Italian. Thankfully, in World Literature, she's assigned a seat in the way back. I sit up front. But in microbiology, Dr. Clark sticks her at Kristy's and my table. Today we have a review for tomorrow's exam, so Sally spends the entire period reading a fashion magazine. Kristy and I are lab partners and if Sally thinks we're becoming a threesome, she is sorely mistaken. In Italian, Sally takes the desk beside Meg. Meg must be feeling bad about what she said about Lindsey because she keeps her head down all period and doesn't speak to Sally.

Since it's Wednesday, Kristy and I have a Smart and Sober meeting during lunch. Our advisor orders out for pizza every week, which is a perk we don't share with anyone. Kristy and I remain silent about last night's party. A couple members mention it, but Kristy and I pretend we were never there. Most of the meeting is devoted to discussing the presentation we're doing on Saturday at the New Hope Health Fair.

Since we miss lunch with our friends, we apparently also miss more Sally White. "She just walked up and set her tray down," Abby tells me during geology. "She didn't even ask. She didn't even say anything. Not all through lunch. She ate her lunch and stared at us. It was super creepy!"

"That's because Sally's a super creep."

"Well, I don't think Greer and Lindsey think so. They were falling all over themselves at lunch, talking over each other, trying to impress her," Abby tells me. She proceeds to re-enact sixth period lunch for me. While part of me is grateful to see the old, silly Abby make a brief reappearance, for the most part, I am uneasy. I don't want a repeat of eighth grade. Sally tossed my friends aside once before. They can't possibly allow her to do it again.

I don't see Sally the rest of the day. After school, I have a French Club meeting. Even though I no longer take French, I'm still an active member of the club. I don't want my oral skills growing rusty. Kristy stops by my locker while I'm gathering my homework.

"Hey!" she greets me, breathlessly. "I just ran from the administration building. I wanted to remind you about this afternoon's volleyball game. Are you still coming?"

"Sure. It's at SHS, right?"

Kristy nods. "Yeah, at four-thirty. I have to run now. I need to swing by the newspaper office, then meet with coach. See you later, Shan!" Kristy takes off, her backpack bouncing against her back, and disappears around a bend in the hall. At SDS, the school newspaper is an after school activity, not a class like at some schools. Kristy joined last year when she decided to become a sportswriter. Of course, Kristy changes her mind about that every other week. I have no idea if she's any good. I'm not a sports fan and don't understand half the things she writes about.

The French Club meeting only goes until three-thirty. I give a couple younger girls rides home, then return to my own house. I find Maria in the kitchen working on her homework. Tiffany's in the backyard, pulling weeds in her garden. I check her bag and she hasn't started any of her homework. I let it pass. I'll give her her space. We can do our homework tonight, together. She works harder under my supervision anyway. I run upstairs and peel off my uniform. I leave on my white blouse and pull a gray v-neck sweater over it. Then I step into a pair of dark blue jeans. I usually favor skirts and tailored pants. It's dumb, but I decide to wear jeans because I'll be at SHS. The kids there think we're such snobs at Stoneybrook Day. I want to look relaxed and casual, just like them.

I stop off in the kitchen to do part of my European history assignment. It's four-forty-five by the time I enter the SHS gym. The game has already started. Kristy and Abby are both out on the court. The SHS side of the gym is packed with parents and students. The crowd on the SDS side is much thinner since for them, it's an away game. Clusters of parents and a few siblings and boyfriends. I sit down in a big empty space in the third row. Typically, someone from Kristy's family is at every one of her games. I glance around, but don't see anyone. I guess Watson and Elizabeth couldn't leave work early this time.

Out on the court, Abby jumps and spikes the ball over the net. I don't think Mrs. Stevenson has made it to a single game this season.

It's a brutal game. SHS is probably the best team in Southern Connecticut and truthfully, the SDS team kind of stinks. Kristy and Abby are decent players, but two decent players can't save a whole team. Especially not when up against an entire team of super stars. It's frustrating for Kristy and Abby to lose all the time. They aren't used to not winning.

Half an hour into the game, my stomach rumbles. I check my watch. It's dinnertime. I dig through my messenger bag for the emergency candy bar I keep in there. The twix is at the bottom underneath my pencil box. It's a little smushed. But not inedible. I wonder what Tiffany and Maria are eating for dinner. I didn't leave them any instructions. Last time I came home late, I found them eating Cool Whip out of the tub.

"You're really serious about that candy bar, aren't you?" asks a male voice.

Startled, I glance up. And almost drop the twix. It's Wesley!

He smiles. "Sorry, scared you again. I have quite the track record, don't I? You are the girl from the Stones' party, right?" he asks, suddenly sounding a tad worried.

I nod, speechless. I clear my throat. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Wesley's smile widens. "I was sitting across the gym and thought it was you. I don't know if this is coincidence or fate. I asked about you. At the party, after you rushed off. Apparently, there were a lot of pretty blonde college girls at that party. No one could figure out exactly who you were." Wesley chuckles, kind of embarrassed.

He asked about me? And described me as pretty? No one has ever called me pretty. Tiffany is the family beauty. I am "interesting-lookng" or merely attractive. I hope I'm not blushing because I certainly feel hot. "I apologize for running off like that," I tell him, once again finding my tongue. "There was...an emergency." No way am I admitting that shrieking woman was my mother.

"I assumed as much. So, do you have a name?"

I nod. "Shannon Kilbourne."

"Wesley Ellenburg."

"I remember."

He smiles again, pleased. He smiles a lot. As he should. It's a gorgeous smile. "Do you have a sister on the team?" he asks.

For a moment, I'm puzzled, then look out at the court and recall where I am. "Oh...no. Uh...see that really short girl out there? And the girl with the bushy black ponytail? They live across the street from me." Thank God I changed out of my school uniform. "Is your sister playing?"

"No, my cousin, Mindy. She has the long dark braid." Wesley points to a tall, husky girl on the SHS team. "My aunt's always nagging at me to come watch her games. I try to pop in every now and then. I work just down the road. I teach math at Stoneybrook Middle School."

"You look too young to be a teacher."

Wesley laughs. "I'll take that as a compliment. I think. I was twenty-six in August. Not so young anymore! Don't worry though, a gentleman never asks a lady her age."

I giggle, feeling my brain turn to mush. I've always mocked girls like this, girls who can barely string two words together in the presence of a cute guy. I was never like this with Mick. I kept my head, remained calm, and never faltered. "I'm twenty," I tell him in a rush, not really considering the lie as it passes through my lips.

Wesley nods and smiles, apparently happy with my lie. "Do you want to go out sometime?" he asks. "I wanted to ask. I mean, that's why I tried to find out your name. You don't have a boyfriend or anything, do you?"

My heart quickens in my chest, something I'm not used to. I've always thought myself too sensible for sudden infatuation. "No," I answer. "No boyfriend." I pause a moment and all reason disintegrates. "I'd love to go out with you."

"Great! Can I get your number?"

"Sure." I take out a small heart-shaped notepad from my messenger bag. A tiny voice nags at the back of my mind, Shannon, Shannon! What are you doing? But I ignore it and write down my phone number anyway.

Wesley takes the paper. "Thanks," he says, looking down at the number, studying it, as if committing it to memory. "I want you to know, I don't usually do this. I'm not some creep who prowls around high school volleyball games looking for dates."

"I don't think you're a creep," I assure him with a smile.

"Great! I'm glad. That means this is really your phone number then," he jokes, folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet. "I'll call you. Soon. It was nice seeing you again, Shannon."

I even like the way he says my name. "Nice seeing you, too, Wesley."

"Actually, it's Wes," he replies with a small wave, then turns and walks back to the SHS side of the gym. I try not to watch him and stare. I redirect my attention to Kristy and Abby, but I don't really see them. They are simply blurs of navy plaid shorts and white t-shirts and swinging ponytails, like everyone else on the team. Across the gym, Wes is sitting beside his aunt. He waves and I give a quick wave back. Then his aunt waves, which is sort of embarrassing, so I make a point not to look over at them again.

"What are you looking so dreamy about?"

I glance over to my right and see Elizabeth climbing up the bleachers toward me. "Nothing," I lie.

Elizabeth checks her watch as she takes a seat beside me. "I guess I've missed most of the game. I got stuck in a meeting. Who's winning?"

I look around. I have no clue. Then I see the scoreboard. "Stoneybrook High," I tell her, pointing to the scoreboard. "By fourteen points."

Elizabeth groans. "Kristy will be so upset."

The game ends ten minutes later. Stoneybrook High doesn't win by fourteen points. They win by seventeen. Out on the court, Abby's fuming. She looks like she's ready to kick Kristy, simply because Kristy's the nearest thing to her. The SDS team gets in a huddle around their couch, but Abby stands outside it with her arms folded across her chest, glaring through the net at the SHS team. Abby is not a gracious loser.

Elizabeth and I wait for them on the bleachers. Kristy comes over a few minutes later, her gym bag thrown over her shoulder, frowning and looking very disappointed. "Our team stinks," she complains.

"I'm sorry, honey," Elizabeth tells her.

"You played well," I assure her.

"I guess."

Abby stomps over and throws her gym bag down at my feet. Her face is bright red with fury. "Our team is full of morons!" she cries.

"Shh!" Kristy hisses. "People can hear you!" It's not good when Kristy, of all people, scolds you about tact and good manners.

Abby glares at her. "Well, it's true! I overheard some of the SHS players talking before the game. There were college scouts watching!"

"From where? Stoneybrook U.?" Kristy scoffs. "And what do you care? You're a soccer player. You want recruited for soccer, not volleyball."

"It would be nice to have something to fall back on," Abby replies, angrily. "And now my chance is ruined! All because the morons on our team can't play properly!" Abby kicks her gym bag. "And did you see that smug ass Julie Stern and Heather Epstein doing their little victory dance? I hate those SHS bitches! They make me sick!" Abby grabs her bag and storms off. There's a volleyball still sitting on the court. Abby rushes it and kicks it hard, sending it sailing across the gym. It beans a blonde ponytailed SHS player in the back of the head.

"What was that about?" I ask, staring after Abby. I can't believe Abby would act like that in front of Kristy's mother! In front of everyone.

Kristy's mouth gapes in shock. Elizabeth looks positively appalled at Abby's behavior. The few people left in the bleachers stare at us.

"Talk about poor sportsmanship," says Elizabeth, finding her voice.

"I didn't think she cared about volleyball that much," I say.

Kristy frowns. "Abby told me last week, she doesn't think she'll get into Chapel Hill. Or those schools out in California. Her grades aren't exactly stellar, you know. And honestly, the SDS soccer team is a lot better than the volleyball team, but it's still not fantastic. Maybe she won't get recruited."

"So, she's grasping at straws," I say, sadly. Poor Abby. Is that why she's been so moody lately? And why she's always bent over her homework, falling behind and forever trying to catch up? It's a little late. She can't make up in a single year for three years of slacking off.

Later in the evening, I'm in my bedroom, eating a peanut butter sandwich and studying for tomorrow's microbiology exam. Across the hall, Tiffany and Maria are in Tiffany's bedroom, blasting the stereo, drowning out Mom and Dad, who are downstairs shrieking at each other. It's only eight o' clock. I think they made a mistake and accidentally came home at the same time. Over the screaming and the pounding music, I hear the telephone ring. I lean over the desk and pick up my extension.

It's Wes.