Meg's already at her desk when I walk into fifth period Italian. I pause in the doorway, watching her for a moment then stride quickly into the room like it's any other day. Meg glances up from her notes as I slide into my seat. I turn sideways, crossing my ankles, and regard her.

Meg stares back at me, her ruby red lips slightly parted, expression blank. She pushes a strand of black hair behind her ear. "I've decided to forgive you," she informs me.

"Excuse me?"

"I've decided to forgive you for the way you treated me and Price."

I laugh. Oh, the nerve! How can Meg sit there, look me in the eyes, and say such a ridiculous thing? "There is nothing for you to forgive me for," I tell Meg. "The person you need to apologize to is Lindsey."

Meg scoffs. "Are you kidding?" she demands, furiously. "Do you know how much trouble that loudmouth caused? Her stupid grandmother called my mom! She told Mom everything about Friday night and got Mom all riled up over nothing! Mom didn't like that...that word Price said. She thinks it indicates ill-breeding. I don't understand the fuss. Dad's used it plenty of times. Now I'm not allowed to see Price. But it wasn't enough for Dr. Dupree to destroy my social life, she then called Price's parents and now Price is in trouble. He's never going to want to see me again! All because of Lindsey Dupree and her cow of a grandmother."

I gape at Meg, absolutely flabbergasted. Is she...serious? This has to be a joke. Right? "Meg...do you know what that word means?" I ask.

"Yes. Greer explained it to me."

"And what does Greer say about this?"

Meg sets her mouth in a hard frown, but doesn't answer. Ha! So, Greer hasn't lost all her good sense.

"His using that word doesn't bother you?" I ask Meg, calmly as possible.

Meg sighs, exasperated. "It's not like he said it about Lindsey. Or that stupid grandmother of hers. That would be different. What do I care if he says it about some girl I don't know?"

"And what happens when he talks about you like he did those other girls? Bragging to strangers that you were another slut he banged?"

Meg's frown deepens. "I'm not a slut and he won't 'bang' me. I keep my legs firmly together just like my mother tells me," she says, irritably.

"I don't think Price Irving cares much about the truth," I inform her, then turn around, facing forward. I can't look at her anymore.

Class is about to begin. Signore Chancey's at the board, writing out today's schedule. Sally White strolls in, binder tucked underneath her arm, looking very casual. She walks down our row and takes her usual seat beside Meg.

Sally opens her binder and removes her homework. "You know," she says, in a perfectly conversational tone, "my mom's Swedish. Got any ethnic slurs for me?"

"Oh, shut up, Sally," I snap and open my textbook.

"Janet was asking about you last night," Kristy informs me when I sit down at our lunch table.

"Why?" I reply, spreading my napkin on the table. I begin setting out my lunch, very casual, face expressionless. I don't betray my true response - panic dropping my stomach to my knees.

Kristy wrinkles her nose. "Yeah, she wanted to know if you're dating anyone or if I think you're dating anyone but keeping it a secret."

Across the table, Lindsey, who's seated next to Kristy, smiles slyly and winks.

I stab the straw into my Capri Sun. "How odd," I comment, coolly.

Kristy nods. "I know! Then she asked if I thought you might be," Kristy lowers her voice, "having sex."

"That's weird," Abby says, bent over her geology textbook. She's filling out a chart that's due next period. When will she learn?

I unwrap my sandwich. "What did you tell her?" I ask, then take a bite, chewing slowly like the answer doesn't really matter.

"I told her to stop asking crazy questions," Kristy replies. "Why did she want to talk to you yesterday? Did you say something weird to her?"

"Of course not. She wanted, um, advice about Sam. I can't tell you more than that. She took me into her confidence." I never imagined lies would spill from my mouth so effortlessly.

Kristy scowls. "Since when are you and Janet best friends?" she demands. She takes a large bite of her apple, crunching loudly.

Lindsey puts her left hand beside her mouth, shielding it from Kristy's view. She mouths, "Sex?" and raises her eyebrows. I continue eating, pretending not to notice.

"Maybe Janet wants to set Shannon up," Abby suggests. "On a date."

"Oh, you're probably right," Kristy agrees. "Yuck! I'd hate to see who Janet would choose for you, Shannon."

"After all, she chose Sam for herself," I point out.

Abby chuckles.

"She got lucky," Kristy replies.

It's an effort to not roll my eyes. Lucky. Right. I peel the lid off my yogurt and dip in my spoon. I take a small bite. It doesn't taste very good. I feel sort of ill. Janet won't tell. She won't tell.

Kristy and Lindsey begin discussing some t.v. show they watched last night. I half-listen while finishing my yogurt and sandwich. I glance around the cafeteria. Greer's a few tables away, sitting with Karl and the rest of the drama club. Meg's near the lunch line seated with Kara Ferguison, this awful girl I loathe with every fiber of my being. She makes a delightful match for the new soulless Meg. I don't see Sally White anywhere. I'm ashamed to admit that I've grown accustomed to her obnoxious presence.

When Kristy and Abby finish their lunches, they both rush off. Kristy to drop an article off at the newspaper office and Abby to check something in the geology lab. As soon as they leave, Lindsey leans forward, dropping her voice conspiratorially. "So, are you?" she asks.

"Am I what?"

"Having sex!" she hisses.

"No," I answer, then glance around and tilt my head toward hers, "but I'm going to. Soon. Maybe tonight."

"The older man?"

"Yes," I reply, shortly. "Will you be lecturing me, too?"

"Of course not! Why would I? It's time to get it over with. He's older. He'll know what he's doing. It should last longer than a minute and a half."

I certainly hope so. How disappointing otherwise. "I'm not doing it just to get it over with," I tell her. "He loves me."

Lindsey looks very impressed. "You're making the right decision then," she says.

I smile. At least someone approves.

Greer Carson corners me after school. I'm at my locker, loading books into my messenger bag and suddenly she's beside me, leaning back against the lockers like old times, like back when we were still friends. She's straightened her auburn hair and pulled it back into a french twist and has wrapped a navy and gold silk scarf around her neck. She doesn't look like she belongs at Stoneybrook Day.

"You need to talk some sense into Meg Jardin," she informs me without a greeting.

"Why? Do I have custody of her this week?" I reply, sliding my geology book back into my locker. Meg's bounced between us since Greer and I stopped speaking, much like Lindsey. But today she didn't eat with either of us, or sit with either of us during study period.

"She doesn't listen to me," Greer says. "For someone with no backbone, she certainly is stubborn. What's with this trash she's hanging around? I've heard Meg's version of the story and Lindsey's version. Neither makes any sense. Is this guy for real?"

"Unfortunately."

Greer bangs the back of her head against the lockers, hand pressed to her forehead. "Oh my God!" she wails.

I stare at her, stonily, and slam my locker shut. I'm in no mood for her theatrics. I won't humor her anymore. "Meg can be your problem," I tell her. "I have enough of my own."

Greer drops her hand and stills. "Fine," she says. She hugs her binder to her chest. "This is so stupid, Shannon. Can't we be friends again?"

"No."

"Look, I'm sorry I called you a prude. I miss you, Shannon. I miss everyone. Let's make up."

I shake my head.

Greer frowns. "You're impossible, Shannon Kilbourne!" she shouts, then turns dramatically, lifting her nose in the air, and marches off. A paper slips out of her binder and falls to the floor.

"You dropped something," I call after her, bending over to pick it up. It's an essay for British Literature. Greer received an A. I raise an eyebrow. Greer detests that class. "Congratulations," I say, flipping over her title page.

Greer attempts to snatch the essay back, but I maintain my grip. "Lord of the Flies was a fabulous book," she tells me, reaching for the paper again.

I chuckle. "You liked it? Isn't this a little below twelfth grade standards, Greer? I wrote an essay on Lord of the Flies in eighth grade!" I exclaim, scanning her introductory paragraph. My jaw drops. "Greer Carson! This is my eighth grade essay!"

Greer grabs the essay. "It is not!" she cries, cramming it into her binder.

"Yes, it is! You just changed part of the introduction! You stole my paper!"

Greer's face flushes bright red. "I did not," she replies, indignantly, lifting her nose in the air. "It's...it's a coincidence."

I glower at her.

"Oh, all right!" she hisses. "I didn't write it. But I didn't steal it either! I bought it. And it was guaranteed to be an original. I can't believe this! I want my fifty bucks back!"

"Who sold you my paper?" I demand. Then it dawns on me. My jaw drops again. "Tiffany!" I screech. "I'm going to kill her!" I rush away from Greer, down the deserted hallway and out the front doors. I sprint all the way to my car and tear out of the parking lot. Tiffany! I will throttle her!

"Is Tiffany home?" I shriek at Mrs. Bryar when I run through the front door.

Startled, Mrs. Bryar drops her can of furniture polish. "No. She's not. Maria's upstairs though. Don't you have a meeting today?"

Italian Club. That's right. It's not important. At least not as important as murdering Tiffany. Selling my essay to Greer Carson! How many others has she sold? "Has Tiffany been home at all?" I ask Mrs. Bryar, ignoring her question.

"No. Shannon, are you all right?"

I race up the stairs without answering her. I toss my messenger bag into my bedroom, then go across the hall into Tiffany's. Since I replaced her doorknob, she can't lock the door when she leaves. She used to do that. It drove me crazy. I walk into her room and flick on the light. I groan, taking in the room. An absolute disaster. How am I supposed to find anything? Especially when I don't even know what I'm searching for. I begin opening Tiffany's desk drawers, digging through the uncapped pens and pencils stubs with their chewed erasers and candy wrappers, and wadded papers. Tiffany must have gone through my files. I have every paper I've ever written filed neatly away in a file cabinet in my closet. She's probably made copies of everything. The copies must be somewhere.

I find nothing of interest in Tiffany's desk. I move on to her dresser. They're as messy as the rest of the room. First drawer - socks and panties. Nothing. Except a box of condoms. I sigh, heavily. That's a whole other problem. Quickly, I open the box and count the condoms. All are accounted for. I move onto the second drawer. Nothing. Third and fourth drawers, more of the same. It's in the fifth and final drawer that I find something. It's buried beneath a pile of sweaters. An old cigar box. I shove Tiffany's knick-knacks out of the way and set the box on top of the dresser. I open it and gasp.

It's filled with money. A lot of money. Some of the bills are crumpled, but most are laid out straight, stacked on top of one another. I flatten out the crumpled bills and begin to count. I almost faint. Fifteen hundred dollars. Tiffany has fifteen hundred dollars hidden in a cigar box in her bedroom.

"What are you doing!"

I spin around and drop the money. It scatters at my feet. Tiffany's standing in the doorway, cheeks flaming, nostrils flaring. "Mrs. Bryar said you were looking for me," she informs me, angrily. "What are you doing? Why are you going through my things?"

I kneel down and scoop up the money. "What is this?" I demand, straightening, waving the money at her. "Where did you get this?"

"I saved it! You have no right to go through my things, Shannon!"

"And you have no right to go through mine!"

"I've never touched your things!" Tiffany shouts, storming into the room. She grabs the money from my hand and stuffs it into the cigar box.

"Yes, you did! My essays! You sold Greer Carson my Lord of the Flies essay for fifty dollars!"

"No, I didn't!" Tiffany argues. She closes the lid and holds the cigar box to her chest, tightly, protectively.

"Where did you get that money then?"

"I saved it! I save all my paychecks! I never sold anything of yours to anyone!"

I stare at Tiffany, thinking. It's true, she never seems to buy anything. I've never wondered what she does with the money she earns at Hot Dog On A Stick. I assumed she wasted it. "What are you saving for? Are you on drugs?"

Tiffany gives me a disgusted look. "Am I on drugs?" she repeats, incredulously. "Am I on drugs? Shannon, if I were on drugs, why would I have all this money? Do you think I'm saving for a years supply or something?" Tiffany demands.

That's true. I soften. "I'm sorry. Of course you're not on drugs. But why do you have that money hidden away? What are you saving for?"

Tiffany's still holding the cigar box tight, like I might try to steal it away. "What do you think? I'm getting out of here. You're leaving next year and I'm not staying behind. Frannie and I are moving to New York."

"You aren't serious."

"I am!"

I sigh, heavily. There's no use arguing. It's not like she's planning to runaway right now. "You didn't take my essay?" I ask her.

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"No. Greer probably stole it herself."

I frown. Greer is a lot of things, but not a thief. But then...do I really know Greer? I thought I did, just like I thought I knew Meg. Maybe I'm wrong about everyone and everything. "I'm sorry I accused you," I tell Tiffany. "I really am."

Tiffany glares at me a moment, then her face relaxes. "It's okay. I would have accused me, too. Now, get out of my room. Tyler's on his way up. He's had a very bad day and he's very tense. I need to relieve his stress."

"You are not performing oral sex on your boyfriend while Maria's next door in her bedroom," I say, sternly.

"Yes, I am and you can't stop me."

I narrow my eyes. Tiffany has no shame. "Where is Tyler?" I ask.

"Downstairs helping Mrs. Bryar move furniture. She needs to vacuum underneath the couch and armchairs." Tiffany smiles, dreamily. "Isn't Tyler so sweet?" She sighs. "Don't worry, we'll be quiet."

"Just...just...yes, be quiet."

Tiffany smiles, smugly. She won. She knows it. "You may leave now," she tells me, haughtily. She's still clutching the cigar box. She'll re-hide it once I'm gone. As if I'd sneak into her room and steal from her.

I leave the room and check on Maria. She's in her bedroom with Astrid, already working on her homework. The radio is on and I turn it up slightly. That should drown out any noise coming from next door. I take my messenger bag and walk down to the kitchen, passing Tyler on the stairs. I glare at him, so he knows I am aware of what he and my sister have planned. I sit down at the kitchen table and take out my calculus homework. I check the clock on the microwave. It's four o' clock. I have two hours before I leave for Wes'. Plenty of time to complete everything that's due tomorrow. I set to work, listening to the sound of the vacuum droning in the dining room, then across the foyer into the formal living room.

I've just closed my calculus book when Mrs. Bryar comes into the kitchen. She's wearing her coat and scarf. "All right then, Shannon. I'm done for the day," she tells me.

I push my chair away from the table. "I'll walk you out," I reply.

Mrs. Bryar opens her mouth to protest, but closes it quickly. She shrugs. "All right," she says.

All the way out of the house and down the drive, I talk about my Friday night date. I'd like to discuss other things with Mrs. Bryar, like Wes, but I doubt she'd approve. So, instead, I tell her about the disastrous date and my disappointment in Meg. Mrs. Bryar is very understanding. It's nice to have an adult actually listen to me for once.

"Girls lose their heads when they fall in love," she tells me, unlocking her car.

"I know," I agree, thinking of Tiffany.

"Your friend will realize he's a jerk in time. She just has to realize it for herself."

"That's a good point."

I say goodbye to Mrs. Bryar and wave as she pulls away from the curb. Across the street, in Kristy's driveway, I see Janet and Elizabeth standing beside Janet's car. I wonder how long they've been there. I didn't notice them when I came through the front door. Elizabeth has her hands on her hips and Janet's shaking her head. Arguing, as usual. They look in my direction. I begin to raise my arm to wave. Then I realize Elizabeth's glaring at me.