Monday morning is the first I've seen Tiffany since Friday. I went to bed early last night while Tiffany was still out. She's in the bathroom when I walk in, leaning against the counter, brushing her teeth, still in her pajamas.

"You look like hell," she informs me.

"Thanks," I mumble. I'm already in my uniform and roll up the sleeves of my blouse. I splash cold water on my face, then press a clean washcloth to my skin. I look in the mirror. I do look like hell. "I suppose you know what's happened," I say.

"Yeah. Big surprise," Tiffany replies. She spits into the sink and runs her toothbrush beneath the faucet. "Thanks a lot for narcing on me to Elizabeth."

"Did she get all self-righteous and yell and lecture you, too?" I ask. I'm almost sympathetic.

"No. But she did cry," Tiffany says, then tosses her toothbrush into the holder and strolls out of the bathroom.

We don't speak again.

When we reach SDS, Maria walks me to the high school building. I'm holding my messenger bag and the lunch Maria packed for me last night.

"You should consider today a new beginning," Maria tells me, then trots off toward the middle school building, calling out to her friend, Lily.

Maria needs to stop watching talk shows.

Greer swoops down on me the moment I push through the doors. I suspect she's been hovering there, waiting. She smiles widely and insists that I look much better than yesterday. We both know she's lying. Greer and I walk the halls together, me with my head bent low, clutching tight to my messenger bag and Greer giddily calling out and waving to friends. There's still a wedge separating Greer and I. I suspect it will exist forever now.

Lindsey isn't in first period.

I didn't do my homework this weekend. I luck out in European history because the teacher is absent. In World literature, I luck out again because Sally White rolls her eyes and slides her paper over to my desk. I fill out the entire chart in less than five minutes. It's barely legible. At the end of the period, after I've finished guessing every answer on the pop quiz, Sally allows me to copy her Italian homework as well. Usually, I dislike pity, but right now I'll take whatever anyone is handing out. Even if it comes from Sally White.

In microbiology, Sally and I sit down at our table in the back. It's funny because a couple months ago it was Kristy's and my table. Now Kristy sits in the front with other kids. But not today. Today, she plunks herself down at the empty table in front of mine. I'm busy scanning the chapter I didn't read over the weekend and ignore her.

Kristy turns sideways in her chair and watches me ignore her. "Will you just say something to me?" she asks. "Anything?"

I continue ignoring her.

"Look, Shannon. I'm sorry I had to do it. You wouldn't listen though. And your parents wouldn't listen either. There was nothing else I could do. I am sorry. I'm sorry you're hurt and that that guy's hurt, too," Kristy says. She waits for me to respond, but I don't. "Are you doing all right?"

I turn a page in my textbook. "Sally," I say, casually. "Do you hear something? Like an annoying insect buzzing around our heads?"

"Yes, I hear something," Sally replies. "I hear Kat asking you if you're all right."

I purse my lips and uncap a highlighter. I drag it across a definition. "Sally, would you please tell Kristin Amanda Thomas that I will never ever speak to her again? And that she is not my friend because she is smug, self-righteous and thoroughly insufferable. And she and her reprehensible mother have stolen from me the only person who loves me."

"Kat, Starshine says – "

"You know, this isn't the fourth grade," Kristy snaps. "And I'm not playing telephone with the two of you." Kristy whirls around and hunches over her textbook. In less than a minute, she's turned around again, looking furious, "And Shannon Kilbourne," she hisses, "if you think some man you barely know is the only person in this world who loves you, then you are pathetic." She spins back around and slumps over her work again.

As usual, Kristy has no idea what she's talking about. She's such a child.

Sally and I begin our worksheet, following Dr. Clark's instructions on the board. Sally does most of the work since I haven't read the chapter and quite frankly, I don't much care for microbiology anymore. Kristy works alone.

While copying down what Sally dictates, a thought occurs to me. I hadn't considered it before. "Sally," I say, setting down my pen, "will you ask Kristin why she still tattled on me after I told her I'd broken up with Wes?"

"Kat – "

"You don't have to repeat what she said," Kristy grumbles. "I can hear perfectly fine. And Sally, you may tell Shannon Kilbourne that in the future, she ought to be more careful about who parks their Volvo in her driveway for two hours."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Sally asks.

I smack Sally in the head with my notebook. Dr. Clark yells at me, but that doesn't make it any less satisfying.

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During our lunch period, Greer and Sally meet me at the pay phone like I ordered them to. The pay phone is outside the administration building in one of the connecting glass hallways. I just saw Sally in Italian, but haven't seen Greer since this morning. Neither looks thrilled when I show up. I suspect they know what's coming.

"We're calling Stoneybrook Middle School," I inform them.

Greer and Sally exchange a look.

Greer sighs. "Why?"

Why? Isn't it obvious? "Wes is on his lunch hour. He'll be free to talk. Just a short conversation. I only need him to listen for a couple minutes. We'll arrange to meet somewhere after school and have a longer talk then," I explain.

Greer's digging through her lunch bag and speaks without looking up, "Shannon, he doesn't want to speak to you," she says.

"Yes, he does," I insist. "He's just afraid." I pick up the phone and hold it out to Sally. "Here. You call the office and ask for Wesley Ellenburg. Say you're his mother."

Sally stares at me, blankly. "Why do I have to make the call?" she asks.

"Because you sound the most like his mother," I answer, matter-of-factly.

"The secretary doesn't know what his mother sounds like."

"Will you take the phone?" I snap.

Greer grabs the phone from me. "I'll make the call," she says. "I've met Mrs. Ellenburg plenty of times. I can do her voice."

"It doesn't matter what you sound like!" Sally protests.

I glare at her and open the phone book. I flip through quickly, searching for the listing for Stoneybrook Middle School. When I find it, I read the number aloud to Greer. She dials.

"You are such an enabler," Sally tells her.

Greer rolls her eyes, then holds up a finger. "Yes? Hello?" she says into the receiver in a breezy voice that sounds eerily like Wes' mother. "I'm calling for Wesley Ellenburg. This is his mother, Molly Ellenburg. It is paramount that I speak with him immediately…Oh…Yes, I understand…Thank you." Greer hangs up the phone. "He isn't there," she says in her normal voice. "He's out sick. He won't be there tomorrow either."

I kick the wall. Why is he hiding from me? I almost scream.

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. I feel a bit calmer. "After school, we'll just have to drive to his parents' house in Greenvale. Greer, you know where they live. We'll drive out there and I'll confront him in person. I'll explain everything."

Sally regards me, coolly. "If you show up there, odds are Mommy's going to beat the hell out of you, you do realize this, correct?"

I glower at her.

"I'm not taking you out there," Greer informs me. "I drove you to his apartment, I made the phone call. He doesn't want to speak to you, Shannon. It's over. You need to accept that. And you need to leave him alone."

I fold my arms and shake my head. "You don't understand," I say. My voice catches. I recover. "You have never been in love. You have casual sex, not relationships. You're always on the lookout for your next conquest. That isn't what this was! You can't lecture me because you don't understand. Sex is a game to you. It's meaningless. Don't lecture and judge me. You aren't better than me."

Greer glances around, ensuring the hallway is truly deserted. She lowers her voice and hisses, "I have casual sex because it's exciting. Yes, it's meaningless, but I go in knowing that. I don't go in with any expectations beyond having a good time. And I don't sleep with guys who have other expectations either. You can't compare you and me. You had expectations. And so did he. From what you say, you were in a serious, committed relationship. What were his expectations of this relationship, Shannon? Did he think it was going to be long term? Did he think that maybe someday he'd marry you? Buy a house, have kids, and get a dog? What you're feeling right now sucks, but he feels fifty times worse because he's the one who got fooled. Think of that and leave him alone!"

I keep my arms folded and look away.

"Fine!" Greer exclaims, throwing her arms into the air. "I wanted to be your friend again, but God, Shannon, I don't even know who you are." Greer spins around and stomps off down the hallway.

I turn my head to Sally and give her a pointed look. "Well?"

Sally shrugs. "Greer said it all," she tells me. "What else can I do? Beat you over the head with a sledge hammer?"

"You aren't going to lecture me again?" I ask, suspiciously, thinking of yesterday. Sally certainly wasn't afraid to speak her mind then.

"I prefer to save my breath, thank you."

I stand, awkwardly and shift from one foot to the next. "If you knew what it's like," I begin, softly, "to need someone because you love them so much – "

"I was in love once," Sally interrupts.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, yes, Mr. Italian Riviera and your penicillin shot."

"I wasn't in love with him," Sally replies, sounding as bored as ever. "I didn't even know him. I was just angry and drank too much tequila." Then she turns and walks away from me, too.

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After school, I actually attempt to do my homework. Maria and I sit together at the kitchen table, our books spread around us. Maria's eating olives straight out of the jar, but I don't say anything. Where's Tiffany? I can't even imagine.

I can't concentrate either. I chew on the end of my pen, staring at my notes, and everything's a blur. Nothing makes sense anymore. Half-heartedly, I scratch out a translation for my Italian homework. I don't even check my dictionary to make sure it's perfectly correct.

When the doorbell rings, I leap up so quickly that I knock over my chair.

"I'll get it!" I announce and make a dash for the front door. I rise onto my toes to peer out the peephole, heart pounding at a breakneck pace. And it halts in an instant and sinks with disappointment. Through the peephole, I see a pumpkin-colored sweater and a girl in loose pigtails.

I yank open the door. "What are you doing here?" I ask, glumly.

Mary Anne holds out a covered plate. "Nannie sent me over with this. It's strawberry walnut bread or something. I was hanging out with Kristy and…The Thomas-Brewers are all worried about you and your sisters. They want to know how you are."

I cock an eyebrow at her. "So…you're their spy?" I respond, icily.

"No!" Mary Anne protests, cheeks flushing.

Right. I know all about Kristy and Mary Anne. Mary Anne, Kristy's little errand girl, the gatherer of dirty secrets and the doer of dirty deeds. I fold my arms and tilt sideways, casually, so my shoulder leans into the doorframe. "I don't want that," I say, nodding at the bread.

Mary Anne continues holding it out to me. "Why not?" she asks.

"Because it's from the house of self-satisfaction."

Mary Anne looks at me, curiously.

"Take it back and tell the Thomas-Brewers to stay out of my life and my sisters' lives and to leave us alone."

"Kristy's really upset, you know," Mary Anne comments, apparently ignoring what I just said.

I laugh, meanly. "Kristy's upset?" I howl. "How do you think I feel?"

"Foolish?" Mary Anne guesses.

"No!" I snap. What does Mary Anne care anyway? "It's really none of your business," I inform her. "I barely even know you. We've barely spoken in the last three and a half years. Why are you so interested in me and my scandalous life? You like gossiping about me with all your friends?"

"No. I feel sorry for you," Mary Anne answers, honestly. "And you're the only person I know whose life is worse than mine."

So. The truth is known. How pleased I am that I make Mary Anne feel superior. She and Kristy deserve each other. "I make you feel better about your own life?" I ask, coldly.

"Maybe," Mary Anne admits. "You aren't the only person who's disappointed in their life, you know. You aren't the only person who's been rejected and heartbroken."

"My heart isn't broken!" I protest, furiously. "It's missing! Elizabeth Brewer ripped it out and stole it!"

I slam the door in Mary Anne's face.

Then I return to the kitchen and slide into my chair. I pick up my pen and resume pretending to do my homework. Maria continues punching numbers into her calculator. She acts like nothing is amiss. At a quarter to five, we start dinner. Maria and I decide on macaroni casserole because it's a) one of the only things we can make, and b) one of the only things we have all the ingredients for. The A&P appears to have forgotten to deliver our usual groceries on Saturday and I've just now noticed. While Maria dumps the noodles into the strainer, I make a quick call to the A&P and briefly chew out the manager for losing our standing order. What if I hadn't noticed there was no food for another three or four days?

I hang up and begin grating the cheese. "I think I should have told him to switch our detergent order," I tell Maria. "I think I'm having an allergic reaction to ours. Have you been itching lately?"

Maria shakes her head. "No. I feel fine," she replies.

"I'll call him back," I say and set down the grater.

Before I reach the phone, the laundry room door bangs opens and Mom sweeps into the kitchen. She looks murderous.

I freeze and stare at her, sickened. Dear Lord. She finally took Elizabeth Brewer's call!

"You won't believe who called me at work today!" Mom practically screams.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

"Who?" asks Maria.

"Someone from Social Services!"

I remain frozen for a moment. What? I blink, confused.

"Someone's filed a report on your father and I! A social worker called wanting to set up a home visit!" Mom shrieks. "She refused to tell me who filed the report, but I know who it was!" Mom points in the direction of Kristy's house. "That Brewer woman! That nosy, meddling busybody! Who does that damn woman think she is? Calling and making up outrageous lies about our family! You won't believe the insanity the social worker was telling me about! Shannon, that you're having sex with teachers and Tiffany's running some kind of upstairs brothel and Maria's eating canned pie filling for dinner!"

"Are they going to take us away?" Maria asks and I don't miss that her voice sounds almost hopeful.

"They can't take us away!" I shout at Mom.

"Of course not," Mom replies, angrily. "No one's going anywhere. Social Services has much more important problems to deal with than the ravings of a madwoman. I don't know what kind of strings that Brewer woman pulled, but your father and I can pull just as many, just as hard. Don't worry. Your father's already making phone calls. This whole embarrassing thing will be smoothed over in no time. I realize Elizabeth Brewer thinks she's awfully high and mighty for snagging herself a millionaire, but that doesn't count for anything. Old money still matters in this town. Who is she? She's no one. Your father's a Kilbourne. That still matters in this town, too."

Maria drops the strainer as tears pour down her face. She races from the kitchen, sobbing into her hands.

Mom tosses an arm into the air. "See? That Brewer woman's upset Maria!"

"Is the social worker coming here?" I ask, fearfully. Dear Lord. Maria would tell her everything!

"No! No one's coming here! I told you, your father's taking care of it. Money and power, Shannon, that's what matters," Mom says, then huffs out of the room.

I pick up the cheese grater and hurl it across the room. It knocks a decorative plate off a shelf. The plate shatters. Damn those Thomas-Brewers! It isn't enough they ruined Wes' and my lives, they have to destroy my entire family's as well? Plus, they just broke my dead grandmother's favorite plate.