I am awakened Wednesday morning by the sound of Maria screaming.

I leap out of bed and dash into the hall. Maria's in the middle of the hallway, jumping up and down, shrieking and batting at her head. Tiffany flies out of her bedroom followed by my parents out of theirs. Mom races down the hall in a silk gown and short robe and Dad's right behind her, half-dressed with shaving cream slathered all over his face.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Mom bellows.

"My hair!" Maria screeches. "There's something in my hair!"

Mom reaches Maria and grabs her left wrist. "Hold still," she commands and Maria obeys. Mom parts Maria's hair and begins picking through it with her fingers. "My God," Mom groans, "how the hell did you get lice?"

"Lice!" Tiffany and I exclaim.

"Lice?" Dad repeats.

Maria screams.

"Knock that off," Mom snaps. She continues searching through Maria's hair. "I can see the nits and there's at least one louse crawling around in there. Stop screaming, Maria! It's perfectly treatable. I know where you picked this up. At the Brewer house!" Mom says in disgust. She moves away from Maria and grabs my arm, pulling me toward her. Her fingers begin inching through my hair. "You have them, too," she announces.

"I do not!" I protest.

"I see the nits. Come here, Tiffany. This is just fabulous, girls. Your father and I probably have them, too. This is going to make me late for my meeting. Ted, you'll have to go down to the pharmacy and buy some permethrin shampoo."

"I have an early deposition!"

"Fine! Shannon, you'll have to go then. Wash your sisters' hair and comb out all the nits. Then strip the beds and wash all the sheets in hot water. You'll have to take the bedspreads to the dry cleaners. It's a good thing Mrs. Bryar comes today. I'll leave a note telling her to wash everything in sight. This is really inconvenient, girls!"

It's hard not to glare at Maria. Of course, it's not really her fault. It's those Thomas-Brewers'. Again.

"Mom…" Tiffany says, meekly. "Can you get lice anywhere on your body?"

"Of course. Anywhere there's hair," Mom replies, absently. She places her hands on her hips and sighs, staring down at Maria's hair. "Why?"

"I think…I think I have lice…somewhere else…"

"What?" Mom asks, distractedly. Then her face changes. She rolls her eyes. "Oh, God," she groans.

"I thought it was a yeast infection!"

"You can't tell the difference?" Mom snaps.

Maria stares at them from one to the other. I also stare, perplexed. Then it dawns on me. I gasp, hand flying to my mouth.

"Have you…have you noticed little pimples around your thigh area?" I ask Tiffany and she nods. "I thought I was allergic to the laundry detergent!" I cry.

Mom throws her hands into the air. "They have crabs, Ted," she informs Dad.

Dad makes a horrific face. "Gross!"

"Huh?" says Maria.

"They have pubic lice, Maria," Mom explains, irritably. "Well, I certainly hope the rest of us don't get that, too."

I turn on Tiffany. "Thanks a lot, Tiffany!" I shriek at her.

Tiffany's jaw drops. "Me?" she squeals. "I thought it was established that we got them from Maria!"

Maria scowls. "I don't have crabs!" she shouts.

"Then we got it from Shannon!" Tiffany yells. "Thanks a lot, Shannon!"

Mom presses her fingers to her temple and sighs. She thinks this is bad?

"No, you know where we got them?" I screech. "Probably from one of Dad's hookers!"

Dad laughs, loud and fake. "Oh ho ho ho," he chortles. "I don't think so."

"Hookers?" Mom shrieks. "Hookers!" She whirls around and slugs Dad hard in the chest.

Tiffany points an accusing finger at Mom. "We got it from Julian!"

Mom's face registers brief surprise, but she recovers swiftly. "This has gotten beyond ridiculous," she says, testily. "We know where the lice came from. Maria brought it home from the Brewers. Now, Maria, I'm not saying it's completely your fault, but you should be more careful about what type of people you consort with. Stay away from those people and that house!" Mom spins around, offering a final venomous glare at Dad and storms down the hallway.

Maria's face has flushed crimson red. "I think it's really disgusting that none of you know who gave us crabs!" she shouts, then runs into her bedroom and slams the door.

I narrow my eyes at Tiffany. "I don't even want to know how you gave me crabs," I spit out.

"And I don't want to know how you gave me crabs," she shoots back. "But I think I know. You're always in my stuff!"

I spin on my heels and stomp back into my bedroom, kicking the door shut.

An hour and a half later, Tiffany, Maria, and I are sitting in my car outside the pharmacy on Essex, waiting for the pharmacists to show up. We've already hauled the bedspreads to the dry cleaners and at home our bed sheets are washing in very hot water. Every so often, Tiffany and I glare at each other. Ten minutes to nine, the pharmacists finally pull up beside us and get out of their car. We watch them walk up to the front door and the male pharmacist unlocks the door.

"All right, Maria, go in and ask for the shampoo," I tell her.

"I'm not going in!" Maria protests from the backseat. "You go in. You're the one with crabs!"

My face grows warm. No way can I walk inside that pharmacy and have a conversation with those pharmacists about treating my head and pubic lice.

"Even though this is Shanny's fault," Tiffany announces, nastily, "I'll go in. Give me the money." She holds out her hand, refusing to look at me.

I slap it into her palm. How is this my fault? I'm not the one who had sex with two guys in two days time! I certainly didn't get lice from Wes. I groan, inwardly. Oh, no. If Wes ends up with crabs…that will just make reconciliation that much harder. Great. I'm never wearing anything I find in Tiffany's bedroom ever again. Nor am I ever sitting on her bed again. From now on, I'm using the downstairs bathroom, too.

When Tiffany comes out of the pharmacy, she's carrying a large white bag. She opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. "I bought seven bottles," she says. "That guy in there told me that head lice and pubic lice are two totally different things. He said he wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone who accomplished having both simultaneously."

"Lovely. You must be so proud," I reply.

"You have both, too," she retorts.

"Only because I've been using the same toilet as you."

"You can't get crabs from a toilet seat," Tiffany snaps. "I asked. He said you only get them from sexual contact, clothes, or bedding. I told you to stop stealing my stuff!"

"You and that pharmacist had quite the conversation, didn't you?"

"Well, he was a lot more helpful than anyone in our house!"

Maria leans in between our seats. "When the social worker comes – "

"There isn't going to be a social worker!" I interrupt her. "Dad's taking care of it!"

Maria slumps back in her seat and folds her arms. Is she nuts? She wants to be taken away?

As soon as we get home, I wash Maria's hair. First with regular shampoo, then towel dry it and apply the permethrin shampoo. I scrub at her head so hard she shrieks that I'm hurting her. While the shampoo sits on her head, Maria washes mine, then Tiffany's since Tiffany and I both refuse to let the other touch us. I don't understand why Tiffany's upset with me. This is obviously her fault. She's the one who brought repulsive Sam Thomas into her bed. It doesn't shock me in the least that Sam has head lice and pubic lice. I intend to inform Elizabeth and Kristy at the first possible opportunity.

After rinsing the permethrin shampoo out of our hair, we slowly and carefully pick through each other's hair with the nit combs. It takes forever. I boil silently inside thinking of Mom and Dad, happily off at work while I take care of everything. As usual. I hope they have a fun time treating each other tonight because I'm certainly not helping them. While I'm finishing picking the nits from Maria's hair, Tiffany fills one of the sinks with water and pours in an entire bottle of household cleaner. Then she tosses in all our hairbrushes and combs.

"The pharmacist said to do this," she explains, then peels off the rest of her clothes and steps into the shower, pulling the curtain closed. "Hand me another bottle of shampoo," she orders, sticking an arm out from behind the curtain. "I need to do my other treatment."

I hand over the bottle. "You can pick those nits out yourself," I inform her.

"I intend to," she snaps.

Mrs. Bryar arrives at eleven forty-five and is surprised to find Tiffany, Maria, and I in the living room, folding our freshly washed linens. Right now, our pajamas and clothes from this morning are spinning in the wash in very, very hot water. The rest of our dirty clothes lay in a pile in the laundry room, waiting for their turn. Tiffany informs Mrs. Bryar that Maria gave us head lice and although Maria scowls quite viciously, she does not protest. Immediately, Mrs. Bryar sets to work vacuuming our bedrooms.

At fifteen after twelve, Tiffany, Maria, and I pull into the SDS parking lot. Beside me, Tiffany grumbles that we should be allowed to miss the entire day. But I have an important lab in geology and Maria has a Spanish test.

"You're going to have to tell Tyler, you know," I inform Tiffany, as I turn off the engine.

Tiffany lifts her nose in the air. "I'm lucky I have a supportive partner," she says, haughtily. "Unlike some other people whose names happen to be Shannon. Have fun telling the math geek about the lovely parting gift you gave him." Tiffany hops out of the car and slams the door.

It's lunch period. I find Greer and Sally eating together in a corner of the cafeteria.

With Abby Stevenson.

I plop down in a chair beside Sally and glare at Abby. She bites into her banana and looks in the other direction.

"Where have you been?" Greer demands, like she's my mother. "We just called your house!"

"I had something to take care of," I answer, vaguely.

Greer gives me an exasperated look.

"It had nothing to do with him," I snap. I realize I forgot to bring my lunch. I also forgot to eat breakfast. I'm not hungry anyway. "If you must know, Maria gave us head lice."

Sally pushes back from the table, stands, and walks around to sit beside Abby.

"I treated my hair!" I exclaim.

"I don't think you're supposed to be at school," Greer says. "Shouldn't you be at home combing out the dead lice?"

"Not for another eight hours."

Abby turns to look at Sally. "You're right. She's totally gone off the deep end."

"Don't judge me, cheater!" I retort. "Oh, yeah, and thanks a lot, Greer, for telling me that Abby's the one who sold you my paper!"

Greer stares at me from over her sandwich. She lowers it, chewing slowly. "Why would I tell you? You wouldn't speak to me or accept my apology. Abby was speaking to me."

"And that makes it all right?"

Greer furrows her brow. "Why are you even bringing this up? I really don't think you're in a position to lecture me. It's becoming increasingly difficult to hang around you, you know."

I don't even know why I'm bringing it up. Who cares? It doesn't matter. It's just stupid homework. I should give Abby all my papers. I'll simply toss them out my bedroom window. My past perfection can rain down on her.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a Smart and Sober club meeting?" Sally asks me.

I wave a hand, dismissively. Who cares about that either?

"I took notes for you during class," Sally tells me, lifting the flap of her messenger bag. "We're finishing today's microbiology lab tomorrow. You can help Kat and I finish it and then you'll still get credit."

"I'd rather eat my foot than put my name on anything with Kristy Thomas'."

"You're crazy," Abby tells me. She crumples her lunch bag and stands. "You're like hit someone with a bat crazy." She turns and walks away.

"Yeah, tell Kristy to watch out!" I call after her.

Sally turns to Greer. "Did someone get hit with a bat?" she asks her.

Greer brushes her off. "Lindsey isn't here again today," she informs me.

"Did Lindsey Dupree hit someone with a bat?" Sally inquires, arching an eyebrow.

I wave my hand. "Only Kristy," I answer. "Don't worry about Lindsey," I say to Greer. "Her grandparents are taking care of her. They're college professors. They're smart. They know what they're doing."

Greer looks doubtful.

I wave that away, too. "How many sick days do you think public school teachers are allowed?" I ask Greer and Sally. I called Stoneybrook Middle School this morning while Tiffany and Maria were dressing. Wes called in sick again. He can't hide at his parents' house forever.

"Do you have a dictionary with you?" Sally asks.

"No. Why?"

"Because I want you to look up the word stalker."

If I had my microbiology notebook, I'd smack her again.

Someone stops beside our table. We all look up. It's Meg Jardin. She looks down on us, puckering her cherry red lips.

"Are you all right?" she asks me.

"Yes!"

"Because Kara and I were watching you from across the room and we wanted to let you know that you look atrocious. Are you eating? Because you look like I did at the end of the summer that year my mother sent me away to fat camp."

I narrow my eyes to slits.

"That doesn't improve how you look," Meg says.

Greer tosses a package of twinkies at me. "God, Shannon! Will you eat something? Meg's right. You look terrible. Meg and Kara could tell from all the way across the cafeteria!"

"Why aren't you eating?" Meg asks me.

"None of your damn business, Margaret," I snap. "Go commit a hate crime with your boyfriend and get out of my face."

Meg puckers her lips again and adjusts the navy and gold silk scarf arranged neatly around her neck. "Don't call me Margaret," she replies, snottily, then stalks off back across the room. No doubt to gossip about me with Kara Ferguison.

Greer gapes at me. Even Sally appears appalled.

I don't care.

I refuse to work with Abby during geology lab. She partners with Amanda Kerner instead and I pair up with some boy named Lawrence. He scolds me three times because I have no idea how to read the topographic map. It's a dumb lab anyway. During study period, Greer and I sit together like we've sat together every day this week. Meg watches us from her empty table. I pretend not to notice.

After school, Greer, Sally, and I leave the building together. I wish they'd stop following me around all the time. I still despise them. Kristy and Abby are a few feet in front of us, walking close together and whispering. I see Charlie parked at the curb waiting for them. While we're going down the steps, I glance up and see Dr. Dupree's station wagon turn into the SDS parking lot.

"There's Lindsey now," I say to Greer. "See? She's fine."

The station wagon's barely come to a full stop when Lindsey jumps out and rushes toward us. Everyone, including Kristy and Abby, freeze mid-step and stare.

Lindsey has no hair.

Or at least much less than she had six days ago. Her blonde hair falls just above her chin.

"George and Sadie cut my hair!" she screeches at us. "Dr. Petrinski told them, too! They cut my hair! They cut it with the kitchen scissors!"

Everyone stares at her, speechless.

"George held me and Sadie cut it!" Lindsey shouts. She doesn't seem to notice that people are staring. "Dr. Petrinski said it was a crutch!"

"It looks good," Kristy tells her.

"It's cute," Abby insists.

"Really!" Greer chimes in.

"I hadn't cut it since second grade!" Lindsey cries. "They'll regret ever doing this to me!" Lindsey begins stomping up the steps. "I have to get my books!" she calls back to us.

Horrified, we all watch her retreat until she disappears through the front doors. Then we turn back around toward the parking lot. Dr. Dupree's sitting in the station wagon, gripping the steering wheel, staring at us without expression.

"Does Granny know about the bat?" Sally asks.

"Lindsey's fine," I insist and race down the steps, not looking at Kristy or Abby, and thankful that Greer and Sally don't follow.