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  I peel the shirt off and throw on another one – an almost sheer purple shirt I found with Julie at a second-hand shop. We used to go once a month and score at least one amazing find. When we’d go to school the next week and people would ask where we got our new outfit, we’d smile at each other over their heads – our own private joke.

  My bra straps stick out the top of the shirt, but other than that, it might actually work. I unclip my bra and pull it out one sleeve, then dig back into my suitcase to search for my strapless one.

  There’s a knock on my door, and my mom pushes it open before I can say a word. It’s like she knocks just so she can say she did.

  “You’re going to be late,” she says.

  “I’m almost ready.”

  “You look nice.” She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I wait until she’s gone to pull it out again. My eyes trail down to the scar above my wrist. I grab the black sweater from my bed and poke my arms through. There. Now I can pretend I’m actually starting over.

  I pause in the doorway and go back to slide the lock open on my window.

  ****

  The hum of students buzzes around me before the school even comes into view. When I turn the corner, it’s almost deafening. I thought the school population would be tiny compared to my school in Tulsa, but this is crazy.

  The school seems different now than it did when I walked by it on Saturday. Then it had looked regal, but welcoming. Now with all the students in front of it, it’s just like my school in Tulsa – intimidating.

  Everyone’s gathered in groups, and when I get closer, I catch snippets of conversation about summer vacations and the classes they’re in. The girls shriek when they see each other and talk closely together. I wouldn’t be able to squeeze into one of their circles even if I wanted to. The guys stand farther apart, but they look even harder to approach. They slap each other on the back, and some of them talk and laugh with the girls. I take a breath. One thing I do know for sure is I need to find a boyfriend at this new school if I don’t want the rumors to follow me here.

  And that kind of terrifies me.

  I stare at the crowd, studying the faces. He might go here. Jay. I don’t think there are many other schools around here. But all the faces are strangers.

  I push past them and let out a breath when I make it through the front door. My schedule’s crumpled inside my backpack and I try to smooth it out on my leg.

  Room 234-B. I find it too quickly, but take my chances and slip into the empty classroom anyway. The only person who will see I’m the loser who got here first is probably the loser who usually gets to class first. I keep my bag zipped up and my legs to the side of the desk to look as if I just sat down and practice my facial expression.

  My face is frozen somewhere between a scowl and a smile when the first person walks in – a girl with glasses and pimples on her forehead. I glance up and give her my best neutral-looking face. She smiles back at me.

  “You new here?” the girl asks.

  I nod. “I’m Kelsey.”

  “Sara,” she says, holding out her hand.

  I stare at it longer than I should before I take it, hoping she doesn’t notice my sweaty hands. She seems nice enough, but I can’t choose friends too soon. I smile at her and look around the room. The windows face the back of the school where the football field is. Right now it’s mostly empty, but I imagine there will already be practices and gym classes out there by tomorrow morning. I try not to remember going to my first football game in Tulsa, but it all comes flooding back anyway. Back then I thought life at high school was going to be perfect – that I was going to date a football player and have the ideal teenage experience. This time around all I want is to make it through.

  I reach up and pluck a hair from my eyebrow. I can’t help myself. I rub it between my fingers before I let it fall. It started last year with just pulling out a few, but then I couldn’t stop. Before I knew it, I had almost no eyebrows left. It just became one more thing people could tease me about. I didn’t care then, because honestly, things couldn’t get any worse than they already were. But the day I found out we were moving, I told myself I’d never pluck another eyebrow hair again. I was leaving the habit behind along with everything else in Tulsa. I still am. Just one won’t hurt.

  In another five minutes the room is full. A few people look at me when they sit down, but no one else says hello. People are talking all around me, even through me, as if I’m invisible. But I must stand out like a sore thumb now – the only person not talking. I was used to that at my old school, but here, I can’t be that person. My eyes land on Sara, but she’s already talking to someone else.

  I smile at the girl on my right when she turns away from the boy who greeted her. Her jet-black hair is pulled back and a hint of a smile plays on her face. It’s now or never.

  “I’m Kelsey,” I say, sticking out my hand. “Just moved here.”

  The girl studies me for a second and my cheeks burn. I drop my hand to my lap and paste on my biggest smile instead.

  “Melody,” she says finally, pulling a notebook out of her bag. It’s one of those gigantic purses. Almost all the girls I’ve seen are carrying these instead of backpacks. I stuff my own bag further under my desk and make a mental note to prepare to spend a big chunk of my summer job money on a purse tonight.

  “Have you had this teacher before?” I ask, glancing at my schedule. “Mr. Horrigan?”

  “Mr. Horrible?” Melody asks, laughing. Her laugh sounds like her name – melodic. I wish my own laugh sounded like hers, but mine tends to come out more like a snort. “Three times now,” she says. “He’s the only one who teaches World Issues this year, so I had no choice.”

  A guy laughs behind me, and I turn around, ready to smile. Instead, I see the blond hair and drop my pencil. Crap. What are the chances?

  “Hey,” he says, nodding his head. “Kelsey, right?”

  “Hi Taylor,” I say, my voice a notch too high.

  He opens a notebook on his desk to a fresh page. “Mel just doesn’t like Mr. Horrigan because he sent her to the office for answering her cell phone in class last year.”

  “It was my mother. It could have been an emergency,” Melody says. She swats him playfully. Friends, I guess. Or maybe more. He’s definitely cute – tall with sandy blond hair and eyes that light up when he smiles. Exactly the kind of guy who would ignore me in Tulsa. Or worse, yell something at me when I walked down the hall. Too bad he probably already thinks I’m nuts.

  I wait for him to turn away from Melody. “Sorry about yesterday,” I say. “I remembered I left the stove on at home and panicked.” The stove? I cringe. How lame is that?

  “No problem,” he says. “I thought maybe I smelt bad or something and scared you off.”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “You two have met, I take it?” Melody says.

  I shrug. “Kind of. I walked by his house while he was outside. He almost killed me with his basketball.”

  Melody nods but doesn’t crack a smile. I stare at my desk and pretend to search for a page in my notebook until Mr. Horrigan walks in. I breathe out as the room gets quiet, then whip my head around when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Good luck,” Taylor whispers, winking. Melody is busy digging through her bag. I hesitate for a second until a slow smile spreads across my face.

  “Thanks,” I say. I turn back around and take off my sweater even though I’m still cold. Mr. Horrigan clears his throat.

  “Welcome to World Issues. I know some of you took this class because you thought it would be an easy credit, but rest assured, I will make this the hardest easy credit you’ve ever earned. There will be a paper due each week on a current world issue and I expect you all to stay on top of current events. You will do a presentation at mid-term and end of term, and take a quiz every other week. We will also have a debate every Friday, on which you will be graded based on your knowledge of the issue.” Mr. Horrigan pauses, looking
around the room. “If anyone would like to drop the course, I suggest you leave now and don’t waste my time.”

  A couple chairs scrape against the linoleum and two guys leave the room. They look exactly like the stoners from my old school. Maybe stoners are the same everywhere – like there’s a globally accepted stoner look. No one seems surprised they left – not even Mr. Horrigan. By the smug expression on his face, I get the feeling he made that little speech for the distinct purpose of getting them out of his class.

  I face the front and try to pay attention although no one else seems to be – everyone is whispering around me. Mr. Horrigan raises his voice a notch.

  He seems nice enough from what I can tell – not horrible at all. He’s fairly young compared to most of the teachers I had in Tulsa – late twenties, early thirties maybe. His hair is parted right down the middle, and he must be wearing contacts considering how much he’s blinking. I can easily imagine him as a slightly uncool seventeen-year-old with glasses and pimples.

  The whispers around me start to get louder, and I turn my head slightly. Several eyes are on me and they all move away when I look. My stomach drops. This can’t be happening. Not here.

  Mr. Horrigan turns to the blackboard, and a piece of paper flies toward my desk, but lands on Melody’s instead. She passes it to me without meeting my eyes. I unfold the note under my desk and squint to make out the words. Someone’s horny for Horrigan.

  My jaw drops. Because I was paying attention to him? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in a classroom? Someone behind me tries to stifle a laugh. No, it must be something more. My hand starts shaking, and I try to glance down at myself without being obvious.

  Crap.

  My cold, perky nipples are clearly visible through my almost sheer purple shirt. My head spins, remembering. The strapless bra hunt. My mother interrupting me.

  I take a sharp breath. This can’t be happening. I cannot ruin everything on the first day of my chance to start over.

  I close my eyes and silently count to three. My face is hot and dozens of eyes are on me. Mr. Horrigan pauses mid-sentence. I can tell he’s about to tell everyone to be quiet and I know from experience someone will blurt out some embarrassing comment about me when he does.

  I stand, my legs sliding the chair out behind me so fast it slams into Taylor’s desk, and bolt toward the door. A guy fake coughs from the back corner, trying to disguise the word slut. I slip out, letting the door slam behind me, the eruption of laughs and shouts muffled by the door as I sprint to the bathroom.

  I wait in a stall until my breathing slows. Seconds pass. Minutes. Holy crap. This was not part of the first day plan. I replay the scene over and over again, cringing more every time.

  The bell rings, and I wince. I lean against the stall until the door to the bathroom opens and girls spill in. I pull my sweater out of my bag and put it back on.

  “How was English?” someone asks. I peek through the crack by the stall door and spot two girls, one brunette and the other blonde, standing in front of the mirror, fixing their hair.

  The brunette girl shrugs. “The usual. But I’m sitting beside Brady Hudson again so that’s a plus.”

  “Lucky you. I think I’m going to change my last name to Huddle or something so I can sit beside him next time.”

  “You’re not even in the class.”

  “But if my name was Huddle I’d make sure I was in all Ms. Friedman’s classes. She always does alphabetical order.”

  I can see the brunette roll her eyes in the mirror. “Did you hear about the new girl? Mandy said she totally flashed Mr. Horrigan’s class.”

  I suck in my breath. Flashed? This day is getting worse by the minute.

  “I heard David talking about it, but I thought he was exaggerating.”

  “Nope. Her shirt was so see-through she might as well have been sitting there topless.”

  “Seriously? Hasn’t she ever heard of a bra?”

  I cringe behind the stall door. I’m so stupid. I had this whole day planned out perfectly, and ruined it before I even walked out the door.

  “Yeah. What a slut,” someone says.

  I slink back away from the door and lean against the side of the stall to keep from falling over.

  “I guess the look on Mr. Horrigan’s face was priceless. Ashley said you’d think he’d never seen tits before.”

  “Probably hasn’t.”

  I drop onto the edge of the toilet seat and close my eyes. The two girls laugh and start talking about some guy one of them met over the summer, but I barely hear them. I hold my breath until they leave and then let it out in a choked sob. I try to hold it back, but the tears come anyway.

  A toilet flushes, and my heart stops.

  I don’t look out the crack this time. The water runs and I let myself breathe until it stops. Then, silence.

  I close my eyes. Please leave.

  But she doesn’t. Finally the air dryer comes on, filling the quiet. When it stops, I inch myself toward the stall door.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  My hand freezes on the lock.

  “It’s Kelsey, isn’t it?”

  I open my mouth but can’t bring myself to speak.

  “It’s me – Melody. From World Issues?”

  I slide the lock open. “Hey,” I say, trying to seem casual even though it’s impossible. I make the mistake of looking in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and swollen against my ghost-white face.

  Melody looks me up and down, then turns back to the mirror. “They’ll forget about it by tomorrow, you know.” She hands me a Kleenex while running a brush through her hair with her other hand. “Well, maybe not tomorrow, but by next week for sure.”

  The way she says it, so matter-of-factly, almost makes me smile. I take the Kleenex and dab at the running mess of mascara under my eyes. “You think so?”

  “Once, this girl Cassandra bled through her jeans without noticing. When she got up, her chair had a big, dark red spot. That was much worse than this, and people forgot about that within a month.”

  “But everyone’s talking about me. I already heard them.”

  “So let them talk.” She digs through her bag and comes up with a makeup remover wipe. “Here.”

  The bell rings, and I hesitate before taking it. “Shouldn’t you get to class?”

  “I have Ms. Chapel for Geography. She always takes forever to start. Spends the first half hour rearranging desks.”

  “Oh,” I say. I close one eye and wipe the makeup off completely, being careful not to touch my eyebrows. I blink a few times and wait for my eyes to focus again on my reflection.

  “Much better,” Melody says.

  I look at her in the mirror. “Thank you.”

  “One more thing,” she says, glancing at my chest. She slides her arms out of her sleeves and produces a hot pink bra out of one of them. “I think we’re the same size.”

  I stare at it, dangling in front of my face. The bras I left stuffed in my suitcase are all various shades of nude and white. This one is like something a stripper in a candy store would wear – if there was such a thing. “You want me to put it on?”

  “Well, I’m not planning on forcing you, but if you want it, it’s yours.”

  “What about you?”

  She shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

  I take it and slip out of my sleeves the way she did to put it on. It fits perfectly. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  Melody laughs. “Come on, we’re late for class.” I follow her out the door, even though I’d rather hide in here for the rest of the day. “What class do you have?”

  I dig my schedule out of my bag and try to smooth it out. “Uh, English with Mrs. Moynes.”

  “Let me see,” she says, taking the schedule from my hands. “Room 253-A. Down the hall, third door on the left.” She points down a hallway and hands the schedule back. “Do you have a phone?”

  I nod and hand it to her. She types something in and hands i
t back.

  “In case you get lost,” she says.

  I stare at my phone, her name sitting in my contacts. She’s already walking away when I look up. “Thank you!” I yell. It comes out squeaky, and I cringe. I take my time folding my schedule into a tiny square until Melody is out of sight. The hallway she disappeared from is empty.

  What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have chosen a sheer shirt to begin with, let alone forget the bra. I pretty much just showed my boobs to twenty students I haven’t even met yet. Before that, I’m pretty sure no one had ever seen them but me and…well, mostly just me. I slide down to the floor and rest my head between my knees. I wanted to be someone different here, but not that kind of different.

  I spread my hands out on the floor on either side of me. The cool of the linoleum runs through my hands and up my arms. I can’t give in this easily. Maybe Melody is right. Maybe they will forget all about it by next week. I drag myself up off the ground and wipe my hands on my pants, hanging onto Melody’s words as I walk toward room 253-A.

  A long beep rings through the hallway, and I pause with my hand on the doorknob. There’s a brief second of static and then a voice on the PA system. “Kelsey Masterson please report to the principal’s office. Kelsey Masterson.”

  The wall in front of the office is filled with graduation class photos. I stop and scan the faces until they start to blur. Jay’s not there either. My hand slips on the door, and I wipe it on my pants. I button my sweater up all the way. I’ve never been in trouble before. Never even handed an assignment in late.

  The secretary at the desk smiles at me when I give her my name, and I take it as a good sign.

  “Wait here a moment,” she says and disappears into a room at the back. I try to smile at the guy next to me – a short kid with his shoes untied – but he doesn’t look up from the floor. The secretary pokes her head back through the door. “Okay, Mr. Casey’s ready for you.”