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us to the freak table. And where we go, Jordan goes as well.”
    “Couldn’t he ask to mentor another group?”
    They exchange glances. “You don’t get it, do you?” Nessa grabs a tray, hands it to me, then gets her own. “Mentoring us is Jordan’s punishment.”
    “Punishment? For what?”
    Suddenly Nessa is preoccupied, trying to decide between the spongy brown slop that’s labeled green beans and the green mess that’s meant to be dill carrots. I can’t eat any of this—no way am I going to even try to be adventurous with my diet and risk getting sick on my first day. All I get is a bottle of V8. Liquid vitamins, yummy.
    Celina and I pass Nessa. While we’re waiting to pay, Celina finally fills me in. “Nessa’s sister, Yvonne, killed herself last year. Jumped off the gym roof.”
    That explained what I’d seen earlier—the eruption of emotions, anger and I wasn’t sure what else tangled together, when Nessa lashed out at Jordan. “Why is Jordan being Nessa’s peer mentor a punishment?”
    “Jordan was dating Yvonne last year. Before she—” She fills in the blank with a sad look and a shrug.
    “So everyone blames him? That’s not fair—I mean, did she leave a note or something saying he was the reason why she killed herself?” I can’t imagine Jordan doing anything to hurt someone that badly. Suddenly I find myself judging Nessa’s sister as unstable, crazy, and I know nothing about her.
    Celina shakes her head, leading me through the maze of tables, sidestepping a puddle of unidentifiable brown and yellow mush. “No note. In fact, Nessa’s still convinced Yvonne didn’t kill herself. Sometimes she even talks like someone might have killed her—”
    “No. Really?” My voice jumps and people are looking. Celina throws me a glare that says quiet down, so I do. “Why would anyone—”
    “They wouldn’t. But it makes her feel better.”
    Denial. That I understand.
    Kinda like a girl with a busted heart trying to come to school and act normal.
    “Jordan actually volunteered to mentor Nessa,” Celina continues. “He thought since the two of them knew Vonnie better than anyone, maybe he could get through to her, help her. But sometimes all she does is lash out. He figures it’s better she hurt him than herself.”
    Wow. Makes me appreciate Jordan all the more. And wonder at Celina’s relationship with him—it was her he looked to when Nessa lost it this morning during the counseling session.
    We pass a table of girls who all look like college students. My main impression is pearls, perfect posture, and portrait-ready painted faces.
    “Divas,” Celina whispers. “The popular girls. They run everything.” She looks over her shoulder and I realize she’s not whispering because this is some kind of secret but because she doesn’t want Nessa to hear. “Nessa’s sister was the only sophomore Diva last year and Nessa was a shoo-in to join them this year. Until…”
    Nessa catches up to us, one finger caressing her Pandora necklace as we walk past the Divas. They studiously ignore us as if we’re less than dirt beneath their fingernails. I never thought the act of ignoring someone could be so very dramatic.
    Drama Queens. Like the diabetic I had to room with back when I was thirteen—that was the Year of Nothing Good.
    Deena was her name and she could make her blood sugar bottom out, sending her into seizures and a coma, or she’d make it rocket so high she’d be barfing and in danger of her brain swelling. She did it to manipulate her parents, who’d finally had her admitted when they couldn’t control her tantrums anymore. The doctors told them to stop visiting because they were “reinforcing Deena’s borderline personality.”
    That’s doctor-talk for “this chick is so damn crazy, if she was stable we’d send her to psych, and you’re just as crazy and are only making things worse.”
    My mom loved Deena. Have to admit, Deena, like every other Drama Queen I’ve ever