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shrimp, because it’s Dub’s favorite food. I get the peel-and-eat kind instead. It’s not so bad. Plus I’ll be saving a few grams of grease and will be that much closer to wearing a bikini this summer.

    I scoop a spoonful of rice and beans onto my plate, as well as a chunk of baked sweet potato. I refuse a salad because it’s next to the dessert bar, but that’s all Cherish gets. A salad—not dessert.
    “Colorful,” Mom says when we sit down. She has a plate full of broiled fish sprinkled with some red powder and steamed broccoli. “Good to see you making healthy food choices, Calli.”
    Cherish laughs. I swear our waiter does too as he hands me a Diet Coke. He looks like he’s in college. He’s cute even if he isn’t Chick-fil-A Guy cute. When the waiter reaches to give Cherish her drink, she tilts her head and smiles her most charming of smiles. She may not do well at school, but she excels at flirting.
    The waiter hands Liz a glass of iced tea with lemon and Mom a glass of water without lemon. She has a few food allergies, which may be related to lupus, and lemons are one of them.
    “Thanks.” Mom opens an alcohol wipe to clean her hands even though she washed them a moment ago.
    As the waiter walks off, Cherish stands up. “I need some extra salad dressing.”
    I watch her as she struts. She doesn’t go near the salad bar; she follows the waiter instead. He stops with the tray still in his hand and the two of them chat and laugh for a moment. Cute Waiter Guy sets the tray down and writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to her. I bet it’s his number. I’m surprised I didn’t find a huge collection of them when I raided her room.
    Mom’s too consumed with scraping the spice off her fish to notice Cherish flirting, and Liz is elbow deep in
her pile of steamed crab legs and fried okra. Not that they’d have a problem with it. They want her to have a healthy social life. I don’t think they have a clue how healthy it is.
    Cherish leans into Cute Waiter Guy the same way she did when she kissed Dub. My stomach twists and aches. When it feels like this, all I want to do is stuff it with something sweet.
    Forget the bikini.
    When Cherish returns to the table, I move my colorful, nutritious plate to the side for Cute Waiter Guy to pick up. “Excuse me.”
    I make no excuses when I return with an enormous slice of pie. French silk. If Mom says anything, I’ll tell her I’m getting in touch with my heritage. She doesn’t make a comment, but she purses her lips when she sees my selection.

EARTH DAY
    Tuesday, April 22

    “HAPPY EARTH DAY,” Mr. Hatley, my biology teacher, says as I enter his class. Newspaper streamers taped to the doorframe brush against the top of my head.
    “You too.” Globe-looking beach balls dangle from the ceiling. Gunner bops one and it flies across the room. Mr. Hatley is too busy greeting students with Earth Day cheer to notice.
    After the tardy bell, Mr. Hatley sits on top of his desk. “Earth Day brings me hope.” He stretches out his arms like he wants to hug the air. “Today people around the world will celebrate this diverse planet we call home. So let’s do the same and promise to protect it!” Mr. Hatley claps his hands as if a play had just ended. He pauses like we should clap too, but the room is dead silent.
    I have to give him credit—he’s passionate. He got teary eyed at the beginning of the year talking about the ecological effects of the hurricane. Salty ocean water blew into fresh water, killing gators and other animals.

    “If our society didn’t require so much energy to heat and cool our homes, run our machines, and fuel our cars, would we need as many refineries and power plants?”
    Just when I’m sure he’s going to start in on toxic air pollution all over again, he says, “So let’s go on a Waste Walk to see what you can do as students to lessen energy needs on campus. Pack your belongings, except for a piece of paper and