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so easily turned the conversation away from the flowers.
    â€œWe’ll get it before our next party, for sure,” Arlene said.
    As we settled in for the evening—Arlene picked off half her pepperonis and I ate them, just like we always did—I almost did forget about the flowers and the fact that somehow word had gotten out. Even though she was the only person who knew why I got them, I told myself that if she had slipped and told someone, she would have told me. I shouldn’t doubther. I shouldn’t even question her—that would be borderline insulting, like I was questioning her friendship. Sure, she hadn’t always been the greatest at keeping secrets, but with a juicy one this big, she wouldn’t betray me.
    When Haden Prescott won the worst actress Razzie, Arlene said, “Next stop, reality TV!”
    I fell asleep that night thinking about Haden and wondering if she would win the Academy Award. She was a long shot—the other actresses she was up against had all been nominated before. But maybe, I thought, drifting off, maybe she would surprise us all.
    The next day we about burned our eyes out watching all the preshow stuff. E! did a whole thing on the nominees, where they had started, the TV shows they’d done, the movies they’d made. Although they mentioned Haden’s Razzie-nominated movies, they never once said the words Golden Raspberry Award .
    â€œHow could they not mention that?” I asked.
    Arlene popped a cherry sour ball in her mouth and said, “’Cause. These awards are about respect. They wouldn’t give the Razzies the satisfaction of mentioning them in the same breath as the Academy Awards.”
    As pictures of Haden flashed on the screen, the voice-over said, “She’s struggled in Hollywood for years for the chance to be taken seriously as an actress, but with bit roles and question a ble movies, her journey has been an uphill battle. But Haden has endured and, with The Silent Widow, has proven herself as worthy an actress as the other women in her category.”
    The entertainment-news guy said to the camera: “Yes, we’re certainly rooting for her to win, but the truth is, Haden Prescott is already a winner, just by being nominated. She’s already landed roles in films from such directors as Nicolas Capicaccio and Stephen Allman. It seems that, as an actress, Ms. Prescott has finally come into her own.”
    When the awards finally began, I rooted for Haden. She looked beautiful in her golden sequined gown, all poised and elegant. Nothing of the Satan-spawned hottie remained in the woman who sat in the plush red velvet seats of the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood.
    â€œI can’t believe she went from the D-list to an Academy Award nominee just like that.” I snapped my fingers for emphasis.
    â€œI know,” Arlene said. “It just goes to show that any loser can turn it around. She went from reject to royalty in just a couple of months.”
    Even though Haden didn’t win, I still felt that what Arlene said was true: Anyone can turn it around. Just like that. Maybe even me.
    Â 
    As I walked through Bowie’s front doors on Monday morning, I felt sick to my stomach, and it wasn’t because of cramps,which had mostly passed, thank goodness. I hoped with all hope that everyone would have forgotten about the flowers. I wasn’t sure that I had the energy to keep dodging comments about who sent them or if I needed more feminine products. I tried to remember how I’d felt hanging out with Arlene all weekend—how tight our friendship was, and how what Kirstie heard didn’t make sense.
    Before first period, Kirstie appeared next to my locker as I spun the combination. “Why didn’t you call me back?”
    I put my messenger bag in my locker and took out my English book and notebook. With everyone who passed me—the halls were full of students—I hoped no one would say