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any idea what people are saying about you.”
    “Me?” The surprise in my voice isn’t fake. I’m an under-the-radar kind of gal. The thought of people talking about me makes me have to swallow three times before I can breathe normally.
    “Seriously, Mary Jane,” Jessica chimes in. “What’s gotten into you?”
    I look from Jessica, to Samantha, to Cassie. There’s concern there, worry even. And friendship. I feel like I’m slipping, falling.
    Samantha leans in front of Jessica and whispers, “What were you thinking? Why would you sit at the jock table?”
    “I know.” I stare down at my hands, hands that fed jocks. The Girls are getting to me. They’re melting my defenses. I can feel it happening. I have to bite my lip to keep back the tears. I love these people. I need them to like me.
    “You’re right.” I look to Cassie. “I don’t know how it happened. I—I knew you guys didn’t want me at your table. I was so upset. I didn’t know where to go.”
    “What do you mean we didn’t want you at our table?” Cassie demands.
    “Because everybody hates me now!” My voice cracks as I say it. And it’s so loud that the ax murderer glances our way.
    Cassie puts her hand on my arm. “We don’t hate you!” she insists.
    “How could you think that?” Jessica seconds.
    “We’re just worried about you,” Samantha adds.
    “You’re not mad?” I ask, amazed, relieved, repentant.
    “How could we be mad at you?” Cassie asks, squeezing my arm. “But . . .”
    I knew there would be a but, and I brace myself.
    “But,” Cassie continues, “you’ve got to get a grip, girl. It’s like you’re edging toward a cliff or something. You’re in self-destruct mode.”
    “And Nicole’s right,” Samantha says. “Star really is hurt.”
    “Why?” I ask, wondering how Samantha knows this. “Because of Jackson? Jackson wasn’t even at the jock table.”
    “Not about lunch,” Samantha explains, which proves she’s been talking to Star. “About last night. Things are really messed up.”
    M.J. has about thirty-seven defensive comebacks for the branch hopper. She’s shouting all of them to my brain at once. I will not listen to M.J. , though. She’s the one who got me into this mess in the first place.
    “Make it right, Mary Jane,” Cassie advises in a therapeutic tone of voice.
    “What am I supposed to do?” The question is rhetorical. I think.
    “ Talk to Star.”
    This suggestion sounds about as inviting as “Pet the snake.”
    “It’s the only way,” Jessica chimes in.
    “Tell her you’re sorry,” Cassie continues.
    If you ask me, Star should be the one telling Jackson she’s sorry for dating behind his back. But nobody asks me, so I keep my thoughts to myself.
    Cassie is relentless. “Tell her she’s got nothing to worry about.”
    I sigh, realizing that this is undoubtedly true and wondering if it would kill me to admit it to Star.
    Cassie squeezes my arm again. “Mary Jane, I really think you need to do this. It’s our senior year. I just want us all to get along and have the best year ever. We’ve waited our whole lives for this. Don’t screw it up.”
    Cassie says this so earnestly that I find myself agreeing with her. I’m nodding. I want a great senior year, too.
    “Don’t look now, but Lauren’s watching you,” Jessica whispers.
    I look. Can’t help myself. Lauren’s pretending to read her history book, but I can see her seeing me.
    “Do it, Mary Jane,” Cassie whispers. “Talk to Star fast, before this goes any further.”
    By the time study hall is over, I’ve made my decision. No doubt I will continue to long for Jackson House, to cherish his pencil, perhaps even to write his name in my diary, if I start keeping a diary. But I will hide these things inside for the sake of The Girls, of whom I am one. Not only that, but I’ll make peace. The Plain Jane in me can hardly believe that Star actually feels threatened by me. But I don’t want to take any