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special help, just want to talk maybe . . .‖

    ―Thanks,‖ I said, edging away, grinning my frozen little rictus of a grin. ―Thanks a lot.‖

    I didn‘t exactly run, not like I had from Mr. Anderson. Oh, I wanted to, but my eyes stung and I would probably have bashed into a wall. And, anyway, running was just too pathetic. But I was still moving pretty fast and so, of course, as I burst through the door and into the general swirl, I didn‘t look where I was going.

    Bam!

    I plowed right into David Melman so hard that even he staggered. My notebooks, bright M&M colors, fluttered like broken-winged kites. My trig textbook promptly got turned into a hacky sack by assorted legs and feet before some kid scooped it up on the fly and backhanded it to David.

    ―Whoa, you okay? Here, let me.‖ David stooped just as I bent to pick up my notebooks and we banged heads. My vision sheeted white. This time, both our trig books went to ground. ―Jeez.‖ David put a hand to his forehead. ―Are you all right?‖

    ―I‘m fine,‖ I said for what must be the millionth time that day. How many hours had I been at this already? I could feel a knot beginning right above my left eyebrow. Great.
    Now I‘d look like a rhino. ―Are you okay?‖

    ―Yeah.‖ David started piling notebooks into my arms. ―I just hung around in case you needed, you know, help getting to your next class.‖

    ―No, I‘m good,‖ I said, as the second bell rang. ―But I‘ve got to go. See you, okay?‖

    ―Wait.‖ David grabbed my elbow. ―You won‘t get there in time if you go that way.
    Come on, we‘ll take a shortcut through the cafeteria.‖

    This time, I didn‘t argue. We pretty much jogged down the stairs and into the lunchroom, which already had a sprinkling of kids in small knots, drinking coffee and munching doughnuts. Someone shouted at David, but he waved them off and then we were blasting out of the lunchroom and into a side corridor.

    ―Okay,‖ David said. He was panting a little, and his dark hair was mussed. ―You go all the way down the hall, last door on your left. I have to go upstairs now, but I‘ll be back in time to take you to your third period class. And we‘ve got the same lunch. Sit with me and I‘ll introduce you around.‖

    ―I don‘t need an escort,‖ I said as he started for a narrow stairwell.

    ―Yes, you do,‖ he said over his shoulder. ―You just don‘t know it yet.‖

    7: a

    Honors English, second period: I blew through the door after the tardy bell. Of course, the only seats left were in front. I scuttled into one closest to the wall. Everyone ignored me, which was fine. The teacher, Dewerman, was nowhere in sight. Most everyone was chatting with someone else except for one girl two rows back who didn‘t look away.
    She was pretty in a sporty kind of way, with a long blonde ponytail, good skin, and preppy clothes, the kind of girl who might be either a cheerleader or captain of the soccer team.
    When my eyes skipped over her, she turned to whisper something to another girl, who shot a glance, made a face, giggled, and whispered something back.

    I looked away. A survival tactic I learned on the psych ward was how to quickly size up potential enemies or garden-variety badasses. Ponytail did not like me, that was clear. Fine. You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you . But I wondered what I‘d done to tick her off. Unless she disliked new kids on general principle.

    My gaze skimmed the walls. Dewerman liked posters, the ones with celebs urging you to read, and art reproductions: Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Picasso. Behind his desk and snugged along the wall to my left were three bookcases crammed with hardcovers and paperbacks, arranged alphabetically. My eyes ran over the spines—and then the title of a very familiar book hooked my gaze like the business end of a steel barb.

    Oh shit . My stomach bottomed out. My eyes cut away, but the title was burned onto my retinas the way the sun scorched