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Only my teachers knew anything about my little episode , but no one had made the connection to my gerbil-screwing, sex-crazed grandmother. Now everyone would look her up, if only to suck up to Dewerman.

    Would there be anything about our family? Me?

    ―. . . comparison analysis.‖ Dewerman‘s voice leaked through. ―Suicide is a highly individual choice. The psychoanalysts would tell you there‘s an intimate connection between creativity and madness.‖

    Danielle raised her hand. ―Doesn‘t suicide run in families?‖

    Dewerman opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. ―Well,‖ I said, trying to sound all jokey, thinking—stupidly—I could salvage something by being so very über-cool, ― I’m still alive.‖

    ―Well,‖ said Danielle, ―so far.‖

    8: a

    I motored out of English fast enough to blur. If David was there, I didn‘t see him. I don‘t know what freaked me out more: Dewerman‘s gushing, people finding out about my crazy grandma, or Danielle‘s razor-sharp eyes.

    I clicked to crisis mode, my go-to where the world smears and I slide into a parallel reality, like when I‘m running. Rebecca called it depersonalization , but that‘s bullshit, Bob.
    I never float along and watch myself . I watch you guys. Think Ariel in a fishbowl. The world becomes water and I bob along in my glass bubble, right alongside. You see me, I see you, but we inhabit different bodies of water. You can‘t touch me, and I can‘t touch you and that‘s just fine.

    I floated like that through honors-level world studies and on to fourth period gym where I made like Clark Kent‘s girlie clone, changing in a bathroom stall instead of a phone booth. No one cared. The teacher spent half the period talking about safety and the other half making us shoot hoops. No stress, no fuss.

    So, by lunch, I was starting to relax.

    Big mistake.

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    I don‘t know what I was thinking. Once the fire happened—and especially once Matt was gone—I learned to hate the cafeteria, that momentary pause when a thousand eyes scanned and then dismissed me, the whispers trailing like bad odors as I made my way to a solitary corner. But this was a new school, right? My get-normal campaign? Things had to get better. Besides, David said he‘d save a seat.

    Right away, I spotted Mr. Anderson standing just inside the door. Okay, good omen. He was talking to another student, but as I scooted by, he nodded and said, ―Ms.
    Lord.‖ I kept on another four steps, heard my name and, yes, there was David standing at a far table, waving both arms. I started that way—

    And then spotted Danielle on his right.

    Okay, this was bad. Even across the lunchroom, I read her expression: Stay away or I’ll scrape your tonsils out with a fork.

    Yeah, see, this was just more trouble I didn‘t need. So, without breaking stride, I did this abrupt midcourse correction, a complete one-eighty—which was my second big mistake.

    Someone yelped, ―Hey!‖

    A split second later, I collided with a taco salad, salsa, French fries, and a large Coke. The guy carrying the tray cursed. Sticky brown fluid sloshed across my chest. Ice chattered to the floor like dice. A squishy gob of sour cream and black beans glued itself to my left thigh.

    And there was Absolute. Complete. Total. Silence.

    I could hear Coke raining onto the floor. No one was moving except Mr. Anderson, who was already starting over. Everyone else gawked at the freak, the alien who‘d just beamed down. David stood, a look of shock leaking across his face. Danielle smirked.

    ―Whoa,‖ said the kid whose lunch I was wearing. ―Are you okay?‖

    Mr. Anderson was ten feet away. ―Ms. Lord . . .‖

    ―I‘m okay.‖ My voice was strangled, gargly, strange, and then I was moving fast, scuttling out of the cafeteria and down the hall, banging into the bathroom. Empty. No one at the sinks. I gulped air like a hooked salmon dying of slow suffocation. The remnants of the kid‘s taco salad had oozed