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warm.”
    I had never skipped school. I’d never had a reason before. He leaned toward me. I liked that he wasn’t too tall. He smelled good, like dark, clean dirt. I know that sounds not so appealing, but on him it was delicious. I nodded yes. I was ready to go wherever with him. I looked into his big, dark eyes, started to close mine as our heads tilted…
    â€œHey, October.”
    I jumped. It was Green, standing there with about twelve books stacked up in his pudgy little arms.
    â€œOh are you kidding me?” I said.
    â€œHow’re you feeling?” he asked. Then he looked at Trevor. “You’re the new kid. Hi. I’m Chris Lee.”
    Not very nicely I said, “I call him Green because yesterday he was green and puking his guts out.”
    â€œI feel much better.” He spoke seriously. “October, your forehead looks bad.”
    I couldn’t believe this pipsqueak had ruined my moment. And then the bell rang.
    â€œYou going to Chemistry?” Green asked me. “I’m walking that way.”
    How did he know where I was going? So much for skipping the rest of the afternoon. As we all walked toward the library doors, Trevor took my hand. I got a shock, like when you touch metal.
    â€œOh!”
    â€œSorry,” he said. “The carpet I guess.”
    I rubbed the spot on my hand. “It’s nothing.” It hurt a lot.
    Chris went ahead of us and Trevor stopped me in the doorway. “Can I see you? Tonight?”
    It was Thursday. I didn’t know what I’d tell my parents. Plus wasn’t I supposed to play hard to get? “Yes,” I said. So much for hard to get—he’d obviously gotten me.
    â€œMeet me at the Stop N Shop by your house at seven.”
    â€œHow do you know where I live?”
    He shrugged and grinned. He was so damn attractive.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
    â€œI’ll buy you an ice cream cone.”
    He jogged off toward his next class and I turned toward mine. Green was standing in front of me.
    â€œWhat’re you looking at?” I asked.
    â€œYour forehead’s bleeding,” he said. “And that thing on your neck is growing.”
    I groaned. So attractive. Maybe Trevor hadn’t noticed. Yeah, right.
    I ducked into the closest restroom.

5.
    School bathrooms are universes unto themselves. It doesn’t matter what school you’re in, public or private, anywhere in the country, they all have the same smells, sounds, and accoutrements. There is the scent of pee mixed with industrial-strength disinfectant. The toilet paper, if there is any, pulls down in a little square so thin you could read a textbook through it. It takes thirty to make a reasonable wipe. A sadist must have invented the paper towels because they’re like sandpaper, impossible to use for fixing make up, dabbing tears, or blowing your nose. Good news is you exfoliate every time you dry your hands. The tile walls make everything loud and there’s always hair in the sink and at least two toilets haven’t been flushed and in the girls’ room the sanitary products wastebaskets are always overflowing.
    The cut on my head was bubbling up with blood that was beginning to drip into my eyebrows. I found a stall with toilet paper, took about fifty squares and tried to staunch the flow. It wasn’t helping. The mark on my neck looked bumpier and bigger and redder than it had that morning. I was falling apart. The bathroom door opened.
    â€œHey. Need some help?”
    Luisa. Of course.
    â€œThat crow really did a number,” she said. “I have some tissues, real tissues, in my bag.”
    â€œI can do it.” The blood was saturating the toilet paper. “Yuk.” I tossed the wad into the trashcan and grabbed a paper towel. I winced as I tried to wipe up the blood with the stiff, rough paper. “I don’t know why it started bleeding now.”
    â€œI saw