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” Miranda appeared relieved, because her eyes glowed. “ I ’ ll be out front at three-thirty. Look for me in the front parking lot, okay? ”
    â€œ Yes. Thanks Miranda. ”
    After checking her watch one last time, Miranda turned around and left the office, leaving her and Mrs. Turner alone. Mrs. Turner beamed at her , then began showing her around the school.

 
Chapter Eight
    Â 
    In English class, Pickles found herself ensconced between two girls. To her right sat a girl named Lily. Her long blonde hair had been caught up in a braid that ran down her back to her waist. Fine strands escaped to frame her heart-shaped face with golden curls. Mary Lou sat to the left. Ginger-colored hair seemed to float in a spiraling cascade over her shoulders. Pickles was surprised to note the pale blue eye shadow on Mary Lou ’ s eyelids and lashes that could only be so thick with the aid of mascara. Mary Lou sighed and tapped her professionally manicured nails against her desk top.
    The teacher, Mrs. Ballot, was reading them a chapter from a literary classic. Pickles was too nervous to focus, even though this was normally the type of subject which would have fascinated her.
    After what felt like ages, Mrs. Ballot closed the book and grinned at the class. Bells that announced class changes filled the air, marking the fact Mrs . Ballot was to switch with another teacher, to who m Pickles had yet to be introduced. Mrs. Turner had told her the teachers swapped classrooms six times a day according to the subject , which was different than at her old school where it was the students who did the classroom changing.
    As Pickles gazed around the room, she realized she had five whole minutes in which to introduce herself to the girls sitting next to her. The idea frightened her. She turned and glanced at Lily , who continued writing in her notebook with a purple, feather-topped pen.
    â€œ Hello, my name is Pickles . ”
    Saying nothing , Lily continued to scribble in her notebook.
    â€œ Do you like to write? ” Pickles asked. “ I do. It looks like you ’ re doing something pretty serious. ”
    Giving her a dark frown , Lily picked up her chair and edged it two inches to the right. Lily then turned , and began speaking to a brunette across the aisle , who Pickles was pretty sure was named Francesca. Face burning, Pickles stared straight ahead.
    No . I can ’ t let one snooty girl keep me from making friends, or else I ’ m going to be unhappy the entire year. I can just talk to somebody else. Pickles turned around and glanced at Mary Lou , who was examining her manicure .
    â€œ I like your nails, ” Pickles said.
    Mary Lou peered at her , raising an eyebrow.
    At least I ’ m not being ignored this time. Pickles tried again. “ I ’ m Pickles , ” she offered, extend ing her hand. “ Nice to meet you. ”
    Completely ignoring the hand, Mary Lou continued to stare at her. Her lips pulled back over her teeth , revealing a dark smear of red on one front tooth. Pickles knew better than to point it out, and she knew even more to not pursue a conversation with Mary Lou. The girl looked like a tiger about to strike.
    Feeling sick to her stomach, Pickles turned and stared straight ahead as a plump, bespectacled teacher with flyaway hair came into the room with a history book tucked under her arm. Pickles didn ’ t think she would be enjoying this class much, either.
    ****
    Lunch was a blessing as much as it was a curse. When the bell rang to release them from class, Pickles had no idea who she was going to sit with. She clambered to her feet with her knees clack ing together , grabbed her back pack , and prayed the day would get better. She had just started walking down the aisle when somebody kicked her leg from behind , sending her on a flying trajectory forward. T he carpet rose to meet her .
    Pickles gasped , blinking in hurt, surprise , and confusion .
    â€œ Oh,