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mean?”
    “It means I can’t get beyond his personality. No amount of beauty could make up for it.”
    “Not beauty. He’s … hard-edged. Sexy.”
    I rolled my eyes.

    44
    Vee honked and tapped her brake as a car pulled in front of her. “What?
    You disagree, or rough-and-roguish isn’t your type?”
    “I don’t have a type,” I said. “I’m not that narrow.”
    Vee laughed. “You, babe, are more than narrow—you’re confined.
    Cramped. Your spectrum is about as wide as one of Coach’s microorganisms. There are very few, if any, boys at school you would fall for.”
    “That’s not true.” I said the words automatically. It wasn’t until I’d spoken them that I wondered how accurate they were. I had never been seriously interested in anyone. How weird was I? “It isn’t about the boys, it’s about … love. I haven’t found it.”
    “It isn’t about love,” Vee said. “It’s about fun.”
    I lifted my eyebrows, doubtful. “Kissing a guy I don’t know—I don’t care about—is fun?”
    “Haven’t you been paying attention in bio? It’s about a lot more than kissing.”
    “Oh,” I said in an enlightened voice. “The gene pool is warped enough without me contributing to it.”
    “Want to know who I think would be really good?”
    “Good?”
    “ Good ,” she repeated with an indecent smile.
    “Not particularly.”

    45
    “Your partner.”
    “Don’t call him that,” I said. “‘Partner’ has a positive connotation.”
    Vee squeezed into a parking space near the library doors and killed the engine. “Have you ever fantasized about kissing him? Have you ever stolen a peek sideways and imagined flinging yourself at Patch and crushing your mouth to his?”
    I stared at her with a look I hoped spoke appalled shock. “Have you?”
    Vee grinned.
    I tried to imagine what Patch would do if presented with this information. As little as I knew about him, I sensed his aversion to Vee as if it were concrete enough to touch.
    “He’s not good enough for you,” I said.
    She moaned. “Careful, you’ll only make me want him more.”
    Inside the library we took a table on the main level, near adult fiction. I opened my laptop and typed: The Sacrifice , two and a half stars. Two and a half was probably on the low side. But I had a lot on my mind and wasn’t feeling particularly equitable.
    Vee opened a bag of dried apple chips. “Want some?”
    “I’m good, thanks.”
    She peered into the bag. “If you’re not going to eat them, I’ll have to.
    And I really don’t want to.”

    46
    Vee was on the color-wheel fruit diet. Three red fruits a day, two blue, a handful of green …
    She held up an apple chip, examining it front to back.
    “What color?” I asked.
    “Make-me-gag-Granny-Smith-green. I think.”
    Just then Marcie Millar, the only sophomore to make varsity cheerleading in the history of Coldwater High, took a seat on the edge of our table. Her strawberry blond hair was combed into low pigtails, and like always, her skin was concealed under half a bottle of foundation. I was fairly certain I’d guessed the right amount, since there wasn’t a trace of her freckles in sight. I hadn’t seen any of Marcie’s freckles since seventh grade, the same year she discovered Mary Kay. There was three-quarters of an inch between the hem of her skirt and the start of her underwear … if she was even wearing any.
    “Hi, Supersize,” Marcie said to Vee.
    “Hi, Freakshow,” Vee said back.
    “My mom is looking for models this weekend. The pay is nine dollars an hour. I thought you’d be interested.”
    Marcie’s mom manages the local JCPenney, and on weekends she has Marcie and the rest of the cheerleaders model bikinis in the store’s street-facing display windows.
    “She’s having a really hard time finding plus-size lingerie models,” said Marcie.
    “You’ve got food stuck in your teeth,” Vee told Marcie. “In the crack 47
    between your two front teeth. Looks like