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contain her surprise as she pulled it over her head.
    The shirt was totally cute. It was bright blue with small yellow flowers hand-sewn on the shoulders. And nothing on it was black.
    â€œI love this!” Megan told Happy.
    â€œI hate it,” Happy replied. “I was going to throw it away.”
    â€œWhere’d you get it?” Megan asked as she tucked the shirt into her jeans.
    â€œI made it,” Happy said.
    â€œHuh?!” Megan was shocked.
    Happy gave a heavy sigh as she admitted, “I sew.”
    Megan came out and admired her reflection in the mirror. “You’re really talented.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Happy replied. Very carefully, she picked Megan’s old shirt off the floor, where it was burning a hole in the tile beside the toilet, and threw it away. The chemicals immediately began to dissolve the metal can as white, wispy smoke filled the bathroom. “Your shirt is eating the castle. We gotta take care of this before we go back to class.”
    Megan waited while Happy called for a janitor.
    A fully transformed zombie woman, dressed in an oversize Hawaiian muumuu, arrived within seconds. She put the whole can inside the stainless-steel hazardous waste cart she’d brought with her.
    Happy said, “Mahalo,” Hawaiian for thanks , and the woman disappeared as fast as she’d arrived.
    Once again, Megan felt like she was a guest at a resort hotel. She wondered if drinks would be served with tiny umbrellas. Of course, she might never know the answer. Zombies rarely got thirsty.
    After the trash can was gone, Happy explained, “My parents are fashion designers.” She paused then said, “They’re kind of famous.” Happy blushed andpointed to herself. “My whole name is Henrietta Alicia Paulette Patricia Yeverman.”
    â€œYeverman!” Megan knew that name. “Wow.” She looked at Happy in a new way. Her roommate was rich — very, very rich — and connected to celebrities. And, she was a fashion expert. Megan felt bad for doubting her.
    â€œClose your eyes before they fall out,” Happy said with a scowl. “Don’t make me regret telling you. I don’t want people here to know.” She groaned. “I told my parents they are not invited to Visitors’ Day.”
    Whoa! Megan didn’t know what was more surprising: Happy was the daughter of famous fashion designers. Happy could sew — in color. Or that there was a Visitors’ Day!
    One thing at a time. “Why black?” she asked as Happy slicked on a fresh coat of dark lipstick.
    â€œI want to be different,” Happy replied in a thin voice. “Everyone here gets a fresh start. Didn’t you change anything about yourself when you left your last school?”
    â€œUh, no.” Megan had no idea what Happy was talking about. “Change what?”
    Happy turned to Megan. “You said Brenda changed her name from Gertrude, right?” Megan hadtold Happy about the hallway incident the day before while they ate decayed zucchini casserole for lunch. “Now, take Brooke for another example. We went to the same middle school in New York. She was the least popular girl there.”
    â€œSeriously?” Megan asked. She tried to imagine Brooke without the Bs.
    â€œShe got here, found the Bs, and” — Happy smacked her lips together — “with a little work on her nasty attitude, ta-dah, she’s popular.” Happy slid the lipstick back into her bag and added, “Those other Bs weren’t the queens at their old schools either.”
    â€œHmmm.” Megan thought about what she was like at her middle school in Dana Point. She was pretty quiet. And she tended to avoid confrontation with mean girls like Brett’s sister, Hailey. It hadn’t occurred to her to try to be more popular or to change who she was when she got to ZA. But she did feel stronger here. And less likely