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“You don’t have to let someone cut in when they ask, you know. It’s not a rule.”
    “Well apparently it’s also not a rule to ask someone to dance just because their friends asked you to do it.” I kicked at an old wrapper that was floating around on the grass.
    “Trace just doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
    I knew Jess was just being nice. Trace knew exactly what he was missing. He was missing an eighth grade moron who stalked him during algebra class. But it felt better to agree with Jess, so I puffed out my chest and said, “Yeah! Trace Weston doesn’t deserve me. I’m done with him!”

    Jess clapped his hands once, but then both of our hands fell to our sides. We walked in silence for a moment, soaking up the fact that I had been undeniably rejected today.
    I squinted into the sun that was finally peering through the clouds. “Can I ask you a question?”
    Jess shrugged his shoulders once. “Sure.”
    “Are you popular?” I hadn’t been able to lose the image of the girls at the dance, how they had watched him and hung on his every movement. Even the guys were impressed by him.
    “What are you talking about?” Jess’s voice became higher suddenly, like he was embarrassed. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
    “Are-you-popular?”
    “Gemma, you need to forget that word popular. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t even exist.”
    “I knew it.” I folded my arms roughly around my chest and scowled at the ground in front of me. “You are popular. You’re just trying to deny it.”
    “Where is this coming from?”
    “The way you talked to that Conrad guy at the dance and the way all the girls-even the pretty ones-were swooning over you! It’s so obvious! I can’t believe I never saw it before!”
    His hands smacked against the sides of his legs with exasperation. “Popularity doesn’t mean anything.”
    “It means that you’re cooler than everyone else.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says the other cool people,” I fought back.

    “What makes them so cool?”
    “Nicer clothes, good looks, lots of money.” I could have gone on.
    “Look at me, Gemma. Do I wear nice clothes?” I looked at his un-tucked blue button shirt that he had on at the dance. His brown tie was now tied around his head like a bandana. Before I could answer, Jess continued, “The reason a lot of people know me and talk to me is because I talk to them. It’s not about nicer clothes or money or looks.”
    “No one wants me to talk to them. Everyone thinks they’re so cool.”
    Jess sighed. “Nobody in junior high thinks they’re cool.”
    “Humph.” I twisted some hair between my fingers. “I don’t care anyway. I don’t need any of them.”
    Jess squinted at me. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
    We were approaching the hole in the fence, so Jess reached for my backpack while I climbed clumsily through the hole. When Jess made it through, he stood right in front of me and watched me with serious eyes.
    “We’ve sort of been having some serious conversations lately, haven’t we?” His eyes traced the lines of my face as he spoke.
    I nodded, but I was physically unable to do anything else. The way he looked at me so closely, putting the rest of the world out of focus, took my breath away, and I couldn’t find my voice to speak.
    Jess hesitantly lifted his hand toward my face and cleared a stray piece of hair that had blown against my cheek.
    My heart was pounding in my throat as I memorized the feel of his skin against mine. His eyes were locked with mine as he tucked the hair behind my ear. But as he lowered his hand, his eyes brightened with a new thought and he stepped around me while saying, “It was kind of sad when Clarissa cut in like that.”

    I recomposed myself and turned to follow him. “Sad? Why?”
    He cocked his head to one side. “Clarissa and that hairspray.” He forced himself to cough. “I wonder if it could cause damage to my lungs.”
    “Plus, you were