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surprise.”
    “I’m still deciding, but I’m leaning towards Sailor Moon. I feel like going old school this year,” Izzy says.
    “Tuxedo Mask,” Trent says. “I could do that. Not many other male choices in that series who aren’t villains.”
    Izzy glosses right over the comment with a long list of other options. Halloween is her favorite holiday, of course.
    When we get to school, I leave them without saying goodbye. At Clovis High School, no one knows I talk to Izzy’s friends. I am Russ Pearson, Garr’s best friend, top running back, and popular because of it. I’m supposed to think people like Izzy are freaks. I still don’t know exactly why, that’s just the way it is. Maybe I could change it, but I have to admit that popularity has perks. I never get made fun of. Teachers like me more than they should. And most girls will make out with me if I make a move. I do my best not to take advantage of that, but I’ve had my fair share of half-drunken kisses.
    I don’t bother grabbing books, since I only have about a minute to get to class. And it’s Life Skills, which is this lame class that only seniors can take. Basically, they teach you stuff for when you’re “on your own,” like ironing and money management and basic sewing. You’re guaranteed an A. That’s why I signed up.
    Usually I don’t mind Life Skills, but today I almost consider sneaking to the weight room. Coach wouldn’t mind, but I’ll have to face the girl eventually. May as well get it over with. I open the door, and sure enough, the only open seat is next to Mercedes.
    She looks like shit.
    And that’s saying something, because Mercedes is the kind of girl who could wear dumpy mom jeans and a unicorn sweater and still look hot. Today her face is swollen, especially around her brown eyes. Her black hair looks oily and ratty. My guess is her mom forced her to go to school, because she’d never come like that willingly.
    I reluctantly sit down. The post breakup is never hard on Garret. Girls are excited to sink their teeth into him again. But his exes? Their lives are over. Rumors fly about why they got dumped, they get labeled sluts if they move on too fast, and they mope for weeks. For some reason, they have to tell me all about it.
    “So I guess you know,” Mercedes says to her desk, though I’m sure she’s talking to me.
    “Yeah, sorry.”
    “Do you know the real reason why?”
    “Um…” The bell rings, and our teacher starts going on about different cooking appliances. I know this stuff, so I put my head on my desk and try to get a couple minutes of sleep.
    Someone nudges me. I look up to find Mercedes standing there. In over-sized sweats. That is so wrong. “What?”
    “Did you not hear any of that?”
    I shake my head. Mom says I have an amazing talent for tuning stuff out. It’s not a talent—it’s practice.
    “C’mon, we have to cook something. You’re my partner.”
    We head to the back, which looks like a bunch of kitchens smashed together on one side and a sewing sweat shop on the other. Everything a Home Ec room could want.
    The ovens are old but clean, and there’s an assortment of pots and pans in the drawers. Baking supplies and spices sit in the cupboards. The only things on the counters are recipe books and mangled, half-melted cutting boards. At the back there’s a refrigerator the teacher keeps stocked with whatever we need.
    “We can make chocolate chip cookies or tacos,” Mercedes says as she flips open the recipe book. “What do you want to do?”
    “Tacos.” I lean on the counter next to her and look at the recipe. It says to mix a packet of spice mix with meat, cook it, and fill the pre-bought taco shells. I purse my lips. “Wait, is this for real?”
    Mercedes tilts her head, her dark eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
    “That’s not a recipe! That’s, like, instructions for instant mac and cheese.”
    “So? It’ll be easy. Since when did you become an over-achiever?” She