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words the second they leave my mouth. What a dork. I should have said, “I like you, too.”
    â€œDawn, the bus ith here,” Starr calls. “Hurry upth!”
    Sean releases my chin and steps back. He looks a bit dazed. Then he laughs it off.
    â€œCan I get your number?” he asks.
    I nod, pulling a marker from my purse. Feeling brave and saucy all of a sudden, I take his hand and scribble my cell number across his palm. Then I smile, toss my hair, and run to catch the bus. I don’t look back.
    I make my way to the rear of the bus, where Starr is waiting for me.
    â€œOoh, lovahh girl,” she teases.
    â€œSpeak for yourself,” I retort. “I’m not the one with my tongue down a boy’s throat an hour after getting it pierced.”
    Starr laughs and sticks out her pierced tongue at me. “It already feels better,” she says. “How’s the belly button?”
    â€œStill sore.” I yank down my skirt so the wool doesn’t rub against the sensitive skin.
    â€œRegret it?”
    â€œNo way. It was great.” And it was. There was some kind of power in it. Hard to explain, but it was there. Like I’d broken the chains of good-girlism and would never be the same. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
    I look over to catch Starr studying me, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, Barbie,” she says. “You may be okay after all.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.
    But deep inside, I’m dancing.

Chapter Six
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    â€œDawn, where have you been?”
    I drop my book bag on the hallway floor and drag my feet into the living room where The Evil Ones are glaring at me, expecting me to provide some kind of reasonable explanation for my absence. Evidently the Japanese tutor called and ratted me out.
    But I’m prepared. “Yearbook ran late,” I say. I worked out the perfect excuse on the bus ride back to the proverbial “right side of town.” “We were having so much fun picking out photos we completely lost track of time. Tell Hoshiko I’m sorry.”
    Dad furrows his bushy eyebrows at me, as if trying to tunnel into my brain and determine whether I’m lying. Honestly, I get the feeling he can do this sometimes. But in this case, evidently my mental shield is too tough to penetrate ‘cause all he says is, “You need to call if you’re not going to make your tutoring. Those classes cost money, you know.”
    As if he’s worried about money. Thanks to my grandparents, we have enough to last two lifetimes. I could miss Japanese lessons from now until next Christmas and it wouldn’t put so much as a dent in his bank account.
    â€œYes, Dad,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œWe got a note from your gym teacher today, Dawn,” my mother breaks in. “How come you didn’t tell us you got detention?”
    Oh, great. I’d nearly forgotten about that.
    â€œYou were out last night at the Save the Whatever party,” I say. “I was going to tell you tonight.”
    â€œDetention!” My dad rages. He wags a finger at me. “Do you think Harvard accepts students who get detentions?”
    I’m not sure about that one, but if the answer turns out to be, “No, they turn them down flat,” I might have to score a few more this year, just to ensure I’m completely blacklisted from the Ivy League nightmare.
    â€œJeez, Dad, it’s not like I’m some juvenile delinquent or something,” I protest. I’ve worked this one out, too. “It’s simple. I had major crampage so I skipped gym.”
    This makes my dad’s face go all red, as I knew it would. He doesn’t like to think about his fifteen-year-old daughter’s monthly feminine functions.
    â€œWell, don’t let it happen again,” he grunts, turning back to his book. Heh. I should play the period card more often.
    â€œDon’t