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be truly interested in physical fitness. She has to pick today of all days to pay attention to Miss Ro?! She’s not looking at me, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she was deliberately ignoring me. Maybe she’s actually embarrassed to be in GOT-PU, the Group of the Physically Unfit, not that she knows that’s what we A-listers call it. Then again she is really smart; she might have figured it out on her own.
    Shaking my head I try to clear my thoughts, rid myself of my internal monologue so I can concentrate on getting Nadine to work her way over to the right side of her group, so we’ll be next to each other. Leave it to The Hog to save the day.
    Standing in the middle of the middle group, Gwenevere Schültzenhoggen, known to the student population as The Hog, raises her hand in the middle of Miss Ro’s speech about how we need to fight obesity before obesity makes us unfit to fight. First of all, who raises their hand in gym class? Second of all, since The Hog is almost as broad as she is tall, she just has to breathe to be noticed; hand-raising is superfluous. But her father is German and her mother is Korean, so she’s had a very strict upbringing; adhering to rules is in her blood.
    â€œMiss Rolenski?”
    â€œYes, Gwenevere,” Miss Ro replies, unable to hide her displeasure at being interrupted.
    â€œWhat kind of a test is this going to be?” The Hog asks. “Qualitative or quantitative?”
    â€œSays Quasimodo!”
    Ouch! That’s even more brutal than The Hog. Leave it to Rayna Delgado to make me see the error of my ways. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like Rayna; she really is a superbitch, and she’s made me see that I’m not that far behind. Gwen—as the girl formerly known as The Hog will henceforth be dubbed—cannot help that she inherited her father’s strong, brawny, and unfortunately unfeminine German DNA. She’s a good kid, and even though she’s 5’11”, she’s got the confidence to wear high heels. For that reason alone she should have my support, and if I didn’t have my own problem to solve I would come to Gwen’s defense, but luckily Miss Ro is already lecturing Rayna about mutual respect, female-to-female support, and the fact that Rayna should work better at covering up her neck pimples before she makes fun of someone else.
    While the rest of the class is laughing and joining in the impromptu and unorthodox girl-power assembly, I make my move.
    â€œNadine!” I power-whisper.
    How can Nadine possibly be more interested in Gwen’s plight than mine? I don’t care if she doesn’t know that I have a plight; she’s supposed to be my friend, and friends come before the downtrodden.
    â€œNaaaa-diiiiiiine!”
    Still nothing! All she’s doing is staring daggers at Rayna, who’s freaking out because she swears her neck was pimple-free at the start of class and now it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting if, of course, the man only used red paint. I’d feel sorry for her if I wasn’t so determined. I pull a barrette out of my hair—placed there this morning because I’m having an extra-frizzy hair day—aim, toss, and hit my target. Grabbing her shoulder, Nadine finally turns in my direction, wearing an expression that can only be described as one big scowl.
    â€œCome here!” I order.
    Bounding over to the far end of Group C, Nadine won’t let go of her shoulder. She’s acting like she’s pressing down on a gunshot wound. Seriously, the girl is weak; she should know what it feels like to have every limb break and then point in the opposite direction. That’s pain.
    â€œWhat did you do that for?” she whines.
    â€œI was trying to get your attention, and you only had eyes for Rayna,” I snipe.
    For a second Nadine’s eyes cloud over as if she didn’t hear me properly or as if she did hear me and hates