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black T-shirt with the band’s name and the words Animal I Have Become.
    “I’m not a fan. Not really.”
    “What do you listen to? Miley Cyrus?”
    Coming from him, I know that’s an insult. “Yeah, definitely,” I say with a straight face. “But the Jonas Brothers are even better.”
    Jared makes a gagging noise, and I laugh.
    “Truth is, I mostly listen to Top 40 stuff, but not them. What about you?”
    “Anything with a good tune and lyrics that mean something. You know, bands that actually write and play their own music. Not groups that recycle the same tunes over and over.”
    “Do you play anything?”
    “Guitar. I’m in a band called The Invisible. A couple of guys at this school are in it, too—Tom Leeson and Said Abdullah.”
    “Tom sang at the coffeehouse last year. He was good.”
    “What about you, you play anything?”
    “I played violin in junior high, but I guess that doesn’t count. I’m not very musical.”
    “Maybe you haven’t discovered it yet.”
    “Sure.”
    I can’t help thinking—he’s in a band. Bands mean popularity, groupies. So why don’t I see him surrounded by people in the hallways and having lunch with the A-list crowd?
    I’m starting to think that Jared isn’t so much a snob as a loner, someone who stays deliberately outside the mainstream.
    Maybe he can use the help of the Oracle…
     
    A FTER THE SEVENTH-PERIOD bell, I make my move. When I’m sure the hallway is clear, I slip a business card into Jared’s locker.
     
    Need Dating Advice?
    Contact the Oracle of Dating at 555-DATE.
    Or visit the Oracle online at oracleofdating.com.
     
    When my next class ends, I hurry to my locker in time to see Jared open his. The card flutters to the ground. He picks it up, makes a face and shows it to Andrew Becker.
    Oh, no! He’s asking Andrew if he got one, too!
    Andrew shakes his head.
    Jared tosses the business card on the floor.
    Damn it!
    So much for that idea. How am I supposed to help Jared now?
    I grab my history book and close my locker.
    It’s a lesson everyone in the caring professions has to learn at some point. You can’t force people to accept your help. They have to want it.

four
    T HE THIRD WEEK OF S EPTEMBER is when classes choose their Student Council reps. Believe it or not, I’m class rep for 11B.
    How did I manage that? Amy nominated me and I didn’t say no. And then one of the popular girls—Brooke Crossley’s number one follower, Kirsten Cook—gets nominated. After that, no one else wants to run. So we leave the classroom while everybody votes. No secret ballot, just a show of hands in front of the teacher. Kirsten doesn’t talk to me in the hallway but uses her cell phone to book a bikini wax. I wonder who she’s dating and what she’s doing to need a bikini wax.
    We go back in. Mr. Findley says that I won. I say, “Really?”
    And then Kirsten puts a hand on her hip and goes, “Are you sure?”
    And I say, “Yeah, are you sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    After class, Amy explains what happened. It was unbelievable! Sean Fortier said to Alfred Weams that the nerd crew better vote for Kirsten. And Alfred was like, “Are you kidding me? Kirsten doesn’t even say hi to us. Kayla is way cool.” Apparently it came down to the nerds versus the popular crowd, a power struggle as old as time. And the nerds’ will prevailed because they outnumbered the popular crowd.
    Which leads me to today’s meeting. I’m sitting beside Ellen Huang, who has a romance novel perched behind her lunch bag so Prez Kevin Markinson doesn’t see.
    I’m not listening, either. I’m trying to read the book over her shoulder. It must be good, because Ellen hasn’t looked up in the past ten minutes.
    “Tears welled up in her blue eyes. She could have wept with the need to touch his face, to smooth the angry scowl from his brow. Oh, to feel his lips against hers one more time. But it was impossible…”
    “That’s some book,” I whisper.
    Ellen grins. “I’ve