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Ethan?” She laughs.
    “Funny. I’m so glad you’re around to crack yourself up.”
    “Somebody has to.”
    We walk through the door and are greeted by the most wonderful smells. Sugar, spice, chocolate, and fruit whirl around us like a scented dust storm. Mr. Rasic (aka Mr.
    Roz), Nanny’s baker since forever, is pulling a sheet of cookies out of the oven.
    “Ah, vat’ll it be this morning, ladies?” he asks in a thick Kosovan accent, his paper hat askew on his white hair.
    Lori smiles sweetly. “OMG, if you have any raspberry cream cheese, I will marry you.”
    “Ha!” He walks to a rack stacked with trays of baked goods. “You marry a nice young man, and Mr. Roz bake 47

    you wedding cake, okay?” He tosses a muffin into a small white paper bag.
    “And for the star?” He looks at me and winks.
    “Star?”
    “Well, daughter of star?”
    I smile politely. I love Mr. Roz like he’s my own grandfather. But this is not how I want my day to start.
    “No. There’s not going to be a show.”
    He and Lori stare at me like I’m crazy. I change the subject. “Any lemon poppy seed?”
    The Mr. Roz smile returns instantly. “Aha! Today you want the sweet with the tart, eh?” He bags my muffin and Nanny walks in.
    “Good morning, girls. Now don’t hold up Mr. Rasic; please just get your muffins and go.” She looks at me.
    “Goodness, child, where are your mittens and scarf?” She reaches over and pulls my coat zipper up to my chin.
    “I’m fine,” I say, shooing her away.
    “It’s colder than an ice cube in Alaska out there. Don’t tell me you’re fine.” She tries to push up my hood, but I squirm out of her grasp.
    “Girl, put that hood up! And both y’all get out. I don’t have time for tomfoolery today.”
    I am pretty sure that Nanny is the last person on earth who uses the word tomfoolery . She shoves us out the back door.
    “Confounded teenagers!” she hollers to Mr. Roz. Lori 48

    and I laugh as we head down the alley toward school.
    We’re behind schedule, so we speed-walk until we’re up the front steps and through the double doors of St. Mary High. We part ways in the main hall, and I head to chemistry.
    Whoever had the brilliant idea of forcing adolescents to mess with covalent bonds first thing in the morning definitely wasn’t playing with a full deck. But here we are anyway.
    Mr. Wasserman looks up over his reading glasses as I slide onto my stool next to Matthew Dunhill, my good-for-nothing lab partner. Wasserman lets out a psychotic chuckle; he’s the original mad scientist.
    “Ah, nice of you to join us Mizzz Wells,” he says, wad-dling his enormous belly over to our station. “Lab report done, I imagine?” He holds out a waiting hand.
    “Oh. Yes.” I grab my bag, rifle through my folders, pull out the report, and give it to him. “All done,” I say, waiting for him to walk away.
    Instead, he leans his head toward me and in a very loud whisper says, “I understand we have a celebrity in our midst?” His bulging eyes are rolling around in his head, and his hair is sticking out in every direction.
    “What?” He’s caught me off guard.
    “Well,” he announces as he walks to the front of the room, “we’re all pretty pleased for you and your father. I have a feeling he’s gonna turn St. Mary into a real hot spot.”
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    And then leave us all behind , I think as twenty-four pairs of eyes sear into me like lit Bunsen burners. I hear low laughter from the back row. Haley is in this class, along with a few of her pals. Now I’ve got goose bumps.
    I can’t believe we were ever friends—until eighth grade, when I overheard her talking to our group of friends, calling my mom a slut, and calling me stupid for believing she’d ever come back. I was so mad, I told her I never wanted to speak to her again. But she wasn’t sorry; she just got meaner.
    Now we are pretty much sworn enemies.
    I can imagine what she’s saying about me now. The witch.
    “Open your