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.Kristen was always making everything about her.She didn’t care about Marty Fescue, or that Blue Pride was on every team uniform in the school.The cost to change that would’ve been astronomical.I bet what she really wanted was “I love Kristen” embroidered across the vests of the entire squad.Even though her argument bordered on bizarre, Kristen was used to getting her way.Besides, a fish would have a hard time competing with supernatural semi stardom.Principal Dupree stood.The scraping sound from his chair echoed around the otherwise silent auditorium.I braced myself, imagining the impending football team ovation and ultimate curtsy from Kristen when Principal Dupree praised her for her mascot plea.“Thank you, Miss Thorne, but we don’t see an overall need for a mascot change right now, though we appreciate your information.Feel free to try us again in the future.”Then he faced the back of the room where we waited, and green lighted the rain garden for the grant.Tina texted the rest of the Ecology Club (all seven of them), while J.T.and I did a subtle, composed, victory-dance-fist-pump thing.One small step for the environment, one giant leap for Gilly.With smiles on our faces, we left the auditorium.Tina and J.T.turned down the hallway to go to the parking lot, while I headed toward the west passage to the bike racks.Until I got body slammed into a wall of lockers.There was no warning.One minute, I was rounding the corner, and the next, my breath whooshed out of me as my elbow connected with a locker.Right in the sensitive funny bone sweet spot.Nerves zapped, tingling up my arm and across my scalp.I twisted around, half expecting a runaway vending machine, but instead of a wall of chips and cheese crackers, there was a football uniform.It was Tommy Bowman, sophomore linebacker (and my ex, as my friend Chloe Winters got a kick out of saying, which was outrageous considering our “relationship” consisted of three weeks of hand-holding in the halls of our middle school).But Tommy was just as huge as a vending machine.Over the last year, he’d gone from scrawny middle school kid to big football dude.“Grace, I’m sorry.Are you okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely apologetic.He repeated his apology a few times, until I almost felt sorry for him.It was like he wasn’t quite sure yet how to manipulate his new size around the halls.He reminded me of Marty on his first day in the Gilly costume.Wearing that big fish head, Marty tripped so many times, his mom rushed him to the hospital to have him checked for a concussion.I rubbed my elbow and waved away his apology, when Kristen intercepted our conversation, wrapping her square, French tipped nails around Tommy’s bicep.With his Blue Pride football jersey and her dance team uniform, they looked like an ad for high school.High School is fun!Kristen’s mouth slid into her standard, dead in the eyes, superficial smile—my cue to leave.I reached for my canvas bag of art supplies, which Tommy picked up after his impromptu tackle.“Sorry again, Grace.”“No worries.” I shrugged.“So congrats on getting the grant,” Kristen said, opening her giant purse, which declared designer status with a repeating logo (in case anyone missed it upon first glimpse).She pulled out two cans of diet soda and handed one to me.I tilted my head.Her praise, coupled with the soda offering and Tommy tackle, had me feeling confused and a bit stunned, like an insect meeting the bug zapper.My hand politely and automatically took the drink she offered.“Um, thanks.”“So, did you make that model thingee?” she asked.I nodded, while I stared at Kristen’s heavily coated lashes.I was more of a one-coat kind of girl, but I could give her props for some mascara skills.How did she keep her eyelids from closing under the weight?“Who knew an art project could sway the Hickory Bend school board?” Kristen lifted an eyebrow (plucked to within a millimeter of its life).I sensed her comments moved from congratulatory to snarky.I held up the soda.“Well, thanks again.”Kristen popped the top of her can and held it out to me.“A toast.To your win.”I didn’t want to toast with her, but I felt a prickle of politeness.I thought of the sign next to the free samples of vegan cheesy bread above the bakery display case at my mom’s café, Zen.Accept our piece offering.Eat our bread.Take our love.Don’t get me wrong.I wasn’t so delusional at this point to think Kristen offered her love, but maybe the combination of being amped from our grant win and the peace/piece inspiring sign, got me wondering.How hard was it to toast?I opened the can.Soda spewed in my face, on my hands, and all over my white tee.I stretched my arm out in front of me, holding the offending, bubbling can.Kristen and Tommy were already out of the radius of the cola spray.With my free hand, I wiped at the side of my face.There was soda everywhere.Judging from the propulsion, she’d shaken the can quite vigorously.I glanced at them.Tommy seemed to be digging in his pocket for something.A tissue? Maybe.But I’d never know for sure, because Kristen tugged on his arm and pulled him down the hallway.He didn’t even turn around.So maybe he hadn’t been looking for a tissue.I blew out my breath.It didn’t matter that the Green Project grant had nothing to do with Kristen’s request.She couldn’t take hearing the word no, and apparently, needed an instant remedy for her fail.Today, I just happened to be the easiest mark.The blank canvas she raged on.I wasn’t rattled.Much.I could change my shirt after all.And, at least, the hallway was empty, no one else to witness my ridiculous gullibility.Normally, I did a pretty good job of going about my life pretending Kristen Thorne and her half-witted, pinched smile didn’t exist.Live and let live.For Kristen, I was pretty sure that living meant working on her plan for high school domination.One can of diet soda at a time.Chapter 3“Are you there normal? It’s me, Grace.”Later, I stopped by Higher Grounds, Mr.Anderson’s coffee shop.I wanted to tell Zac the good news about the grant.A completely normal best friend kind of thing to do.Except every cell in my body sent off danger signals, like I was getting ready to diffuse bombs.Cut the red wire…or the blue one?From the sidewalk, I peeked in the window.Zac was behind the counter.I tensed.My heart skittered, rattling a little before slowing, not unlike a grenade would after being tossed at my feet.The calm before the explosion.I wished the dream induced awkwardness would just go away already.I wasn’t used to hiding things from Zac.Or avoiding him.Of course, I’d never experienced recurring, disturbing, insomnia-inducing dreams about him either.I hesitated outside, under the green striped awning that matched every shop on Maple Avenue—including my mom’s vegan café, Zen, across the street.Dream or no dream, Zac was one of my best friends.Eventually, this nonsense would all go away.It had to.I flattened a palm on my chest.Hopefully not in the form of a massive heart attack.I took a deep breath and stepped into the coffee shop, taking in the polished wood floors and tabletops.Unlike the fancy coffee house franchise at Two Rivers Mall, there were no comfy couches or cushioned chairs, because Zac’s mom got tired of replacing them after every spill.Not that it mattered, because the slightly creaky, honey-colored wooden chairs somehow still managed warm and comfortable.Besides, my favorite part of the Anderson’s coffee shop was the bookshelf lining the entire back wall, filled from top to bottom with the classics.Not only books found on a library reading list, but the comics I loved as a kid (where life in high school was colorful, carefree, and neatly packaged inside rows of uniform squares).There were classics of the toy variety and those insane wooden mind puzzler games that really should’ve replaced the entire SAT system
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