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twelve, where the mentoring program is being held. I look for Carolyn, but I don’t see her. I haven’t seen her since lunch. She said she was feeling hot and dizzy. I wonder if she caught Denise’s flu.
    There are ten girls and two women in the room. I don’t know anyone, although two of the girls look familiar. I’ve probably seen them in the hall. Most look like they’re in grade eleven or twelve. There’s no sign of Zoe or Sarah. Today is the tryout for cheerleaders, so they’re probably there.
    One of the women walks to the center of the room. She’s short with straight brown hair, red glasses and large green eyes.
    When we’re all seated, she begins. “My name is Joan Hawkins and I’m delighted to see you all. Let me tell you about our program. We team girls in high school up with girls in middle school who are having a tough time. It helps the middle school girls to know that there’s someone they can talk to and feel comfortable with no matter what they’re going through. And I know that by supporting someone else, each of you will feel good too.”
    Joan smiles. Then she continues. “When I was in middle school, my parents split up. My mom, my brother and I moved six times. It was difficult starting a new school and trying to make new friends. I threw up every morning before I went to school. But I was lucky. When I felt low, I talked to my cousin Mary, who was in high school. Mary’s understanding and support made all the difference. Not everyone has a Mary in her life. But each of you can be like my cousin and make a difference for the girl you mentor.”
    I glance around the room. Many of the girls are nodding. Some are smiling.
    The other woman walks to the front of the room. She has long gray hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s wearing dangling earrings and an armful of silver bracelets. “I’m Linda Day,” she says. “Joan and I will be here to support you whenever you need us. If you run into a tricky situation, you can always speak to us. You’re not alone either.”
    Linda looks around the room and smiles. “The mentoring program was started a few years ago, and we’ve already had great success. Tonight Joan and I will chat with each of you individually to see how we can best match you with a middle-school girl. Next week we’ll team you up with the girls you’ll be mentoring. I’ll start with the front row and Joan will start at the back. Please feel free to have drinks and cookies while you wait. I baked the cinnamon cookies myself.”
    As Joan and Linda begin to speak to the girls in the room, other girls rush to the front to grab drinks and cookies.
    I eye the two plates piled high with cookies. I love homemade cinnamon cookies. After nothing but vegetables and fruit all day, I’m starving. Those cookies look delicious. But I’m the second girl waiting in the back row, so Joan will be speaking to me soon. I’d better not get up.
    I pull out my history textbook and try to read ahead, but my eyes boomerang back to the plate of cookies.
    One cookie won’t make me fat. I stand up to get one. Then I quickly sit down. What am I thinking? That’s how it starts— one cookie, then another. Pretty soon I’ll eat ten. Forget about the cookies, I tell myself. Read your history book.
    Joan and the girl beside me talk on and on. I read a paragraph, but my eyes are drawn back to the cookies. I need a cookie. I need to eat something.
    I stand up again. But before I can leave the back row, it’s my turn to speak to Joan. Saved by the mentoring program already!
    â€œSo tell me a little about why you want to mentor a middle-school girl,” Joan asks me.
    â€œI hope that by helping someone else I can deal with my own problems better,” I tell her.
    â€œGood. You just have to be careful to focus on the middle-school girl and her problems, not on your own. But