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big-screen TV, and everything else in the house, into a huge truck?
    “I am zero percent convinced that nothing’s wrong,” said Kyla. “You look terrible.”
    I totally believed her there. I’m pretty sure the expression on my face at the thought of Rina being a shape-shifting house burglar could be described as “stricken.”
    “Well, then looking terrible is what’s wrong, and thanks a lot for pointing it out,” I replied, trying to soundconfident but mostly just sounding loud. A few kids looked at me funny.
    “Sorry. I’m kidding, you look great,” she said. “Forget I said anything; I’m the worst friend ever for saying anything.”
    “It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I said, leaning my chin onto my hands. “I’m just a little stressed.”
    “Kate, I’m saying this as your best friend. If you’re stressed enough to look like that , maybe you shouldn’t retake the SATs. Because I’m afraid you might wind up having to check into a rehab facility for quote-unquote ‘exhaustion,’ and that’ll just be the worst thing since—”
    I was almost glad when Mr. Pike decided to give us a pop quiz on the life of Louis XIV.
    By lunchtime I was robotically repeating, “I have a migraine,” as my lame excuse for being totally out of it. “I took some Advil—I’ll be fine,” I told Kyla as I got up from our table after eating only a third of my turkey sandwich. “I’m gonna do some more SAT cramming.” She nodded and waved. She’s used to me holing up in the library at lunch lately, so I think she took it as a sign of normalcy. I handed the rest of my sandwich, plus my peanut butter Luna bar and banana, to our friend Carmen, whose appetite is scarily bottomless.
    “We’re hanging this weekend, right?” Carmen asked, as she started peeling the banana.
    “Sure,” I called back over my shoulder distractedly, as I was already halfway to where Paul was sitting with the basketball team. He stood up to meet me.
    “Feeling better?” Paul asked, reaching over to brush my hair out of my face.
    “Better enough to study,” I said, indicating the SAT book in my bag. “I’m going to the library.”
    “That’s my girl,” Paul said, smiling. “I’ll see you at practice later. You’re still coming, right?” he asked, his smile fading at the “huh?” look on my face.
    Right . Basketball practice. I’d promised to swing by, but I’d forgotten until he mentioned it.
    “Of course,” I answered. “I’ll be there.” I briefly pondered citing how busy I was in order to get out of it, but I needed to make up for acting so cracked out this morning.
    “I mean, I know you’ve got all your other stuff, but you always—”
    “Absolutely,” I said quickly. I gave him a hug and made a mental note to get him a Vitamin Water after school. I made another mental note to tell Kyla I couldn’t go running with her—even without basketball practice, I wouldn’t have the time. Then I headed for the library.
    I walked straight past the big wooden tables and squishy armchairs in the front section, past all the bookshelves and study rooms, and holed up in one of the back computer carrels. There, I googled the hell out of schizophrenia, hallucinations, delusions, multiple personality disorder, and anything else that might explain me having a vision of a clone that I could talk to and touch. The research was very educational, and also extremely depressing. I pictured a lifetime of institutionalization, being on eight medications at once, and my mom having the option to come visit me once a month but then only doing it once a year because she found the whole thing too much of a downer.
    The future looked bleak. And I still had to get through the rest of the day without having a nervous breakdown.
    “You look like crap,” Jake said flatly as I sat down in physics.
    “Well, you, um, smell like crap,” I countered. He gave me a “wow, that’s lame” eyebrow raise. “I barely slept and I have a