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been crying.
    “Kerrie, what’s the matter?” I asked, rushing to her side. Sarah hung back.
    “She had a fight with her dad,” Doug said.
    I got the picture—they both arrived at school at the same time,Doug saw her crying, and Doug, being a good guy, tried to comfort her. Good old Doug. So why did this make me uneasy?
    Kerrie thanked Doug and went to her locker, but the look Doug threw her way was enough to send up alarm bells. Doug was a softie. And I was beginning to get impatient with Kerrie.
    “What happened this time?” I asked, maybe a tad too snappily.
    Doug looked at my hair, probably for the first time, and I could have sworn he curled his lip. “Kerrie told me about your hair, Bianca. It will grow out.”
    I felt my face grow warm from an angry blush. Kerrie told Doug about my hair? And not only that, she must have told him about it in such a way that he was predisposed to dislike it! She stole my comfort! Doug was supposed to console me, not her! This was a gyp! I wanted a refund. I was the one who had first dibs on Doug’s comfort!
    “It’s not that bad,” I said defensively.
    “I think it’s kind of cute,” Sarah said, lightly fingering the frizzy ends sticking out from under my bandana. Some fell off in her hand, and she wiped them on her skirt.
    Doug said nothing. Kerrie sniffled.
    “What happened with your dad?” I asked.
    “Oh, nothing,” she said, turning her lock.
    The buzzer screeched, signaling we were supposed to be in our homerooms. To heck with that—they always gave us a few minutes grace time, and I was not leaving until I got some information, or at least a kind word from Doug.
    “It had to be something. You were crying.” I moved in closer to Kerrie.
    “It’s nothing, really!” Kerrie grabbed her books and slammedthe locker door shut. “I have to go. I’m going to be late. That’s the last thing I need today!”
    After she left, I looked at Doug and raised my eyebrows, which in Balducci language meant, “What the hey is going on here?”
    Sarah seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she hovered nearby, awaiting Doug’s explanation. He disappointed us both.
    “I don’t know. You better get it from her,” he said, then ran off to class with a quick “later” in my direction and an affectionate punch to my arm.
    Sarah and I shrugged, and she ran off to class, too.
    I felt like sitting down and crying. I’d wanted more information from Sarah about the ruckus at the museum, but got sidetracked by Kerrie’s mysterious crying jag, and Doug’s touching but misdirected sympathy.
    And, oh yes, it was misdirected. I was supposed to be soaking up the sympathy because of my hair. When I hadn’t been able to reach Doug last night, I had worked myself into a buzz thinking about how darned sympathetic he’d be when I rested my head on his shoulder and sobbed out the story of the misguided perm. But Kerrie had sucked his sympathy dry! There was none left for me.
    Feeling sad, annoyed, and curious, I stomped off to class.

Chapter Four

    M Y DAY WENT from bad to worse. First, in Western Civ, I found out I had written a deadline in my notebook wrong, which meant that while all the other students handed in their papers on the causes of World War II, I was left sitting as unprepared as the French had been at the Maginot line because I’d thought the paper was due the week before Christmas. Then, when I told the teacher about my mistake after class, he just shrugged and said, “if you get it in by the end of the week, I’ll take just one grade level off.” One grade level? Great. That meant I’d have to write an A-plus paper just to get a B-plus. That’s a real motivation spiker, let me tell ya.
    Later, in chorus, Mr. Baker spent virtually the entire session lecturing us in a “how could you?” tone of voice about the number of “please excuse my son/daughter . . .” notes he was receiving from kids who wanted out of the Christmas concert. Hey, it was scheduled