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fixed, but I do know I have been right not to tell her about the feelings I have for the Hot Dog on a Stick Chick. And I know that the one friend I thought could help me through whatever this is, might be the last person I should ever tell.

Chapter Three
    â€œShut up, Abbey. The weather report is on.”
    I haven’t actually spoken since Kate told me to shut up ten minutes ago when her favorite song came on the radio, so I continue to stay silent even though I feel like screaming at her for making me arrive at her house an extra hour early. But she doesn’t care that I had to get up at 5:00 in the morning to get here by 6:30 so we can start walking to Gila by 7:00 because school starts at 7:45.
    Now it’s 7:05 and she’s still doing her hair. We could very possibly be late for our first day at Gila. It’s times like this that I wish I had puked on someone else in the third grade.
    â€œOh my God, Abbey, look at the humidity level. Damn monsoons,” Kate says, as she throws down her straightener. “Do you know what this means?”
    All I know is we’re going to be late if she doesn’t get a move on.
    â€œNow I have to rewash my hair and wear it curly because there’s no way it’s going to stay straight in this stupid weather.” She storms off and slams the bathroom door.
    â€œWhat’s up her butt?” Jenn asks, as she gathers her bag and car keys.
    â€œHumidity,” I say and look at my watch again.
    â€œGood luck with that, Crappy Brooks. See you at school.”

    *

    Thanks to her mom giving us a ride, Kate and I cross through the gate of Gila’s barbed-wire fence at exactly 7:30, leaving us only fifteen minutes before the first bell. When I played this first-day-of-school scenario in my mind last night before I fell asleep, I had plenty of leftover time to find all of my classes, locate my locker, practice spinning in its combination, and go pee before first period (Jenn advised us to avoid using the restrooms after break, when they usually get the most use). Now I’ll be lucky to get to first period before the tardy bell.
    Sarah and Marisol are loyally waiting for us on the front steps, inseparably bound with the headphones from the iPod. When we all meet up, we laugh hysterically for no reason like we just drank iced double-shot lattes for breakfast. Marisol, Sarah, and Kate look like an ad for a new high school sitcom. Kate made me wear khaki capris instead of shorts, and a white button-down short-sleeve shirt instead of a T-shirt, but I finally see how I kind of look like I should be on the deck of a boat. “Ahoy, mates!” I say as a joke, but no one notices.
    â€œ Ay Dios , do you see all the sexy boys?” Marisol whispers. “Voy a hacer pipí . ”
    â€œStop it, Mari.” Sarah bites her hand and squeals. “You’re making me have to pipí , too.”
    Kate looks around and seems to be in a mixed state of euphoria and anticipation. It’s like she’s an elite athlete and this is the Olympics. I can tell she fully expects to win gold.
    Meanwhile, I’m secretly scanning the crowds for the Hot Dog on a Stick Chick or any of the you-know-who girls, but I can’t find her and don’t know what the heck the others look like. I mean, how do you tell? Do they wear a certain color like the gang members? Is there a secret handshake? I see the Populars, Goths, Punks, Stoners, Pseudohippies, Hicks, Drama Geeks, Band Freaks, Emos, Scene Kids, Jocks, Homies, Preps, Preppy Punks, Gleeks, Wannabies, Realbies, Hacky Sackers, and every other group Jenn has told us about, but not one of these cliques appear to be the one I’d like to see myself being a part of.
    We join a long line and quickly find ourselves flanked by upperclassmen dressed in pajama bottoms, flip flops, and T-shirts with not-so-subtle allusions to sex and drugs that the teachers probably won’t get. It seems, by the expressions on