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arms separating us as I struggled to get in one last good swipe, but the Autoshop teacher had an iron grasp and forcibly dragged me away. I heard Kenzie and Logan shout my name, but I didn’t actually see them since Scott switched to flash, temporarily blinding me. I had heard the incessant click, click, click of his camera during the fight, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Actually, I hadn’t given it a second thought. When a football player built like a tanker has a fist plummeting toward your eye, the smaller details in life tend to fall by the wayside.
    The last thing I saw inside the cafeteria before I was hauled out, caveman-style, were my three best friends (and Logan) trying to run to my aid. Well, that and Scott snapping more photos of my dramatic exit.
    And Isobel wondered why I didn’t like the guy.

Chapter 5
    â€œS o, Jennifer, do you want to explain to me what happened in the cafeteria?”
    I looked at the guidance counselor, Mr. Shelder, in disbelief. What did he expect me to say: Sorry, I figured it’d be a good idea to attack the biggest guy on the football team for no reason. My bad. But being nice little Jane Smith, I couldn’t let the sarcasm out. So I did what I do best: I kept my feelings tightly locked away inside.
    â€œUm, I’m Jane. Not Jennifer. And Alex Thompson insulted my friend, so I punched him in the face.”
    â€œI see.” Mr. Shelder jotted down a note and looked at me with his best concerned counselor look firmly in place. “Are you often this protective of your friends?”
    â€œNo. Usually, I’m spineless.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s not true,” he said soothingly. “There’s no shame in avoiding conflict. Especially when an altercation could potentially become physical.”
    â€œYeah, it’s real noble of me to let jerks treat my friends like garbage.”
    The bitter words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I stared at the dingy tile floor in discomfort. I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Mr. Shelder, because I knew exactly what I would see if I met his gaze: poorly masked condescension. I could hear it in his voice already. He would probably return home, shaking his head, and muttering something stupid like, “Teenagers. Why must they make everything so dramatic all the time?”
    â€œViolence is never the solution, Jenny.”
    That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who pretended not to notice when our lunch spot was referred to as the table for “gays and strays.” As far as I was concerned, this was one bout of violence that should have happened years ago. I was a little surprised it hadn’t. I tentatively skimmed my index finger around the edges of my bruised eye as it throbbed mercilessly.
    â€œRight,” I agreed, without even bothering to correct him on my name. Again. I couldn’t drum up the energy to care. Not when the pounding of my eye could keep pace with ReadySet’s fastest rock song. I tried to figure out which one of their hits best matched the beat while I tuned out Mr. Shelder.
    â€œGood. I’m glad you’re ready to apologize. It’s really the mature way of handling situations like this.”
    That pulled me out of my pain-filled preoccupation.
    â€œWait, what? No way am I apologizing to that—” Mr. Shelder gave me his best look of disciplinary disapproval, the one that was supposed to evoke guilt in good girls like me. But I guess I’m not such a good girl anymore since I wasn’t even fazed. No way in hell was Alex Thompson going to get an apology from me.
    Not after all the crap he had said about my friends.
    â€œJanice, be reasonable now. You know I can’t just let this go. You attacked a football player a week before the big game. Ordinarily I would have already notified the parents.”
    Of course, my offense wasn’t that I’d hit someone—it