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Since the book is about judging right and wrong, let’s talk about the seven deadly sins for a minute. Then later in the week we’ll discuss how they are portrayed in literature. Can anyone list them?”
    No one answers. Amelia slowly raises her hand again and in almost a whisper rattles off, “Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth.” Then she sinks a little into her chair.
    “That’s right, honey,” Mrs. G says after a short pause. “Very good.” As soon as Mrs. G turns around to write them on the board, Amelia smirks. I copy the list into my notebook, titling it the seven deadlies.
    “Now I want all of you to pay attention over the next week, to each time one of these emotions enters your life. I’m hoping this will help you identify with Hester Prynne, Hawthorne’s main character.”
    What kind of name is Hester Prynne? Thank god the bell rings before I have to find out. Mitch Hurley passes my desk on the way to the door and I want to thank him for the birthday wishes, but he just ducks his head and speeds up. Jeff Grand drops my physics homework on my desk. I’m about to slip it into my notebook when I notice the blue Post-it note he stuck on top. I read it as I head out into the crowded hallway. It says, “Do you think Katy would go to the prom with me if I asked?” When I look up from the note Jeff is nowhere in sight. I don’t know how to break it to him, but sophomores don’t get to go to the prom unless they’re asked by a junior or senior. That boy is really out of the loop. All we have is a dorky spring dance called, imaginatively enough, the Spring Dance. I guess this means Jeff’s forgiven Katy for leaving him with his pants down. I feel a little pang of something that’s not really jealousy, because I’m not interested in Jeff in that way, but still. A little pang that no one wants to ask me to the prom. And there’s only sixty-five days left, if you don’t count weekends.
    We barely have five minutes between classes, a schedule no doubt intended to limit the amount of trouble we can get ourselves into in the hallways. My photography class is on the other side of the building and I debate my two current options. Option A: Go to the bathroom. Option B: Take the route that will intersect with Grant Brawner as he heads to his next class on the second floor. Even though he didn’t want to keep my picture, I’m not ready to give up on him. Bathroom, Grant. Grant, bathroom. My bladder says bathroom, but my heart says Grant. Plus, soon my hair will start to unstraighten, and I don’t want to lose the birthday glow. I tear down the hall and up the stairs. If I’m off by even a minute, our paths won’t cross. When I reach the second floor I’m about to admit defeat until I spy the back of his head about ten people in front of me. I race up ahead of him, on the other side of the crowd, and then turn around as though I had been walking in that direction from the beginning. Now he’s heading right toward me as planned. I try to act casual and glance at yet another poster advertising today’s audition. At the exact right second, I lift my arm to wave hello. But just before his eyes land on me, someone grabs my arm and pulls me to the side of the hall. I look up to find Katy.
    “What are you doing?” I ask, not bothering to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I was about to run into Grant.” I watch as he walks into his classroom, unaware of all my efforts.
    “I’m sorry,” Katy says, not sounding sorry enough if you ask me. “Look, do you still have that note I gave you before home-room?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Can I have it back?”
    “But I didn’t read it yet.”
    “That’s okay,” she says. “I’ll give it back later. I, uh, I just want to add something.”
    “A
Brady Bunch
limerick?”
    She pauses. “Sure, yeah, a
Brady Bunch
limerick.”
    I look at my watch. The bell is going to ring any second. I dig into the deep pocket of my pants and pull out the