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stuck to it. The shorts smelled like spoiled milk. Well, I told myself it was spoiled milk. Denial can come in handy, now and then. Following each Modeling Session of Torture, the rest of the period was spent playing basketball. I noticed that Coach Notting and Miss Furdy divided the teams by social level: Somebodies and Sortabodies against Nobodies. Naturally, the Nobodies didn’t stand a chance. In third period Dijon, Évian, and Venice led their team to a 38 to 8 victory against a very frustrated team of Nobodies. I know, because I was on the Nobodies’ team. I scored all eight points. I would have scored more, but my teammate Renata Zickelfoos had coordination issues. She didn’t know how to dribble, pass, or shoot. She also had geography issues. Renata couldn’t remember which basket was ours. It was a long morning. When it was over, I had come to the conclusion that Coach Notting was like a pimple. Painful, embarrassing, and probably going to leave a scar. But she was right about one thing. I never did get called down to the counseling office.
    â€œCoco Simone?” I heard sizzling. My dad had flipped the toasted cheese. “Dinner’s about ready. Set the table?”
    â€œOkay.” I laid my drawing pencil on the glass coffee table and flipped to the back cover of my sketchbook. With my thumb I inched a curling scrap of drawing paper from the single pocket. The pencil portrait of her wasn’t a very good likeness. The forehead was too big. The eyes too far apart. There was a smudge near her left ear. Still, I had done it a long, long time ago, before my mother had left. And it was all I had. I placed the portrait of my mom gently in my palm. Each time I held it, the paper felt a little thinner.
    â€œWhat a day,” I whispered. “Her Fabulousness and the Royal Court are up to their usual tricks. Dijon kicked Fawn out of her own locker. Can you believe that? It looks like she’s going to be even more of a pain than last year, if that’s possible. And guess what? I’ve got three periods of PE with Coach Notting. Talk about a nightmare. But don’t worry, the counselors will straighten everything out. Dad won’t have to call the school or anything. I met my new locker partner. Her name is Liezel. You’d like her. She’s nothing like Stocklifter. Oh, and I grew half an inch. Aunt Iona measuredme. She says she’s pretty sure I grew overnight, but you know how she exaggerates—”
    â€œCoco?”
    â€œComing.” Lightly touching my lips to the paper, I slipped my mother back into her pocket and closed the book.

Five
    â€œI’m not doing it, Adair.”
    â€œBut you promised.”
    â€œI did not.”
    â€œYou said you’d support me when I tried out for cheer.”
    â€œI meant from the bleachers .”
    â€œI don’t need you in the bleachers. I need someone to cheer with me. Fawn, will you tell her?”
    Cheerleading? Was she serious? Ewwww, with three extra w ’s and a cherry on top. Of all the things in the world I hated, cheerleading was right up there between wolf spiders and flu shots. My first week of school had been horrendous enough without adding cheer to the mix. I’d finally gotten my class schedule sorted out, only to discover I had one class with Fawn (PE), one with Adair (leadership), and three with Her Fabulousness. Three! Worse, one of those classes was PE. Worsethan worse, I had to get dressed (and undressed!) next to Dijon. She had perfect skin and perfect toes. I had a million arm freckles and crooked toes. The one bright spot in my schedule of despair was learning that Fawn, Adair, and I had the same lunch.
    â€œI can’t cheer,” I told Adair. “I have absolutely no flexibility. I can’t even touch my toes. See?” I threw my chest forward, wriggling my fingers several inches short of my tennis shoes. “I’d ruin it for you, for sure. Fawn, will you