"I was just looking for something," I say, feeling my cheeks get extra hot.

"Off--now!" he demands.

My heart is moshing around inside my chest. I move my bag to my lap. Luckily, Danny doesn't notice that his zipper is undone a bit.

"Hurry up. I want my twenty bucks and then I want you and your a.s.s-breath out of here." He turns his back. Jeremy, Bobby, and them are playing close to the net. In one quick motion, I grab my rubber d.i.c.k and stuff it into Danny's bag so that the head sticks out from the zipper part.

"All better," I call out, giving my stomach a convincing pat-if I do say so myself.

We resume our game, I get the final G, Danny starts dancing around the driveway, demanding his twenty bucks, and I've almost won.

I pull the twenty dollars out of my pocket and hand it over. Danny starts counting up all the ones, practically my whole day's tip money, and then tells me to leave.

"I don't want to go just yet," I say. "Doesn't anyone else want to play me?"

"I got twenty," Jeremy yells out.

"I need to see it first," I say.

Jeremy walks toward the porch to fetch his moola, and I peek at Danny. He doesn't look happy with this arrangement. "I just wanna see if I can win my money back," I tell him.

"Only one way you're gonna win your money back, p.e.n.i.s Breath." Danny grabs his crotch and starts walking toward me.

"What do you mean?" I giggle.

"You know what I mean." He takes a step closer; his chest, shoulders, and head towering over me, making me feel two inches tall. And if I didn't believe in guardian angels before, I do now, because all of a sudden I hear Jeremy yell out, "What the f.u.c.k?" and I'm saved. Danny turns around, and Jeremy's pointing at the rubber d.i.c.k, Barbie's former boyfriend, standing straight out the top of Danny's bag.

The other lemmings gather around. "What the f.u.c.k is that?" Bobby shouts. And then they start laughing and pushing each other and high-fiving, like this is the juiciest.

Danny storms over and rips the d.i.c.k out of the bag. He's just holding it in his hand, and all the lemmings scatter like it's a bomb.

"Who put this in here?" Danny takes a step toward them, the rubber d.i.c.k now soaring in his hand.

"Hey, you keep the f.u.c.k away from me with that, man," Bobby says.

"No s.h.i.t," Jeremy says. "Don't go gettin' any ideas. When you said you wanted to play ball, I didn't think you meant it like that."

"It's not f.u.c.kin' mine," Danny says. "You were the one who was over here."

"Hey, I was just gettin'my money."

Danny throws the rubber d.i.c.k at Jeremy, but they're still all laughing like they don't believe him, like they're just as happy as I am that this happened. Danny turns to me and says, "Ha-ha. Is this yours? Did you put this in here, you b.i.t.c.h? Is this your f.u.c.kin' d.i.l.d.o, you f.u.c.kin' d.y.k.e?"

"Shut up, pretty boy," I say. "Why don't you run along now to the beauty parlor so you can get those furry eyebrows waxed?"

"Hey, it came out of your bag, man," Jeremy interrupts.

"f.u.c.k you," Danny says to him. "Why don't you get the h.e.l.l out of here, pansy."

"Hey, I'm not the one with the joystick in my bag."

At that, Danny lunges at Jeremy, grabs him around the T-shirt collar, and starts shaking him. "I said get the f.u.c.k out of here," Danny says, foam spitting out of his mouth.

Bobby and the other lemmings pull Danny off, and now it's just him against all of them, and me on the sidelines.

"Hey, this is my house," Danny says. "I want Jeremy out of here."

"How 'bout we all get out of here?" Bobby moves to the porch to grab his gear. "I'm n.o.body's b.i.t.c.h."

"No s.h.i.t." Jeremy grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder, and the other lemmings follow suit.

"a.s.sholes." Danny furrows those furry caterpillar eyebrows and pushes by the group, grabbing his bag, storming inside the house and slamming the door, like he's gonna cry.

I walk home, feeling better than I have in a long time. In my room, I open up all the windows and invite the smell of fresh lilacs inside. Everything feels tingly and new. Fixed. Like a wound that's been healed, a tear that's been st.i.tched.

I look in the mirror at the new me. My hair looks pretty today, the ends curling up like jelly rolls. My heart-shaped face with its pinkish glow. Pretty. Like a princess. A princess way too good for Robby from the diner, or disgusting furry-eyebrowed Danny Winslow, or any of the rest of them.

I twirl myself around and around, thinking about everything. About how good I look today. About what Danny Winslow must be doing right now, how he must be feeling. About making that phone call to Robby's girlfriend and how she'll probably break up with him over it. "I hate you, Robby!" I shout. "And you, too, furry-eyebrowed Danny Winslow. And all the rest of the jerky boys in this town. I hate all of you!"

But then I almost trip over my own feet and have to catch myself against the dresser. I look up and I'm caught in the mirror, and my reflection is just... staring at me, like the big liar that it is. A liar because, when I look closer, I see that I'm still wearing the same old costume. The same old freckly face. The same curly, ugly, carrottop-orange hair. Chubby, ruddy cheeks. Big, buggy eyes. And flat, colorless lips that blend right into my skin.

Princesses aren't supposed to be ugly.

I turn around to go into my bag for lipstick and eye shadow, but the bag isn't there. Isn't on my bed or slouched on the floor. Isn't in the kitchen or hanging in the mud-room. Isn't anywhere I can think of but one place: Danny Winslow's porch.

Double d.a.m.n!

I eat up all the courage I can find in the pint-size container of Ben & Jerry's, and when I'm finished, start my walk over there. I'm hoping Danny hasn't dared come out of the house yet, that my stuff is still sitting on the bottom step, and that none of the lemmings did anything to it. I can just imagine them opening it up, finding my old Barbie doll (I put her in there so she and Buzz could have a chance to say their good-byes), a half-eaten olive loaf sandwich, my collection of glittery plastic sandwich swords (I carry them around for luck), and all my Bonne Bell makeup. My mind blows out a daydream bubble in which Jeremy Hicks and Bobby Eskinas wrap a Bonne Bell-made-over Barbie with a slimy piece of olive-spotted bologna and poke her with swords. I pop the bubble out of my mind and quicken my pace. Hurry past the Fourniers' b.o.o.b-shaped bushes, across Broad Street, and two driveways down from the house still draped in Christmas lights.

And when I get there, all I find is an empty porch. No bag. No Danny. No lemmings. Nothing.

Triple and quadruple d.a.m.n!

The house looks so empty, I'm thinking n.o.body's home, but when I walk up to the door, I see it's open. I press my nose against the screen to look into the kitchen and see if my bag is in there somewhere. There's a box of Nutter b.u.t.ter cookies on the counter. I wonder if that's where Danny gets his yucky peanut-b.u.t.ter breath. If he's the one who left them out.

I don't see my bag anywhere, so I decide to knock. If Danny Winslow is home, I'll just stand up to him. I'll picture him the way he looked earlier: the rubber d.i.c.k sitting in his palm; the recipient of all that lemming laughter; the ugly, disgusting, furry-eyebrowed worm that I hook-line-and-sinkered.

Except no one comes to the door.

I knock a little louder. And then LOUDER. But still nothing.

a.s.suming no one's home, I'm feeling somewhat relieved. But I still need to get my bag. I'll bet Danny took it up to his room to see if I had any more money in there.

I open the screen door and tiptoe across the linoleum bricks. I've never just come into anyone's house like this before, and it's making me feel all jittery inside. What if his parents come home and find me searching through his room for my bag, thinking I'm some burglar? What if a neighbor saw me just walk in and has already called the cops?

What if Danny really is home? What if he knew all along I was outside and was just waiting for me to break in so that he can justifiably attack me for breaking and entering?

I make my way up the stairs, where I'm thinking the bedrooms are. My nerves are completely scrambled, fried up and ready for toast. But the house is so still-so quiet, like even if someone is home, they'd have to be sleeping or dead or in a coma or something. I tell myself this over and over again up each step to help ease the jitters.

There are three bedrooms at the top of the stairs. From where I'm standing I can almost see into two of them. One has a giant four-poster bed, so I'm thinking that it's his parents'. The other is decorated in princess pinks.

Danny's must be the one at the end of the hall. The one with the closed door. My heart is literally pounding out my chest, like I could almost grab it up in a beat. I think I'm going to be sick. I look to my left and see there's a bathroom there. I consider using it, throwing up all the scrambling inside. But I just need to get this over with.

I suck in a deep breath and throw the door open. Empty. There are clothes strewn all over the floor, empty food containers on the desk, football gear in the corner, Xbox stuff set up in front of the TV, but no Danny.

No Danny!

I let out a happy breath, pat over my chest to tame the wild beat, and start looking around for my bag. I see it right away, laying sprawled open on the floor, next to his bed.

My eyes wander up to the pillow. On it are Barbie and Buzz. Barbie's legs are wound around his hips and she's planting a big, sloppy kiss right on his face. I grab the bag and shove them both inside. Then I check the side pocket for my remaining money. Oddly enough, it's still there. Only my makeup bag isn't.

I start looking around the night table for it, even check inside some of the drawers. No luck. I move over to the dresser and peek up into the mirror. But instead of seeing myself, I see Danny.

He's standing behind me in the doorway-a football jersey down to his knees, tube socks up around his calves, my cherry-red lipstick across his lips, the vee at the top accentuated by flawless application, like he's been wearing it all his life.

I feel my mouth drop open because I can't believe it, and I don't think he can either, because he's staring at me like he's just as shocked. I turn around for a better look at him and see that one of his eyebrows looks different. Less furry. Plucked into a princess-worthy comma. And I'm pretty sure it's bleeding, too.

The whole scene makes me feel sad. Sad because of the rubber d.i.c.k, because of how unhappy he looks, and because I was the one who made the furry-eyebrow comment.

Me and Danny just stand there and stare at each other, and all I can think is at least it's a happy ending for Barbie and Buzz, who have once again found each other.

SAt.u.r.dAY, AUGUST 12, 9:30 P.M.

I never really thought of Nicole Bouchard as being much more than some girl I grew up with. The quiet, Brillo-haired skinny girl who always looked the same, whether it was the second or the tenth grade. Who never grew b.o.o.bs and always wore braces, and always did her homework, even for art cla.s.s.

The girl I could never hate because she was the one who got me through geometry, who slid her quizzes to the edge of the desk so I could copy down all those formulas for pis and squares. The girl I knew kind of had a crush on me, because I'd constantly catch her watching me-on the field, during cla.s.s, from behind her locker. Because she'd come to all my hockey games. And include me on her Christmas and Valentine card list-the envelopes sealed with smelly fruit stickers-even though we never shared conversations much longer than "hi" and "what's up?"

The same girl who had her best friend call me up to ask if I'd go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with her last fall, who listened in on the other end of the line to see what I'd say-like it was fifth grade all over again and she was too afraid to call me herself.

That girl. The one whose best friend I ended up asking out.

And yet ... it was just earlier today that I was rolling around naked with her in her mother's flower garden. When I noticed that she wasn't wearing those braces anymore. And her body didn't look quite so skinny. And the Brillo-pad hair had gotten softer and turned the color of cinnamon toast. That she's actually pretty cute-like the girl next door come to life.

And I'm still dating her best friend.

The thing is, though I never really admitted it before, maybe I kind of liked that she went to all my hockey games, because, win or lose, she was the one person I could count on to be there no matter what.

Even more than my best friend.

Even more than my girlfriend.

Maybe once or twice I've wanted to tell her that, but it just never seemed to be the right time. And so instead it was this unspoken secret the two of us had together.

So maybe I'll tell her today.

I get to her house and her mother leads me around the back. "You're Kelly's boyfriend, aren't you?" she asks, taking a second glance over her shoulder like I'm some player.

I nod, feeling guiltier by the moment, wondering what exactly she knows about my afternoon with her daughter-if she saw all the broken flowers.

Nicole is sitting on the patio with Maria, one of Kelly's friends from school. Maria looks like she's getting ready to leave. She slides her chair back and stands from the table.

That's when Nicole notices me. When her mouth drops open and eyes get wide, like she's gonna freak out.

"Hey," I say, pretty freaked out myself. I mean, what are the odds that Maria would be here, too? I take a deep breath and join them at the table, relieved when Mrs. Bouchard goes back inside the house.

"You're a little late," Maria informs me.

I have no idea what she's talking about. The bug light behind us is zapping up all the bloodthirsty mosquitoes. I almost wish I was one of them. I peek at Nicole, wondering what she's thinking right now-if she absolutely hates me.

"You should have been here an hour ago," Maria continues, gesturing toward the pile of books on the table-the covers decorated with cakes and streamers.

"Okay," I say, still clueless, wondering why she's being such a b.i.t.c.h-if it's because she knows about what happened this afternoon. I look toward Nicole, trying to figure out if she told her, wondering if either of them said anything to Kelly.

"I got to go," Maria says. "They're gonna be closed by the time I get there."

Good riddance, I feel like saying, but I bite my tongue because Nicole is here.

"Thanks for doing this, Maria," Nicole says. "If they don't have them, we can try Party Central tomorrow."

"What are you shopping for?" I ask.

"Maria's going over to Celebrations before it closes," Nicole explains. "We're on a mission for some Hawaiian leis-the floral ones, not the fuzzy plastic kind."

I nod and it finally clicks; they're planning Kelly's welcome-home party.

As if I could feel any c.r.a.ppier.

Maria rolls her eyes at me, like she's annoyed that I'm even here. Part of me feels bad for the girl. She's had more scores made on her than the touchdown post at our school's football field, but that still doesn't stop her from playing wide receiver.

"What? What are you staring at?" she snaps at me-just out of nowhere.

"Nothing," I snap back.

"Maria's been a huge help," Nicole says, intercepting. "She has some really cool ideas."

"Paper streamers and Hawaiian leis don't exactly equal up to cool ideas," Maria squawks.

"Whatever," Nicole says. "You forgot to mention the other three thousand brilliant ideas you came up with. The girl should seriously be a party planner."

Maria looks away and yanks down the sleeves of her sweatshirt, like she can't stand to be complimented.

"Wait. I almost forgot," Nicole says, jumping up from the table. "Don't go yet."

Maria lets out this big-a.s.s sigh. "I told you, I have to leave."

Nicole ignores her, running back into the house, emerging from the sliders a few seconds later, gift bag in hand. It's the first time I notice that she's wearing this short peach sundress with the straps of her bathing suit sticking out. When did she get so cute? And why didn't I see it until just this afternoon?

"What's that?" Maria asks.