I dreaded seeing Arbor at school on Monday. I couldn't eat my breakfast; the inside of my lip was chewed raw. I'd popped my knuckles one too many times, so my left hand was aching. Ellen was in a bad mood too.

"Hey, Ellen-face."

We met at the bottom of the hill, after Callie dropped me off. Ellen stared up at Peaks High's big front doors.

"Do we have to go in?"

"Nope," I said. "I have two tickets for Rio in my backpack. We're taking the bus to DIA and as soon as we charm our way through Brazilian customs, we'll begin our new lives as fugitives."

"Really?"

I stared at her. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't want to face anybody. They'll all be looking at me and judging."

"I can already hear Britta," I muttered. "'You were practically dry humping him, Evi!'"

"'What was Jim thinking, sneaking around with you behind everyone's back?'"

"'I know Arbor had you with him in his room. Alone. Are you still a virgin?'"

"'Amanda told me Jim has herpes. Do you have herpes now?'"

We were practically at our lockers by the time we'd exhausted these imaginary conversations. Miraculously, it seemed that most of the other members of the student body had their own problems to worry about. Almost no one looked our way.

"Good luck," sighed Ellen. "See you at lunch."

"Fort.i.tude, my friend."

He wasn't in Latin. I felt a momentary relief followed by a growing dread. If he wasn't here, then where was he? What was he doing? I could barely keep my mind on the p.r.o.nouns we were learning. Quentin made us repeat all the forms, chanting together like Byzantine monks, through all the oblique cases and each of the three genders. It sounded kind of like a nursery rhyme.

"Hic, haec, hoc."

The mouse ran up the clock.

"Huius, huius, huius."

Arbor's face wavered before mine, his blank stare grinding into my brain. Last night, he'd said I wish I could tell you. Well, what did he want to tell me? Maybe he wasn't a serial killer after all. A tiny hope dawned in my chest. Maybe he was being used. Controlled by someone. But why couldn't he just...

"Huic, huic, huic."

The dative case always sounds like hiccups. Okay, if he were being controlled by someone, how could they keep such close tabs on him inside my house, with my cop sister a room away? I mean, doesn't that seem like a safe place to tell me the truth, if that's what he wanted to do? Maybe ask for help? But no, why would he...? Farfetched theories spun themselves out, each crazier than the last. They revolved, shouting and straining to hold together until they were nothing but a soggy mess. My brain hurt. It felt like a washing machine set on high.

"Hunc, hanc, hoc."

Hunk is right. Evi, you're making stuff up to absolve him, and you're afraid that it's because you like him. Well, admit it. You kind of do. And that isn't even the worst fear.

You're afraid you'd forgive him.

I steeled myself. No way would I be that person. No way would I be the delusional girl who falls for the bad guy! They always go down hard. I'd rather be Jamie Lee with a dull nail file than that girl.

"Hoc, hac, hoc."

I choked out the last few singular forms. Ugh, we had to have these memorized for tomorrow, and it was going to take me literally ages to do. The bell rang. As I gathered up my books, I noticed George Farmer. He was slouched low in his seat, glumly staring at the top of his desk. Jim "I have no b.a.l.l.s" Holness, his partner for the presentation, had decided to take study hall first period instead of Latin. Dropped out of the cla.s.s on him.

"Hey," I said, on my way down the aisle. "Rough night, Sat.u.r.day."

He tensed. "What do you know about it?"

I was taken aback by his sudden defensiveness. "I... nothing, just what happened. Ellen's still upset too. I'm just saying, it sucks having a best friend who's in love with someone who refuses to acknowledge them."

George smiled wanly. "Yeah," he said, soft voice bitter and somehow full of regret. "It really does."

I left him still sitting there, wondering if he'd make it to his next cla.s.s on time.

Math was the usual parade of awful. Mr. Perkins kept calling on me over and over, as if this time trigonometry would magically make sense to me. I hate that math is my worst subject. Whenever I give a wrong answer or get a less than stellar grade on a quiz, I feel like Mr. Perkins is looking at me and thinking, "Girls can't do math." You know, instead of "Evi can't do math." I suddenly felt like I understood a little more about what Ellen had told me in the car on the way home from the party on Sat.u.r.day. When you feel like you're representing a whole group of people, instead of just yourself, suddenly your day gets a whole lot more stressful.

We should at least get paid for it, or something.

Lit and Social Studies pa.s.sed quickly and relatively painlessly. Thank G.o.d for lunch. When I walked into the cafeteria, I saw ads for Homecoming weekend up on the closed-circuit TVs and groaned inwardly. Ellen met me at our table. I think we were both dreading what Britta had to say, but she and Vi and Shelby were more interested in discussing their dates for the Homecoming dance on Sat.u.r.day night.

"I think Luke Ofori might ask me," said Vi.

"Did you talk at the party?" Britta glanced toward Ellen as she said this, but her face didn't reveal any particular agenda.

"Um, yeah. We were totally dancing..." Vi smiled dreamily. Shelby popped her head up to scan the rest of the tables in the cafeteria, but Britta pulled her back down by her shirtsleeve, hissing, "Don't look, you weirdo!"

"Just checking. I think he has lunch this period."

"Well, ladies, I already have a date." Britta had sat back and was admiring her new, professional-looking manicure. "Thanks for asking."

"Who is it?" we chorused. I think Ellen just moved her lips without actually saying anything, which made my shoulders start to shake silently with laughter.

"Casey. Hall."

She spread her arms out for full effect, looking as if she'd just conducted the last note of Beethoven's Fifth. In other words, she looked ridiculous. Ellen gave her a golf clap.

"That's great, Britta," said Shelby.

"I know."

"What is he, on the basketball team?"

"Point guard," said Britta, with a huge goofy grin on her face. "I don't even know what that means."

"Point guard runs the offense," said Shelby. "Controls who gets the ball. Kind of like the quarterback."

"Yeah," said Britta, bunching up her face and settling back down to complete her mid-lunch nail inspection, "I didn't actually want to know."

I sat back, relieved that Britta had decided to move on from Arbor. Didn't seem like she was going to interrogate me about what went on in his room at the party, either.

Shelby shrugged. "Well, I think I'm going to stag it."

"Me too," Ellen and I said simultaneously.

"Good," said Shelby, zipping up her lunch bag. "We can hang out in a group, and we won't look pathetic at all. Html-tag-forward-slash-sarcasm."

"Awesome plan."

"Sometimes," muttered Britta, "I have absolutely no idea what you girls are talking about."

Just then, the crashing sound of a pair of cymbals resounded through the cafeteria. Snare drums started up a beat, and the pep band came marching in through the tunnel doors to the fieldhouse. They wore matching polyester blue uniforms and white hats with silly-looking little tufts. Super ugly. The cheerleaders followed, Amanda among them, tumbling into formation. They, of course, got to wear cute skirts and sweaters. I wondered if the cheerleaders were in charge of picking the pep band's outfits. Just, you know, to remind them who's who and what's what at this school.

Ew, Amanda. I hate her face.

"Ready? Okay!"

They clapped together in rhythm (What were the poor drummers there for, then? Decoration?) and in their tinny sing-song voices, "led" the student body in a cheer: Hey hey!

It's time to fight!

Everybody yell Blue and White!

Everybody most certainly did not yell "Blue and White," although I noticed Quentin standing in the corner, Aeneid in his hands and a delighted twinkle in his eye, shouting along gleefully.

Hey hey!

Let's strut the strut!

Everybody yell Go Hike Hut!

"What was that they wanted us to yell?" mumbled Ellen. "'Blow my b.u.t.t?'"

I exploded with laughter and nearly shoved Ellen off the bench.

Hey hey!

Let's do it again!

Everybody yell Go Fight Win!

Go Fight Win!

Go Fight Win!

Amanda did some sort of fancy-looking flip, and the cafeteria broke out into cheers and applause. Princ.i.p.al Davis came out with a cordless mic, wearing an ugly blue and white track suit. He has a deep, grumbly voice. It rumbled over the students like a thunderstorm.

"Thank you, cheer squad," he said. "I would like to remind all of you that our Homecoming game against Boulder High takes place at Peaks Stadium this Friday night at 7:00 p.m. The Homecoming dance a " he pause for some scattered applause " a will be held in the fieldhouse starting at 8:00 on Sat.u.r.day! Tickets are on sale now. We want to see each and every one of you there, peppy and zesty and full of school spirit! Go Minutemen!"

He handed the mic over to Amanda, whose fake smile seemed to be doing all it could to keep her ears from collapsing in on each other.

"Go Minutemen!" she cried. Her cheer toadies yelled and did some painful-looking high kicks behind her. I wished one would connect with the back of her head. I kind of felt bad for wishing that.

Oh wait, no, I didn't.

"Hi everybody!"

I swear, when she's talking to a guy or to a group, her voice goes up about three octaves. She sounded like a three year-old on helium.

"It's time to announce the nominees for Homecoming King and Queen!" She held the mic out in front of her and clapped her hands, as if she were giving us a round of applause. Because all of us had an equal chance to be nominated, obviously. Ha.

One of her flunkies produced an oversized envelope decorated with blue and white glitter, a large PHS emblazoned on the front in wavering capital letters.

"Everything they do is a craft project of some sort," observed Ellen, squinting up at them over the heads of the other students. "Have you seen how they completely transform the football team's lockers before every game? Ribbons, glue sticks, pipe cleaners..."

I shook my head. "Cheerleaders are indeed a fascinating people."

Amanda let out a calculatedly precious squeal of delight as she unsealed the flap of the envelope and pulled out a piece of card stock.

"And the nominees for Homecoming Queen are... Gina Kirk..." There were a couple wolf whistles and claps as Gina stepped forward from the line of cheerleaders to acknowledge her nomination. Amanda cleared her throat and continued.

"Libby Wysocki..."

Another round of applause.

"Vi Goldberg... Wow... that's a surprise!"

Poor Vi certainly looked shocked. Ellen hurriedly nudged her out of her seat to stare around the cafeteria as people cheered her on. Vi even managed half a smile and a wave.

Meanwhile, Britta's jaw had dropped. If she were a cartoon, her tongue would have rolled right out of her mouth onto the floor. I think we all cringed internally, waiting for the jealousy explosion to go off. Britta's wanted to be Homecoming Queen since about the second grade. She gathered herself to say something.

"That. Huge. b.i.t.c.h!"

She was glaring up at the front of the room, where Amanda had just finished announcing, "And me! Amanda Petrov!" and was now giggling in an acutely annoying manner.

"A surprise?" Britta was fuming. Her whole face was turning red. "A surprise? Seriously?" She put her arm around Vi. "Well, then it's gonna be an even bigger surprise to grody old Petrov when you win."

Vi relaxed. She let out a relieved sigh and squeezed Britta's arm. "Thanks."

Amanda was handed a second ridiculously decorated envelope, and edged it open with her thumb as Britta glared daggers at her.

"And the nominees for Homecoming King are..."

It was the same routine, except with more deep-throated whoops from the guys. George Farmer and Jim Holness were both nominated, along with Luke Ofori. Vi grinned with pleasure. Now she knew she was definitely going to be asked. It was probably why she'd been nominated in the first place, but she didn't care.

Amanda ran into the crowd to give Jim a kiss on the cheek before running back to announce the final nominee.

"Barf," muttered Britta.