What are you doing? Don't call my mom."

He flipped the phone open. "I'm not calling your mom. I'm calling Monet to get her b.u.t.t out here and help me."

"Oh." I collapsed against the seat.

The next thing I knew, Monet tapped on the window, and then she and Scott, the art cla.s.s hipster, slid into the backseat.

She took one look at me and laid into her brother. "G.o.d, Dev, what did you do to her?"

"He didn't do anything," I slurred. "Jason Brady spiked my punch. Dev saved me."

"Actually, Haley saved you," Dev said. "She saw what was happening and came and told me."

"Why you?" Monet asked what I was thinking.

"There wasn't anybody else," Dev replied. I winced at the bare truth of the statement. "I mean, she couldn't find you and she didn't want to tell Connor, so she got me."

He seemed to realize that mentioning my ex's name wasn't helping me feel any better and changed the subject. "We can't take her home like this," he said, gesturing to my mascara-stained face and my general unkempt appearance. I looked down and paled when I realized where the wet-looking blotch on my dress probably came from. Obviously, Jason wasn't the only one I'd thrown up on.

"She can spend the night at our house," Monet replied, "but I'd better call her mom as soon as we get home." She remembered her companion. "Can we give Scott a ride home first?"

I was sobering up, which was unfortunate.

"I'll talk to her," I said. "It's okay. She'll understand."

Mom didn't answer her cell, so I left a brief message telling her that I was spending the night at Monet's and not to worry. I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, we were at Monet's.

The next morning, Monet's voice woke me up. "Sophie, it's after nine."

I was disoriented and dehydrated. I was lying in Monet's bed, wearing a pair of her pajamas. There was a bucket on the floor next to me.

The events of the previous night came rushing back to me. "Oh, no." I moaned.

"Do you feel like eating anything? Dev made breakfast."

The mention of food made my stomach churn. I felt like I'd been eating ashes or something, but I dragged myself out of bed and went to the mirror.

I looked like the main character in The Corpse Bride, paper-white with huge purple bags under my eyes. Somehow, this was all Angie Vogel's fault, that I'd made a fool of myself at the dance, that I had to be rescued by Dev, that I had a hangover the size of an elephant.

I stared in the mirror. I would make her pay. I just didn't know how.

I didn't even bother to fix my makeup or comb my hair. Dev had seen me at my worst already. And I wasn't trying to impress him, anyway.

Every step made my head pound, but I made it downstairs, even though I had to rest once I got to the bottom. I was never going to drink again, intentionally or otherwise.

"How are you feeling?" Monet asked when I entered the room.

"Like h.e.l.l warmed over," I said.

Dev snorted. He was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, no shoes. He stood in front of the stove flipping pancakes. "You look it, too. Are you hungry?"

"G.o.d, no," I said. "Do you have any aspirin?"

After a couple of Tylenols and a bottle of water, I felt a minuscule bit better. I watched Monet and Dev eat in silence.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some?" Dev said. "My theory is that you should eat something sugary to cure a hangover."

"You'd know," Monet said. "Remember when we were freshmen, Sophie? And Dev came home from that party completely wasted?"

"I have no room to talk," I commented.

"True," Dev said. "And at least I wasn't letting a creep like Jason Brady maul me in front of the entire school." The scorn in his voice scorched into my brain.

I glared at him, but he ignored me.

"Besides, I'm more mature now. I've learned to handle my alcohol," he added.

"Yeah, right," Monet said. "What about right before school started?"

He ignored her. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

His sister looked up curiously. "The batter will go to waste otherwise," he added brusquely.

"Maybe I could eat a little," I replied. My headache had gone away and so had the sick feeling in my stomach.

Dev made another batch of pancakes and I plowed through them.

"I was starving," I said. "Thanks."

"Do you want to hang out here today?" Monet said.

"No, thanks, I've got to get home," I said. "Mom's probably going to be worried about me."

But when I got home, the house was empty. There was a note on the fridge from Mom saying that she'd gone to the office.

I went into my room and pulled the covers over my head and slept the rest of the day.

It was dusk when I woke up, but I was completely recovered. The pancakes had done the trick.

So I thought the breakup was the worst of it. That I couldn't sink any lower. That was, until I went to school on Monday and discovered that someone had snapped a photo of me at the dance and sent it to every cell phone in the school-and posted it online.

I could have lived with a photo of me with my panties showing being carted off by Dev. But the photo was of a disheveled and bleary-eyed girl tossing her cookies (or candies in this case) all over Jason Brady. I don't know which was worse, the fact that the photo showed me at my worst or that I was clinging to Jason Brady.

Some smart-a.s.s had plastered copies all over my locker. I ripped them down and was stuffing them in the trash can when Monet stopped me.

"I'd shred them," she advised. "Otherwise, they'll just hang them back up again."

She fished the photocopies out of the trash.

"How many of these are there?" I asked.

"Dev's been taking them down since he got here for swim team this morning," she said. "He called me to let me know. I tried calling you, but your cell went right to voice mail."

I grimaced. "Jason has been calling all weekend. I finally shut it off."

"He has a lot of nerve," she said, "after what he did."

"He's a cretin," I said. But my mind was on Dev. Why was he being so nice to me? The Dev I knew would have reveled in my misfortune, not tried to help me.

And who out of all the kids at the dance had taken the picture? Who disliked me so much?

As the day progressed, I realized that apparently the answer was, a lot of people. First, Hannah laughed in my face in English. Then, in PE, I was the last to be picked for softball.

"What a loser," Kent Teramoto said.

I knew he was taking about me. A week ago, he was telling everyone how hot he thought I was. Like I cared.

By the end of the day, I was steaming mad. When I had been popular, I had never experienced so much grief from total strangers. Maybe I had ignored a few people, it was true, but I had never been mean for the sport of it.

Outspoken, yes, b.i.t.c.hy and temperamental, maybe, but I'd never gone out of my way to be cruel. Was that what it was like for the normal kids? If so, I was glad I'd been popular.

I didn't dare show my face in Wicked Jack's. Instead, I convinced Monet to hit Taco Bell at lunch. She didn't mind. Turned out Scott loved Taco Bell and tagged along with us.

I took a sip of my soda. "So what do you guys know about Angie?" I asked, carefully casual. "Where did she come from?"

I hadn't seen her with anyone besides Connor. And Haley and Vanessa were certainly friendly only because of their boyfriends. I needed to talk to someone who knew the entire scoop about Angie.

Monet crossed her arms. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just making conversation." I smiled at her, but she just snorted. "Scott, don't you have English with her?"

"Yeah," he said. "She and Connor sit in the back and hold hands. I think she transferred from Eisenhower."

I beamed at him. It was a start.

When Scott went to refill our sodas, Monet turned to me. "Sophie, it's a bad idea."

"What's a bad idea?" I said with studied innocence.

"Whatever it is you're planning," she replied. "Can't you just let it go for once?"

I looked at her. "You think I should let it go that she started seeing my boyfriend behind my back?"

"I heard that nothing happened before he broke up with you," Monet protested. "She wouldn't even let him kiss her until he did."

"Oh, and that makes it better? She knew he had a girlfriend. She should have walked away. Period. And then to encourage him to dump me in public-that's adding insult to injury."

"I don't think she encouraged him," she replied. "Connor used bad judgment."

Monet would never go along with what I had planned. The girl had too many moral scruples. Luckily for me, I was less fastidious.

"Maybe you're right. Perhaps I should let bygones be bygones," I said, peeping over at her to see if she was falling for it. She was. "It hurts, though."

For a second, I thought I'd oversold, but then Monet said, "You should get to know her. She's really very sweet."

I couldn't believe it. Even Monet, my best friend, obviously liked Angie. Pretty soon, Monet would be wearing a TEAM VOGEL tee, too. "I don't know. I don't think I'm ready. I'll try, though. For you."

"I could see if Angie would be open to a sit-down with you," Monet offered.

I made a face, pretending I needed convincing.

"You don't have to be friends or anything," Monet said, "but maybe a truce for the good of the play?"

I nodded. A truce was the last thing I had planned, but Monet didn't need to know that. And neither did Angie.

Chapter 11.

Hey, Mom, do you know any of the moms from Eisenhower High?" I already knew the answer. Mom knew everybody.

She looked up from her computer. "Yes, I think Judy Blake's two girls go there. You remember Stephanie, don't you?"

"Do you think you could give me her number? I just need to talk to her about something." I didn't know what I was looking for, but I'd know it when I saw it.

"I'll get it for you," she promised. "But why do you need it?"

"Connor and I broke up," I said. "And he's dating someone who just transferred from there. His costar in the play."

She jumped up and wrapped an arm around me. "You broke up? Honey, I'm sorry."

I tried to be nonchalant but didn't move from her embrace. "It was a couple of weeks ago. I'm over it now."

She gasped. "Weeks? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You like Connor. I didn't want to tell you he dumped me."

"Yes, I like Connor," she replied, "but I love you."

It's amazing what those words can do for your self-esteem, even if they come from your mother.