She ignored my words. "Yeah, I imagine you're feeling the boredom something fierce."

I started for the door again.

"But then, you always have your boyfriend Marc. And oh yes, the new guy, Lance - we can't forget him. Weren't you with him at the game Friday night?"

I stiffened, and then turned back to her. "Jeannie, I meant to talk to you about the other night. I wasn't going to-"

She held up her hand. "Emili, you always did underestimate me," she said. "But no need for explanations. I'm not your mother confessor. Tell it to Marc."

She smiled ever-so-sweetly and paraded right past me out of the bathroom.

Oh my word.

The rest of the day was endless. I see-sawed between worrying about Farah and feeling like slime because of Marc. When I went to the bathroom during sixth period, I tried texting Farah again. Still nothing.

My head hurt. I even felt my forehead to see if I had a fever - which was lame, because I knew having a fever had nothing to do with it.

At the end of the day, I burst through the school doors and called Farah the second I got outside. It went straight to voice mail. "Where are you?" I asked. "Why aren't you answering? I'm going to kill you for this. I'm getting freaked out."

I figured Farah's mom would know where she was. I knew my mom had Mrs. Menins's cell number, so I called her at work. "I need to talk with Farah," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Her phone's messed up so can you give me her mom's cell?"

"Isn't Farah at school?" Mom asked.

"I think she's sick, and I want to check on her."

"Give me a sec," Mom said. Then, "Okay, got it. It's 765-3129. Honey, if she's sick, maybe you shouldn't call. You don't want to disturb her."

"I'll only talk a minute. Thanks."

I started to punch in Mrs. Menins's number, then froze. Farah would never in this lifetime want me to call her mother. Mrs. Menins was, well, less than nice. What if Farah was skipping school, and I called asking where she was? Farah would dump me faster than all of her old boyfriends put together.

I tucked my phone away, but a bad feeling pressed on me. I should be doing something; I just didn't know what.

Maybe Lance would know where Farah was. I glanced at the crowds hanging by the doors. Since Lance was tall, he'd be easy to spot.

The thought of him made my heart begin to dance. Worry for Farah was edged out by delicious memories of kissing Lance. This was the ideal excuse to talk to him. It wouldn't be like I was stalking him - it'd only be one friend asking about another. Perfect.

While this parade of thoughts marched through my head, I caught a glimpse of him. Somehow I'd missed him at the door because he was already heading down the sidewalk towards town. He was beautiful, walking tall and easy, his hands swaying loosely at his sides.

"Lance," I called and started running after him. "Lance!"

He slowed and turned around. When he saw me, he tipped his head and narrowed his eyes, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulders. I ran too quickly and nearly slammed into him. I put my arm out to stop myself and ended up grasping his solid bicep. Jerking my hand back, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

Lance grinned. "Well, Cecily, nice to see you, and alone this time."

"Uh, hi, Lance."

"Need something?"

I was breathing hard, and standing so close to him didn't help. "Have you seen Farah?" I asked.

"Haven't seen her all day."

"She didn't come to school, and she's not answering my texts."

"Maybe she doesn't want to answer."

"This is Farah. She always wants to answer. I'm worried."

Lance shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Not sure what I can do about it."

I flinched, surprised at his abrupt tone. I'd expected deep interest. I fumbled for something to say. "I guess nothing. Sorry I bothered you."

He reached out and grabbed my arm. "Don't leave all mad. I'm just saying..."

"I know, and you're right. There's nothing you can do." Why was I being so curt?

"Let's go," he said, taking my hand and pulling me along.

"Where?"

"Over to the bench to sit. Okay with you?" His voice was warm again, the way I remembered it from Friday. Maybe he wasn't annoyed after all. "I could call my brother. He'll probably know where she is."

We sat on a rough cement bench at the edge of the school grounds. The words In Memory of Walter Koenig were carved into the back of it. Everybody at Bates knew Walter Koenig had donated big time for all the landscaping around the school. He had been some kind of famous biologist or something.

Lance took out his cell phone and pressed a b.u.t.ton. "Pete? Emili's looking for Farah... What...? You serious? Right now?" He stood so quickly his backpack slipped from his shoulder, and hung down his side. "Are you... What? You're insane."

The words coming out of his mouth were hard like stones. I could hear Pete's voice on the other end but couldn't make out what he was saying. He must have been mad though because his voice came fast and loud.

"No way..." Lance said. He snapped his phone shut, took a huge breath, and started pacing around the bench.

I sat there wide-eyed, watching him.

"Slime bag." He spit the words out.

"Is Farah okay?" I asked.

He started cracking his knuckles, pulling each one with a loud pop. "Turns out I can help you after all. Farah's fine."

"What's wrong? And would you sit, you're making me dizzy."

He plunked down on the cold cement. "She's been with my brother and just left his place."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"She was there all day?"

"Sounds like it," Lance answered. He ran his hand through his hair.

"How dumb can they be?" My voice was rising. "Does your brother even know what grade she's in?"

"Don't yell at me. I'm not the slime bag." He shook his head and started pulling on his knuckles again.

We both sat there, listening to the loud snaps. Most of the kids had cleared out; they had either been picked up by their parents, or they'd driven home in their own cars. The sun shone low in the sky and my breath started to make little puffs of white in the air.

"At least she's all right," I said.

"And yes, he knows how old she is."

"I worried all day."

Lance tilted his head and regarded me. "All day, huh?"

I nodded. "All day."

Another long silence. Lance sighed, and I felt the mood shift. "It's one of the things I like about you, Cecily Jones - you're a good friend."

I smiled. "You know my last name."

"I know a lot of things about you."

I inhaled sharply and Farah dropped right off my radar.

He continued, "So, this boyfriend of yours..."

"Marc - you saw him. He's a close friend."

"Cecily." He drawled out every syllable. "Why are you calling him your friend? He's your boyfriend. You and I both know it - the whole tenth grade knows it."

I studied my feet. I'd never noticed how big they looked in black flats. Like monstrous walruses. I angled my right foot sideways. Huge.

"Cecily," Lance repeated, more loudly.

"Okay, fine. He's my boyfriend. But that doesn't mean he always will be." My chest tightened, and I could hear my own voice get higher. "I'm not totally unpopular."

Where did those words come from?

Lance actually chuckled. "Who says you are? I'm only thinking maybe Marc could pose some problems - you know, get in the way."

My gaze snapped to his. "What do you mean?" A flash of hope made me hold my breath.

"If you're already hooked up, then maybe I should be on my way." He shrugged, stood, and began to walk away backwards, keeping his eyes on mine as if daring me to let him go.

"Stay," I said. "He won't always be my boyfriend."

Lance paused, smile still in place.

And just like magic, Marc's faithful face faded right out of my brain and heart. Lance raised his eyebrows, came back, and lowered himself to the bench. He leaned in until his face was within a breath. "All right, then. Sounds good. See you soon."

He kissed me lightly - right there in the middle of the whole world. He kissed me, and I thought I'd surely burst open.

I quickly glanced around to make sure no one had seen. Kissing was grounds for suspension, and I'd never been suspended in my life.

Lance squeezed my shoulder and left. I watched him walk away, and pride coursed through me. "Mine," I thought to myself. "He's mine." I heard a soft clucking sound behind me and swirled around.

There stood Jeannie, big as life.

"How did you get there?" I asked sharply.

"I walked. It's a free country." She scrutinized me and then made the clucking noise again. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Marc Rounder's girlfriend kissing other guys."

"Marc and I broke up."

"No kidding? You didn't mention it in the bathroom earlier today. And it seems highly suspect considering I saw you with him not even an hour ago."

"Well, we're about to break up," I said. Oh help. What now? Would she talk to Marc before I could? Would she tattle to Princ.i.p.al Ramos about Lance and me kissing?

"You won't tell, will you?" I asked.

She raised her eyebrows and sat. She wriggled her ample behind against the back of the bench.

"Worried?" she asked with actual pleasure in her tone. Her brown eyes were bright.

There was a time when Jeannie and I were friends. For a few years, we were good friends. I sighed - that was forever ago.

"Maybe," I answered.

"Well, you should be. Oh, Emili, kissing right here where anyone could see you. Are you crazy?"

"I guess I am. But to be fair, he kissed me."

"Like you didn't kiss him back."

She had me.

"Are you more worried about Mr. Ramos or Marc?"

"Both."

"Marc's a nice guy, Emili."

"I know."