True love, she thought. I must be out of my gourd. You don't keep going with a guy forever just because he's okay and you're afraid you might do worse.

When he tries to make up this time, I should just tell him to drop dead.

On the rag. A, I'm not. B, screw him anyway.

In the cafeteria she spotted Jim at one of the long lunch tables, surrounded by his jock friends. Betty and Henry were at a corner table, sitting across from each other at its far end, several empty chairs between them and the rowdy clique of girls occupying the other end.

After buying a Pepsi at the "drinks only" window, she went to join them. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

"Okay with me," Henry said. "Just don't embarrass us by sticking a straw up your nostril."

"The hell with that. How'll I drink my pop?"

"Take a load off," Betty said.

She pulled out the metal folding chair and sat down beside Henry.

"So how come you're not eating with Jim Dandy?" he asked. "Did your taste buds finally rebel at the prospect?"

"Something like that. We had a little problem."

Betty, about to take a bite, frowned and set her sandwich down.

"Are you all right?" Lane realized she suddenly had a lump in her throat. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

"The dirt bag," Betty said.

"Want me to kick his butt?" Henry asked.

"You'd need the Seventh Cavalry," Betty told him. "And they already bought it at the Little Big Horn."

"Very funny."

"I don't know why you put up with him," she said. Her cheeks wobbled as she shook her head. "Good Lord, girl, you know darn well you could have any guy in the school. Except for Henry, of course. I'd be forced to kill him if he made a play for you."

"You ladies could share me," he suggested.

"But I mean it, though. Seriously. Jim's always giving you grief about one thing or another. Why do you stand for it?"

"I don't know."

"Because he's so cute," Henry said.

"Stick it in your ear. This is serious."

"Maybe I will dump him," Lane said. "It's just getting worse all the time."

Grinning, Henry leaned sideways and slipped an arm around her back. "Saturday night. You and me. We'll make beautiful music together."

Lane saw a quick look of alarm on Betty's face. Then the girl narrowed her eyes and said, "Prepare to meet your maker, Henrietta."

"Sorry," Lane told him. "I'd hold myself responsible for your demise. I can't have that on my conscience."

"I'd die happy."

Betty's face went red. She pressed her lips together.

"That's enough, Henry," Lane said.

He tried to hang on to his silly grin but it fell off. He pulled his arm in. "Just kidding," he said.

Just kidding. That's what Jim had said. What was it, the standard excuse when a guy makes an ass of himself?

Lane opened her bag and took out the sandwich. It was wrapped in cellophane. She saw egg salad bulging out between the bread.

"Just trying to make you jealous, sweet stuff," he said to Betty.

"You'd stand as much chance with Lane as an ice cube in a hot skillet."

Tears suddenly burned Lane's eyes. She slapped her sandwich down hard on the table. "I'm sorry!" she blurted. "Goddamn it! Don't do this! You're my friends!"

They both gaped at her.

"I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Gee," Henry said. "It's all right," Betty murmured. "You okay?"

Lane shook her head.

"I know just the thing to make you feel better."

"What?" Lane asked.

"Let me eat that sandwich for you."

She gasped out a laugh. "Not a chance."

"Grab it off her, Hen, and I'll forgive you."

He reached for it. Lane caught his wrist and pinned it to the table.

"Try it again," she warned, "and you'll be picking your nose left- handed."

"He's such a klutz, he'd put out his eye."

Lane let go. When she finished unwrapping her sandwich, she tore it down the middle and offered half to Betty. The girl leered at it but shook her head. "Go on," Lane told her. "I don't have much of an appetite, anyway."

"If you're sure..." She took it.

They ate their lunches and chatted, and everything seemed normal again. But Lane knew that damage had been done. Obviously, Betty had seen through Henry's joking around-realized he would dump her in an eyeblink if he thought he stood a chance with Lane.

Break up with Jim, and sooner or later Henry probably will ask you out. Then you'll be minus your two best friends.

Jessica's assigned seat in Mr. Kramer's sixth-period English class was at the front of the room, just to the left of Lane's desk. Today Riley Benson swaggered down the aisle and sat there. He slumped against the backrest, stretched out his legs and crossed his motorcycle boots.

He looked at Lane. His face, with half-shut, sullen eyes, never failed to remind her of television news photos that showed men who put bullets into people for the fun of it.

Twisting around, she saw Jessica in Riley's usual seat at the rear corner.

"We traded," he said. "You got a problem?"

"None of my business."

She turned to the front. The final bell hadn't clamored yet, and Mr.

Kramer rarely entered the classroom before the bell. She hoped he would show up soon. Riley had a reputation for starting trouble, and she was pretty sure that she'd already been chosen as today's target.

Thanks a heap, Jessica.

The trade had to be Jessica's idea. Lane could understand that.

Battered the way she was, the girl probably wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.

It crossed her mind that Riley might be the guy who'd beaten up Jessica. She knew they'd been going together, and he sure seemed capable of such things. Maybe Jessica gave him some lip. She could've made up the mugging story.

Lane looked over at him. His fingers were rapping out a rhythm on the edge of the desk. He had dirty knuckles, but they weren't bruised or scraped. He might've been wearing gloves, though. Or done the damage with a blunt instrument of some kind.

"You got a problem?" he asked.

"No. Uh-uh." She turned her eyes to the front.

"Bitch."

This is really my day.

She stared at Mr. Kramer's empty desk. Her back felt rigid. Her heart was thumping hard and her face was hot.

Come on, teacher. Where are you?

"Fuckin' twat."

Her head snapped toward him. "Blow it out your ass, Benson."

The bell blared and she flinched.

Riley's lip curled up. "See ya after class. Count on it."

"Oh, I'm so scared. I'm trembling."

"Ya oughta be."

In fact, she was. Now I've done it, she thought. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut?

It was little consolation when Mr. Kramer entered the room.

If only he'd shown up a couple of minutes ago.

Roll book in hand, he settled down against the front edge of his desk and fixed his eyes on Riley. "I believe you're in the wrong seat, Mr. Benson."

"You got a problem with that?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do."

Lane felt a grin spreading across her face.

Give it to him, Kramer.

"Please return to your assigned seat. Now."

From the back of the room came Jessica's voice. "I asked Riley to trade with be," she said.

"Neverthe-" For an instant, he looked surprised. Then concern furrowed his brow. "My God, what happened to you?"

"I got wracked ub. Okay? Can I just stay here?"

"Did somebody do that to you?"

"No, I fell down the stairs."

Maybe she had a different story for everyone.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Jessica. But I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you both resume your proper seats."

Riley mumbled something, gathered his books, and headed for the back of the classroom. Good show! Lane thought.

No wonder Kramer was one of the most popular teachers at Buford High. Not only young, handsome, and clever, but he had the guts to keep discipline. Plenty of other teachers would've backed off and let Riley stay.

Lane suddenly remembered Riley's threat. She felt herself go hot and shaky again.

Jessica slid into her seat. She sat up straight, facing Kramer.

"Thanks a lot, teach," she muttered.

"You're not outside, now. Take off those sunglasses."