Ben’s not in my homeroom, which normally would have bummed me out, since we’ve shared the same homeroom for the last four years, but now it fills me with a strange sort of relief. I don’t need any more weird scenes between us than what’s already going to come. Because I know it’ll be strange. I know he’s probably still mad at me for calling him an idiot and that he’ll ignore me in the halls or pretend he doesn’t know me when someone says my name. I don’t need the added stress of being invisible. Not to Ben, who I thought would be my best friend for the rest of my life. Not right now.

But when I find out that I’m in Mr. Evans’ homeroom, I get really bummed out, because Mr. Evans is bald and pudgy and seriously one of the weirdest people on the planet. He wears crazy ties that stop halfway down his shirt and belts with huge cowboy buckles. And he has this horrible habit of picking his nose when he thinks no one is looking and then flicking it under his desk. It’s gross. It really is. Every time I leave his room, I feel like I need to take a shower.

But then Shelby walks in with her pink cowboy boots and white skirt. Everyone turns to stare at her, and I start to feel a tiny bit better about the situation because I know I already have a leg up on everyone else.

Then she sees me. Almost immediately, she turns around and heads for a desk on the other side of the room.

Great.

I knew I should have kept my mouth shut about that dumb rattlesnake guy at the bus stop. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t. I never would have been such a jerk like that in the past. Part of me still wants to impress her in the hopes that she’ll like me. And then there’s another part that doesn’t care, because I know it wouldn’t work anyway. Liking someone means spending time with them, talking on the phone, and finding out all their stuff. And if Shelby found out about my stuff—at least, the real stuff—she’d turn and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

Just like she did right now.

Ben’s in our usual spot at lunch, sitting at the table near the cafeteria door. I catch sight of him as I come in, but he’s shouting and laughing with Randy Plaska and Matt Piazza and John Davis, who are the three best players on the basketball team and are probably trying to recruit him to play this year. We’re all in the same fourth period English class too. And now they do the exact thing to me that they did when I walked in there: nothing. None of them notice as I pass by. Not one of them looks up.

I’m not surprised that Ben’s blowing me off, but I am annoyed that he seems to be getting tight with those other guys, who he’s always considered a bunch of dorks. Ben’s never been the sports type, but I wonder if they’ll convince him to try out for basketball because of his height. Or because they can, now that I’m out of the picture.

But once I stop feeling annoyed, I start to feel nervous. I never used to have to worry about where to sit at lunch. I always just sat next to Ben. Every single day, for the last five years. Now, as I get closer to the end of the line, holding my tray, I can feel myself start to sweat. What am I going to do, go sit by myself in the corner like some loser? Head over to Ben’s table and stand there, waiting for them to ask me to sit down? Slink away like a total moron when they don’t?

This sucks.

And then I hear a voice from somewhere behind me. “Hey, Jack!”

I turn around. Shelby’s leaning out of the line, straining to make eye contact. “Can I sit with you? Just for today? I don’t really know … ”

“Yeah, sure.” I cut her off, trying to act all cool and casual, but my heart’s beating a mile a minute. Maybe she’s over the rattlesnake thing from this morning. “I’ll wait for you down here.”

She nods, giving me a thumbs-up. “Thanks.”

I should be the one thanking her.

She doesn’t even know that she just saved my life.

It’s hard to sit for forty minutes across the table from someone who’s so pretty and still remember to eat. It really is. Shelby’s denim shirt makes her eyes look even greener, and up close I can see gold bursts inside the green, as if tiny suns have exploded behind her pupils. Silver earrings in the shape of S’s gleam against her tan earlobes, and her teeth are as white as pieces of Chiclet gum. For as small as she is, she doesn’t seem to have any issues with eating, either. Her tray is loaded with two grilled cheese sandwiches, a pile of French fries, creamed corn, two chocolate milks, and an Oreo cookie pudding sundae.

She digs right in, devouring a grilled cheese in less than two minutes, dipping the corners in a mixture of ketchup and mustard, and wiping her mouth with a napkin after each bite.

“Hey, listen,” I say after a few minutes. “I’m sorry about giving you a hard time at the bus stop. About the rattlesnake guy and all. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“You weren’t a jerk,” she says, still chewing. “I couldn’t care less if you believe me or not.”

Her answer sounds like a scolding, or worse, a brush-off, and I can feel a heat rising in my cheeks. I bend over my milk and pull on the straw. Laughter and shouts fill the room, and the heavy smells of melted cheese and butter hang in the air.

“Lunch is always the worst part of the day,” Shelby says, coming up for air. “I hate lookin’ for a place to sit.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Where are your friends?” She straightens up a little, looking around. “Don’t you have a group you usually sit with?”

“Don’t do that.” I hunch down, nervous that Ben or his new crew has seen her glancing in their direction. I don’t need any of them thinking that I’m talking about them. “Come on, just sit still.”

“What’re you so jumpy about?” Shelby shoves three fries into her mouth. “I thought you were popular here.”

I give her a look. “Who told you that?”

“No one.” She shrugs. “You just look like you would be.”

I look like I’m popular? What does popular look like? What do I look like?

“Were you popular at your old school?” I ask.

Shelby rolls her eyes.

“No?”

“We have three groups of people at my old school.” Shelby holds up three fingers. “Upper trash, middle trash, and lower trash. I was lower trash. Prob’ly about as unpopular as you can get.”

I don’t know what Shelby is talking about, but I do know that I’d never put the word trash in the same sentence as her. She’s about as far removed from trash as anyone I’ve ever known. “Well, you’ll be popular here. Just give it a few days. You’ll see.”

“I better not be.” She scoops a mouthful of creamed corn into her mouth, blotting her mouth again with the napkin. “I do better flying solo. I don’t want any friends.”

“Why not?”

“Waste of time. No point.”

“What are you talking about?” I take a bite of my hamburger. “Everyone wants friends.”

“I’m not everyone.” She pulls on her straw, watching me with her green eyes.

“What about Pippa and me?” I point out. “We’re your friends.”

“That’s what you think.”

“We’re not?” I push down a flash of annoyance. Who is this girl?

“You’re just people I know,” Shelby answers. “Who happen to live near my aunt and uncle.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” She wipes her mouth a final time and stands up from the table. Every last morsel on her tray is gone.

“Why’d you want me to sit with you, then?” I ask quickly. “I mean, if you don’t care about having friends?”

“You don’t have to be friends with someone to have a conversation with them,” she answers. “It’s nice to eat and talk, don’t you think?”

She’s the strangest girl I’ve ever met, I think as I watch her walk away. Weird, even.

So why does that make me like her even more?