IT’S WEDNESDAY, my first day back from my sentence.

The bus slows to a stop in front of my driveway like a cranky old lady—wheezing, groaning, creaking, and generally making me feel like I’m making its day a little harder. I step on board and the bus charges off, and I almost take a tumble into Tamberlin Ziff, who screams loudly and then enjoys all the eyes on her.

“Sorry,” I mumble, although she’s not really the one I need to apologize to. That person’s sitting in a seat alone, about seven rows back.

But as I get closer, Brynne gives me a quick look. Then her face hardens and she lifts her backpack from the floor, placing it on the empty part of the seat next to her. I stop at her row.

“Brynne?”

She doesn’t look at me.

“Brynne,” I say a little louder.

She glances up at me again, with the same hard look. Then I realize she’s listening to an iPod. She turns up the volume and looks away.

“Sit down!” the driver yells in the same voice she used to use on the barkers. I find an empty seat. And then I’m back to reading Car and Driver over the shoulder of Little Kid. It may not be a glory seat, but it’s actually strangely comfortable. One little piece of my old life is back.

I go to my locker and look around. Maria, who’s standing less than a foot away from me at her own locker, doesn’t even glance in my direction. “Hi,” I say to her.

“Hi,” she bleats, avoiding my eyes.

I smell my armpit just in case. It would almost be a relief to reek and have something to blame everything on, other than my own stupid self, but all I smell is the shower-fresh scent of Teen Spirit.

And then I see Mandy. Our eyes meet, and she freezes like she’s in a bit of a panic. I refuse to let her get away, and luckily she’s petrified by shock and the awkwardness of the situation.

“Hi,” I say. I smile. Not too confidently, since I have to show that I’m humble.

“Hi.” She smiles back. It’s a little shaky, but it’s still a smile.

All around us, people are rushing by, greeting her as they do.

So I just say, “I want to help on the campaign.”

She laughs a little. “Well, elections are two days away.”

“I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been around for a while.” My words sound too lame for how I really feel, so I say, “I’m just sorry about everything, period.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. She looks down at her shoes. They’re clogs. “Well, if you hadn’t made me run for president, I never would have done it.” She looks back up at me.

I smile. I miss her so much, clogs and all. And yes, she is the kind of person who can pull it off.

“Can I come back to the Bored Game Club?”

She gets kind of squirmy. “I don’t know. Probably not today, okay? Let me talk to Phoebe and Joey first. Half the school’s been coming to the club, so we’ve been pretty swamped.” But she looks at me sympathetically. That’s the thing about Mandy. She may play at being tough, but at heart she’s like Wonder bread. “But soon, okay?”

I reach forward to hug her. She stumbles backward a bit and then leans in for a squeeze. When I let go, she gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Okay, I’ll see you soon. And by the way?”

“Yes?”

“Nice hair.” She smiles. “I mean it.”