1

My mom waits her turn in the morning traffic jam in front of my high school. I sit in the passenger seat with my book bag in my lap, staring at the green grass, the stone steps, the front doors. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I am back at Evergreen High School.

“Do you have everything?” Mom asks.

“I think so,” I say.

I get out of the car. I sling my book bag over my shoulder. I’m dressed as boringly as humanly possible. Since it’s January, that means down coat, Levi’s, black Converse. My hair’s pulled back. No makeup. No lip gloss. Nothing.

I keep my eyes down as I trudge across the grass. I heave my backpack farther up my shoulder. I’m loaded up with textbooks. There will be a lot of catching up to do. My teachers better cut me some slack in that department. But of course they will. Everyone knows what the deal is. Everyone understands that Madeline Graham is officially getting her second chance.

I make it to the main building. I’m totally aware of the people on the stairs around me. Are they watching me? Talking about me? Do people stop what they’re doing when I pass?

No. Not really.

Homeroom is different, though. Every eye is on me, from the minute I walk in the door. I move through my staring classmates and take my usual place in the back of the room. Then I remember that I have been instructed to never sit in the back of classrooms, to never sit in the back of any room. (Too antisocial; I am supposed to participate.) So I go to the middle of the room, but that feels too claustrophobic. So I go to the side of the room, by the window, and take a seat there, next to a boy I don’t know. He’s one of those keep-your-head-down types, which is probably what I’ll turn into.

I sit. I dig out my new monthly organizer that my mother bought me. On the top there’s a note:

I draw a box around the note, I draw several boxes. More people come in. I don’t look up.

Then a loud voice bellows at me from behind. “Maddie Graham!? Is that you!?”

It’s Tara Peterson, the biggest dork in our school. She’s standing right over me.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say.

“Have you been sick?” asks Tara loudly. “Where have you been?”

I look up at her, I give her my best “please don’t do this” smile.

But people like Tara don’t understand things like hints.

“Did you have mono?” she asks me.

“No.”

“Where were you, then?”

“I was…” I see that other people are watching us. They’re listening to what I’m going to say. Even the head-down boy next to me has turned to hear my answer.

“I had a family situation,” I say.

“Oh my gawd!” she says at maximum volume. “Did somebody die?”

“No, nobody died.”

“It must have been bad, though. You’ve been gone for months!”

“All right, class! Everyone in your seats,” says Mrs. Wagner, our teacher. Thank God.