WHEN I SAW THE midget freakazoid walk into my classroom, I honestly thought he was lost. I was at my desk and Lauren was sitting beside me, telling me about her weekend.

“So Claudia texted Amira, then Amira texted Lindsay, who texted Yoko, who texted me, and we all met up downtown on Saturday night to see a movie.”

“How come you didn’t text me?” I asked.

She got all shifty-eyed. “Oh. Well. I thought you’d be busy. With your new, you know, brother.” She gave me a smug little grin.

“Lauren, if you call him my brother one more time, I’ll tell everyone you stuff your bra.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

Claudia described Lauren best when she said to me last year, “Lauren is like the poor man’s version of you.” I didn’t understand what she meant, till she continued. “You know, not quite as pretty, not quite as well-dressed, not quite as popular.”

If I am being totally one hundred percent honest, I would have to say that Claudia hit the snail on the head. My eyes are set perfectly apart; Lauren’s are set just a tad too close together. Mine are a piercing blue; hers are mud-brown. My lips are naturally plump; hers are thin. Even though we both have long hair, mine is luxuriant and thick and chestnut brown, while hers is sandy and fine with split ends. I’m just a little bit taller, and a little bit thinner, so clothes hang better on me. Which is fair, since I’m the true fashionista—Lauren just buys what I buy (but never in the same color, because I totally forbid it).

It’s these small differences that have made her such a good best friend over the years. First of all, she thinks I’m awesome. She always agrees with me. And from my perspective, being around her always makes me feel good about myself, because I’m always just a little bit better than her.

But lately, she’s been testing our friendship. Talking back a bit more. Saying things that are kind of mean.

“Well, sure,” Claudia said when I mentioned this to her one day at our lockers. “You’re like Dr. Frankenstein. You made her in your image. And we all know how that story ends.”

Actually, I had no idea. Books have never been my favorite.

“The creature becomes a murderous monster and ruins Dr. Frankenstein’s life,” Claudia said when she saw the blank look on my face.

“I hardly think Lauren’s going to murder anyone,” I told her. Claudia can be very dramatic.

“God, you’re literal,” she replied.

“Not really,” I said. “I don’t even like reading.”

“Not literate. Literal,” she said, rolling her eyes.

That’s another reason why I can only be off-and-on friends with Claudia. Half the time she says the smartest things. And half the time I have no idea what she’s talking about.

—

“GUESS WHO WAS THERE?” Lauren said as the class started to fill up with kids.

My mind was drifting a bit as I checked out some of my classmates. I counted three cases of bedhead, one stained shirt, and two severe cases of eye snot. Honestly, am I the only one who puts any time into personal grooming in the mornings? I thought. Out loud, I said, “Who?”

“Guess.”

Lauren loves to do this. It makes me crazy. “No.”

“Jared!”

I tried really, really hard not to react. But it wasn’t easy. Jared is only the hottest guy at our school. He transferred from St. Patrick’s, a private school, this year. Rumor has it he was kicked out, which makes him even more intriguing; according to this article I read in one of my magazines, women like a hint of mystery and possibly danger in their men. Jared’s athletic and tall and broad-shouldered and gorgeous, with wavy black hair and brooding brown eyes. And also, unlike most of the kids at this school, he cares about his appearance. He smiles at me when we pass each other in the halls, but I can’t tell if it’s a casual smile, as in “I smile at everyone,” or a more serious smile, as in “I’d like to get to know you better.”

I tried to sound uninterested when I said, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, and he was with some of his friends from his old school, and we all wound up seeing the same movie. And guess what, he sat right behind me and he kept blowing into my hair with his straw.” She giggled.

“I hope you didn’t giggle like that when he did it,” I replied with an air of concern. “We’ve talked about your giggle. It can make you sound awfully needy.”

Lauren’s face fell. And for a fraction of a second, I felt better than I had all morning.

But then I heard that voice. “Hi, Ashley,” it said, and when I looked up, I saw the nerd-bot in the doorway of my English class. And he started to make a beeline toward me. In a smiley-face tie!! Cue the horror movie music!!

I shot up from my desk and intercepted him. “What are you doing in here? This is ninth-grade English!”

“They bumped me up a year because I’m gifted.”

Oh. My. GOD!

My head was spinning. This cannot be happening. This is a bad dream and I’m about to wake up. “Get away from me,” I whispered. “Now.”

He started blinking a lot. His face went all splotchy and red. Then he scurried to the other side of the room.

I walked back to my desk. Lauren’s eyes were wide. “No way,” she said. “Nowaynowaynowaynoway. Is that him?”

“Shut up, Lauren.”

And she did.

But I knew her silence wouldn’t last. I knew word would leak out by lunchtime that this hideous creature was living in my house. And I knew who would be responsible for the leak.

But I also knew that by lunchtime, everyone would also know that the person responsible for the leak—the person who claims to be a 34C—is really a 32AA.