“Thanks for sticking around, Elizabeth,” Mr. Ames says. “I won’t make you late for your next class—I just wanted to tell you how fantastic I thought your dog story was.”

“Really?” I ask, ignoring his overuse of fantastic.

“Definitely,” he says with a warm smile as he starts straightening papers on his podium. “It was an improvement over last week’s assignment and…”

Stomach flip. I’m better than Ella at something.

“… I just wanted to say that I’m expecting big things from you this year.”

“Wow,” I say sheepishly. “That’s really… thanks, Mr. Ames.” No teacher has ever pulled me aside to tell me that I’m doing a good job before. Strangely, it makes me want to head home and start tonight’s homework right this second.

“No problem,” Mr. Ames says. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” I echo as I turn and leave the classroom. I’m so deep in my happy place that I nearly collide with someone when I step into the hall. It takes a second before I realize that someone is Sean.

“Are you in trouble?”

Were you waiting for me? I wonder.

“No,” I say. “He told me he liked my dog story.”

“Did he say it was fantastic?” Sean asks, which makes me burst out laughing.

“Actually, he did!”

“That’s awesome,” Sean says, shoving off the wall. He stuffs his iPhone into his pocket, then hoists his bag onto his shoulder. He starts walking beside me, confirming that he was, in fact, waiting. “Where are you off to now?”

“Cheerleading,” I say, trying to keep the negative tone out of my voice. I mean, the squad members are fine—nice, even. The captain, Grayson Jennings, is firm but fair. It’s just that I’m not into the idea of being catapulted into the air with nothing but a few skinny girls to catch me on the way down.

Sean nods in a way that annoys me, like he thinks I belong at cheerleading.

“What do you do after school?” I ask, a little snippily. He laughs.

“Whatever,” he says. “Hang out with friends. Read. Play games. Write. Sometimes I take pictures.”

“Of what?” I ask, tone gone.

“Well, I take all the pictures for the school Facebook,” he says. “But I really like to shoot stuff around town. My mom’s a pro photographer for like businesses and magazines and stuff, and sometimes she lets me help out.”

“Sounds fun,” I say, trying to come off as nonchalant when I really want to launch into game-show-host mode and ask him a lightning round of personal questions. But, as if we were beamed here, too soon we’re at the entrance to the locker room.

“This is where I leave you,” he says, nodding to the GIRLS sign over the door.

“Thanks… uh… for walking me here,” I say, feeling self-conscious about the way I’m standing, the sound of my voice. Everything.

“Sure,” he says. “Catch you later.”

And then he turns and walks away, not too slowly or too quickly. He just goes, comfortable being him, backpack slung over his shoulder like a normal kid with a normal life.

Just… normal.

Betsey has major cramps tonight, so Ella and I draw straws for evening. It’s Wednesday, so that means Freshman English 1A at the community college, but both of us would practically sit through anything for a chance to see stars. It’s not like we’re banned from going out at night or anything, it’s just that only one of us can be out at a time.

Of course, Ella wins. Smirking, she pulls back her hair, because mine is still tangled from dance, puts on the locket, and bounces out the front door like Tigger.

I love her, but she’s a total pain sometimes.

The only good thing about losing the draw is that I get to spend some alone time with Betsey. We used to spend our afternoons together but now we’re ships in the night. Yesterday, we only saw each other during the few morning homeschool classes before I had to take off for second half. When I returned, she immediately left for evening. In a way, I’m glad she isn’t feeling well tonight.

“So, what’s going on?” I ask her when I join her in the rec room. She’s squinting at the TV, because even though the front of our house is shrouded in pine trees, the back overlooks the valley below and the setting sun is casting such a harsh glare on the screen that you can hardly make out the images.

“Just suffering,” Betsey says. She has a heating pad on her midsection and a bowl of ice cream in her hands. My period started this morning, too, like I’m sure Ella’s did. The difference is that to us, it’s nothing.

“I’m sorry, Bet,” I sympathize. “Do you want anything?”

“I want the stupid sun to go away,” she says. “Can you make that happen?”

I stand up and pull closed the heaviest drapes in the world: the kind you see in hotel rooms that start at the tip-top of the room and refuse to let in the tiniest smidgen of light. We stayed in two hotels on the drive from Florida to California and loved the room service and indoor swimming pools.

“Done,” I say as I flop back onto the couch opposite Betsey’s. “What are we watching?”

“You pick,” she says, tossing me the remote. “I don’t have the energy to flip.”

I start changing channels but don’t find anything, so I end up back where we started. When the half hour turns, a rerun of Friends begins. It’s extremely funny to the point that my side hurts I’m laughing so hard. At the first commercial break, I begin the chatter again.

“So, are there any cute guys at night class?” I ask. Betsey shrugs from her sickbed.

“Not really,” she says. “They’re all nerds trying to get ahead.”

“Like us.”

“I guess,” Betsey says. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it… there might be better things to do with our Monday and Wednesday nights.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Skydiving. Miniature golfing. Things that are fun.”

“You want to go skydiving at night?” I ask, laughing.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I wonder what Mom would say if we asked to go skydiving.”

Betsey looks at me and we both burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the idea. When we’ve recovered, she says quietly, “I think Mom overreacted about the whole quiz thing.” I look back at the TV; the commercials are on mute. “Switching our schedules and all.”

“Me, too,” I say, not really wanting to talk about Mom. Thankfully, the show comes back on. But then it’s hard for me to pay attention; I’m distracted by memories.

“How about in second half?” Bet interrupts my thoughts. I focus and realize that we’re already at another commercial break. I look at her quizzically. “Guys?” she explains. And then thoughts of Mom are gone, replaced by Sean. My face must give it away, because she sets down her ice-cream bowl and sits up excitedly.

“Tell me!” she says. I’m grinning so hard I have to take a deep breath to relax my face so the words can come out.