BROKEN GLASS. TOM KAULITZ

ix . chances

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CHRIS AND GENEVIEVE ARE STILL FURIOUS WITH ME. They won't look at or speak to me and, I won't lie, I feel pretty accomplished about it. Somebody give me a gold star.

Word around the halls is they're not totally broken up yet, just on a break. And I suspect word around the halls is I had something to do with it, because nothing else explains the dirty looks I'm getting from the cheerleading squad and the basketball team.

I guess that means I've almost arrived.

"So I was looking at the Honor Roll plaques," Tom is droning on, art class again. He's making amazing progress on our landscape, and wouldn't you know it, he's actually kind of gifted at this drawing thing. I'm still tracing the same rocks. "And you know what name kept showing up? At least for the last three years?"

"Hmm." I pretend to think about it. "Priscilla Haverford?"

"Not only that, you were on the Honor Roll with distinction. What does that mean? I've never been on the Honor Roll before."

"It means I was better than perfect." I sigh.

"And modest. Must've worked pretty hard to get there, huh?"

"I worked my ass off." I agree, nodding slowly.

He nods and goes back to filling in the ravine with his pencil. A couple of minutes pass and I wonder what he's getting at.

"That's it?" I ask. "Aren't you going to ask me what happened or how I went from top to bottom in such a devastatingly short amount of time?"

"Were you really making out with Chris in the change room? And that's why he and Genevieve are on a break?" He sounds upset now. He sounds jealous...he can't be. There's no way.

"Maybe," I huff. "Hey, that wouldn't be why Chris isn't in art today, would it? He's not off somewhere crying about it, is he?"

Before Tom can answer, a burst of static and white noise fills the room. Everyone quiets and the secretary's voice explodes over the PA, "Mr. Morton, would you please send Priscilla Haverford down to the guidance office?"

"You heard that, Haverford," Morton says. He gives me this look like I've done something wrong, but that's okay, since it is the only reason I ever get called down to the office anymore. "Get down there."

I grab my books and make my way out of the room, Tom's eyes on me as I go.

"It's not Friday-,"

I stop talking as soon as I enter the office. This is unexpected: Smith and Gardner are sharing space behind Gardner's desk and both of them look superformidable.

But even more unexpected than that is Christopher.

He's sitting in a chair in the corner looking so guilty that I know I'll have to kick his ass when this is over.

I force a winning smile at all three of them, "What's the occasion?" I ask.

"Sit down, Priscilla." Smith and Gardner say it in unison, but judging by the looks on their faces, they don't mean to. I shoot myself in the foot and laugh. They both frown at me and I sit. Chris stares at his shoes.