Surviving High School

trying to hide from Alicia’s gaze.
    “Now,” said Alicia, “a few ground rules for homeroom. One, you are permitted to call me Alicia or Ms. Prez, depending on your personal preference. Two, this is your homeroom—the place where you come to check in, tell me how you’re doing, and complain about your other classes. Juicy gossip on the rest of the faculty is appreciated and even welcomed. It’s my first year here, so I’m going to need all the ammunition I can get.”
    “Do you have a boyfriend?!” someone shouted from the back of the classroom, and Alicia’s eyes suddenly went cold.
    “Right. Number three: I may look like some starry-eyed innocent fresh out of grad school, but allow me to assure you that this kitty has fangs. Any more comments like that, and you may just find yourself transferred to homeroom with Mr. Upton— his first class of the year always starts with an informative scared-straight talk with some very nice felons who I’m sure would love to meet you.”
    There wasn’t another peep out of the class.
    “Excellent,” said Alicia. “I just know this is going to be an awesome year.”
    The girl next to Emily turned to a black-haired guy behind her and whispered, “I want to be her.”
    Emily couldn’t help but agree.
    The rest of the morning passed smoothly. Almost too smoothly. Since Emily’s run-in with Dominique and Lindsay that morning, no one bothered her about her clothes, her hair, or her stupid ID. In fact, no one paid attention to her at all. Shekept an eye out for Nick Brown, but because he was a senior, it was unlikely they’d share any classes. She just had to be on alert in the hallways during period changes.
    In Geometry, Emily breezed through the practice problems that Mr. Gibbs presented as “a taste of what’s to come,” but she didn’t make a big deal about finishing them in five minutes like Deependu Mahajan or Eric Erickson. She sat in the back, calmly checking her work until Mr. Gibbs announced the answers.
    In English, she tried to talk to Bryce Holmgren, Tony Kan, and a couple of the other guys she knew from the swim team, but after a quick hello they turned around and started chatting up Linda Byrne and Paula de Veer, whose mouths shimmered with lip gloss.
    “You going to Ben Kale’s place this Friday?” Tony asked the girls. “His parties are supposed to be legendary.”
    “Ben Kale? I thought he got expelled last year,” said Paula.
    “Just suspended,” said Tony. “He’s totally back with a vengeance.”
    “You think you can get us into his party?” asked Linda.
    “For sure,” said Tony. “Hot girls are always welcome.”
    Paula and Linda giggled, blushed, and said they’d “think about it,” which meant they’d definitely be there. The guys didn’t bother inviting Emily, not that she could go anyway. Still , she thought, they could have at least asked .
    As she went from class to class, Emily felt like a visitor, an impostor, a middle schooler, or a narc trying unsuccessfully to infiltrate the high school. She stared at the older girls’ darkskinny jeans or short dresses and at their arms wrapped around boyfriends in varsity jackets.
    In an attempt to reassure herself, she tried to count the other girls wearing sneakers, but they seemed just as lost as she was, shuffling through the halls with their eyes on the gray tiled floor, holding their books tight against their chests, darting right and left to avoid physical contact—especially with guys.

CHAPTER TWO
    At lunch, Emily sat with Kimi at a table in a corner of the cafeteria, where she would be able to spot Nick Brown or Dominique before they noticed her. Most tables at the edges of the cafeteria were either uninhabited or populated by pockets of nerds and outcasts, scrubby skaters, and geeks with long white boxes of gaming cards.
    At the table to the left of Kimi and Emily, a pair of boys as pale as vampires rolled dice and pretended they were medieval warriors. One wore a T-shirt that read GAME GEEK across the chest. His questionably cooler friend had a Spider-Man backpack.
    The next layer of tables in was filled with band and drama geeks who weren’t necessarily popular but formed a large-enough contingent that no one messed with them. Then therewere the preps, the dumber jocks, some of the more clean-cut skaters and punks, and the cooler half of the emo crowd—kids on the edge of popularity. And just past them, deep in the heart of the cafeteria, was the center