Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

something. I've heard there's this bug going around school. Something gastrointestinal. Really bad."
    Hunter shook his head as if in disbelief and leaned back. "Yeah. Okay," he replied. Tessa could practically hear the eye-roll. He started up the car and threw the shift into gear.
    She couldn't think of anything to say to Hunter (and apparently it was mutual--wow, big surprise), so all the way home she concentrated on pretending she was alone. She was riding a city bus. She and the boy next to her were strangers.
    It wasn't that hard.
    At school the next day Tessa thought about all the words she would use to describe her social life: Dismal. Awkward. Meager . She was a walking thesaurus of pathetic.
    Maybe she wasn't meant to date in high school. There were people like that, weren't there? Sure. They kept them in a glass case somewhere, right along with alien artifacts and mutant circus freaks. Hunter had treated her politely when he dropped her off at home, but he had definitely had that look ... like he was visiting Area 51.
    Tessa knew she wasn't the only virgin in the senior class of Prescott High School. But sometimes it sure felt that way. And now, after the weirdness over the weekend, she could add blackouts and hallucinations to her list of What Makes Me Special. Great.
    Tessa shook her head and took a blank sheet of paper from her folder. She gazed out the window, chose a craggy-barked oak tree and began to draw. Usually the smooth scratch of pencil on paper could take her mind off anything. Not that she was talented. It was the sound she liked. It reminded her of her mother. At the breakfast table, on the beach, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her mom had always been sketching.
    Opal slid into the seat in front of Tessa. It figured. The one day Opal wasn't running late and dashing in just as their English lit class started. Look busy , Tessa told herself. She hunched forward and kept her pencil moving diligently even as she stole a glance up at her friend. Opal wore a long, swirling paisley skirt and a lace-trimmed peasant blouse. A wide leather belt with a huge Harley-Davidson buckle cinched her tiny waist and complemented the black leather bolero. The combo wouldn't have worked on anyone in the world except Opal.
    Along with being fashion fearless, Opal Kandinsky was also Tessa's best friend, had been since second grade. Unfortunately she was also an information junkie of the worst kind, and she knew Tessa had been out with Hunter the night before. Tessa looked around, fuming. Where was Mr. Lawner? Whatever happened to teacher punctuality? Academic integrity? Early dismissal? Maybe if she was very quiet and really lucky, Opal wouldn't even--
    "Well?" Opal was digging through the canvas messenger bag on her lap but shot the question over one shoulder. She stopped rummaging and cocked her head. Tessa could just picture the expression--one sharply curved eyebrow raised and a gleam of curiosity in her tilted green cat's eyes. Like a gossip-hungry pixie.
    "Well what?" Tessa hissed. The pencil tip snapped under the pressure she was putting on it. She glanced down at the paper and frowned. She'd drawn only a series of wavy, crisscrossing lines. It wasn't even a decent doodle.
    "Your date , dummy." Opal half turned and shot Tessa a questioning look. "How'd it go? I tried your cell last night but it was off."
    "It went fine." Tessa folded the paper before her into a neat square, then got up to toss the scrap in the recycling bin.
    "C'mon," Opal grumbled when Tessa got back. "You gotta give me something."
    "Well, if you have to know ..."
    "And I do."
    "It was a disaster."
    At this Opal turned around fully. Concern clouded her small, heart-shaped face, and she pushed back her pale blond bangs as she looked at Tessa. She seemed relieved by what she saw, because she relaxed and smiled crookedly. "Disaster, huh? How bad?"
    Tessa let out a deep breath. "The truth? All I needed was CNN and the Red Cross. Maybe a helicopter with one of those grappling hook thingies."
    Opal brought up a hand heavily beringed with silver and smothered a laugh.
    "It couldn't have been that bad. I mean, Hunter Scoville?"
    "He's nice," Tessa said. "But we have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. Let's just leave it at that."
    "Did you ever think," Opal said, her eyebrows tented together, "that the guy is nervous and not up to great conversation?" She looked away. "Maybe he's smitten."
    "I don't think so." Tessa smiled to herself at