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of the same five long-sleeved shirts I’ve been wearing since forever. One of them has an oil stain right on the front. I want to throw it out, but I hardly have any clothes.
    I’ll put on one of my two pairs of Converse before I leave. They’re beyond destroyed. But I think all the holes and tears in them look cool. Plus, I write song lyrics and movie quotes all over them. This one time when I was wearing my most destroyed pair, I walked by two popular girls who were sitting against some lockers in the hall. After I passed them, I could hear one of them say, “Did you
see
her shoes?”
    I got a little thrill out of that.
    By the time I get to school, my hair has puffed up to an alarming amplitude. I don’t even have to see myself to know it’s atrocious. As much as I hate getting to school early, I appreciate it on days like this. Maybe a miracle will happen where my hair becomes perfectly flat by first period.
    You have to wait in the cafeteria if you get to school early. Itake my usual seat and try to smooth down my hair. Not a lot of kids get to school this early. It’s basically just me and some freshmen in the back. Most mornings I read or do homework. Even when I’m absorbed in studying for a test, part of me is always on alert. Sometimes Julian comes in early. Sometimes he comes over and we talk. Which cannot happen with my hair spazzing out like this. But I can’t go anywhere because they won’t let you in the halls this early.
    There’s a new monitor guarding the door. Maybe he’ll let me go. I grab my bag and head for the door.
    “Going in already?” Julian asks.
    I whirl around so fast my bag slams against his leg. “Oh!” I didn’t see Julian come in and my hair is outrageous and I just smacked him with my bag. “Sorry!”
    “No worries. I thought we were trapped here until the bell.”
    “We are. I was just trying to make a break for it.”
    “Sounds scandalous. I’m in.”
    “Nice.” I throw a glance at the monitor. “If you distract him, I can sneak out the far door.”
    “Distract him how?”
    “With a ruckus.”
    “Right. A ruckus.” Julian nods thoughtfully. “Allow me to ponder the nature of said ruckus.”
    I press down hard on my puffy hair. It refuses to be smoothed. Why does it have to be raining today?
    “Got it!” Julian says. “I’ll make this sudden commotion like someone just slipped on the floor coming in. That should buy you a few seconds. If you sneak your way over to the door first, you’ll have enough time to slip out.”
    “Sweet.”
    “But then how will I get out?”
    “Hmm.” My head is spinning. I can’t believe Julian is talking to me despite how repulsive I look. “I’m not sure.”
    “Let’s sit and figure it out.”
    We sit at the nearest table. And that’s when I notice the new silk-screen mural on the wall.
    “You finished it!” I say.
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s amazing!”
    “Thanks.”
    Julian does these Andy Warhol–type silk screens. I saw some of them in the mixed media elective we had together last semester. Whenever we were working on projects, Julian would come over to my area to see what I was doing. I couldn’t believe I was talking to a boy. Who I didn’t even know. For the first time ever, I felt like a normal teenager.
    That’s how I found out he wants to be an architect. He made these gorgeous home designs in class. Houses that were impossibly balanced off cliff sides. Houses that looked like they were floating above water. Houses with trees growing right up through the roof. Julian’s designs give you the impression that there are much better ways to live. His philosophy is that your home should be a unique reflection of your personality.
    “I can’t wait for Sherae to see it,” I say. Julian painted a palm-tree mural on the wall. Last week it was just an outline. Then color started to appear. And now it’s … it’s freaking incredible. “She’s obsessed with all things California.”
    “What about you?”