Class Favorite by Taylor Morris Page A

comes from the mall. But did she get it at a place like Macy’s or 5.7.9?
    Once she closed her locker and started back down the hall, I realized I might have time for two more questions, because she was heading in the direction of my locker, which I needed to stop by before last period. And if I left her there, it’d be like she was following me, like she was walking me to my locker, and then maybe it wouldn’t look so weird. That’s what I was hoping for, anyway.
    â€œSo,” I said as we rounded the corner. “Got big plans this weekend?”
    Up the hall, I could hear Shiner’s high-pitched laugh. He shoved a sixth grader against a locker and twisted his nipple.
    â€œWoo-hoo!” he hollered. “Go on, whistle! Whistle!”
    â€œOw! Come on, man!” the kid hollered as he sputtered out a whistle-less blow.
    Rosemary glared toward Shiner, and I felt sorry for the kid he had in his greasy grip. “Not big plans,” Rosemary answered. “Just hanging out with some friends.”
    â€œCool. Your parents let you stay out late? ’Cause my mom, she can be a real pain sometimes about curfew. But if my dad still lived at home, I think it would be worse. Your folks still together?”
    â€œYeah,” she answered as we headed toward my locker and the front of the building.
    As we came up on my locker, we both noticed a crowd around it. I saw Rosemary’s mouth fall open before my own could.
    My first thought was that there had just been a fight. I imagined someone was on the floor, face beaten bloody, waiting for someone to haul him to the nurse’s office before he went to the principal’s. It was the look on everyone’s face that made me think that: Some were laughing, some were whispering to one another, lots had their faces scrunched up in disgust, like whoever was in the center of their circle was really horrendously messed up.

8
    Can You Exude Beauty in an Ugly Situation?
    You’re strutting through the food court wearing your killer new cream-colored pants, when a five-year-old menace comes racing through the aisles, smearing your pants with ketchup and mustard. How do you react?
    a) By screaming at the kid for ruining your clothes and telling his mother she’s an unfit parent
    b) By “accidentally” tripping the kid on the way back to his table
    c) By laughing it off, saying that your dull pants now look like a Jackson Pollock painting
    Â 
    It was an ugly, offensive mess. And it was all over my locker.
    â€œThat’s so wrong,” said student council secretary Emily Sanders.
    â€œOh, dude,” said Sean Hurley.
    â€œMy God. Is that your locker, Sara?” Rosemary asked.
    There must have been a dozen tampons taped to the outside of my locker, plus a couple of those fat, granny-size Kotex—the ones with wings, no less. My face burned hot, and I clenched my fists around the strap of my messenger bag, forcing back the tears that were threatening to burst through.
    â€œOh . . . my . . . God,” I muttered as Rosemary stepped away from me and toward her friends, who were staring, hands over mouths. I tried to quickly think how she might handle it, but there were at least a dozen other people standing around, staring, gawking, with a tinge of pleasure on their faces—exactly the kind you get when you see a real gnarly fight. They were all whispering and shaking their heads, glancing at me but refusing to look me in the eye.
    â€œHey, what am I missin’?”
    Shiner strutted up to the scene, textbook cupped in his hand. I took one look at him and wanted to yank that stupid coral necklace right off his chicken neck.
    â€œWhat’s going . . . oh man, Thurman,” he said. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest and splat at his stinking feet as I waited for him to say something moronic that would add to my humiliation. But he didn’t. He just stood back and stared at the ground. This was so