The Tori Trilogy by Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén

to my side of the table, bracing himself against it with his hands while he studies my worksheet. I tell him exactly what is giving me trouble and listen while he explains it more simply than Mr. London.
    I try a few problems, relieved to find that Nate has made my work much easier. “Thank you!” I tell him.
    He grins. “Anytime.”
    I manage to finish the assignment and slip it into my folder. Then I drop my face into my hands and sigh loudly.
    Nate, who’s returned to his seat, laughs at me. “Was it that bad?”
    I shake my head. “It’s not just the math.” And then I surprise myself by telling him all about Anastasia Adams. “I don’t understand it,” I finish. “She acts so weird, especially with Gina and me.”
    Nate is quiet for a while. He rolls his neck from side to side, massaging behind it with his hand. His longish brown hair flops into his eyes. Finally, he shakes it back, propping his elbows on the table. “You don’t have any idea why?” he asks, his voice a notch above a whisper.
    â€œNo,” I say. But just the same, my skin prickles, as if I’m very cold. Neither of us says anything for a long time. Then I look straight at my brother. “Do you?”
    â€œI hope not,” answers Nate.
    The prickles on my skin run together in a chill that I just can’t shake away.

Chapter Four
    Anastasia is different on Tuesday. I notice it the moment I walk into 5L. She’s standing with a group of girls by the row of windows, chatting and laughing before the first bell. One of the girls is Shannon.
    Strange, I think. Maybe she just needed a little time to adjust. I drop my folder onto my desk and head over to join them. “’Morning, guys,” I say brightly.
    â€œTori!” Shannon breaks out of the cluster to hug me. “Check out Anastasia’s outfit today. Isn’t it amazing?”
    The new girl is wearing a deep purple sweater with three-quarter sleeves and a thick collar that hangs almost like a scarf around her neck. The color makes her skin glow. And her jeans! They are probably the coolest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen, stretch denim with deep purple ribbon laced up the legs.
    â€œWow,” I breathe. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s...awesome!” I mean it, too. I’d love to have that outfit, especially since purple is my favorite color.
    I expect Anastasia to smile and thank me, or something, because of the nice way she seems to be treating my classmates. Instead, she tosses her long hair and kind of looks down her nose at me. “Of course you haven’t seen anything like this. Do you know where my clothes come from?”
    Suddenly feeling stupid, I shake my head. “Where?” I hate that my voice comes out sounding wimpy; I hate that I even asked that question in the first place. Anastasia is obviously being a brat, and I wish I could have shot back something clever and sarcastic.
    She laughs, but it isn’t the friendly laugh I heard out of her a few moments ago. This time, she seems to be laughing at someone. And that someone, I realize, is me. “Stores you’ve never even heard of,” she replies. “Fancy stores. And some of my clothes are even custom-made by my mother’s tailor.”
    â€œYour mother has a tailor?” I try not to sound as shocked as I am. I didn’t even know people had tailors anymore. Too late, I realize that I sounded like a wimp again. What is wrong with me?
    â€œBack in Savannah,” she says, as if that’s the most normal thing in the world. “And he does exquisite work. Meaning, of course, that frog T-shirts are kind of...taboo.”
    I’m not quite sure I know what taboo means, but it doesn’t matter. What I do know is that Anastasia Adams has just put me down. Up until now, I actually thought that my long-sleeved green T with the cartoon frog on the front looked