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“Are you doing okay?” She shifted her backpack and looked
over each shoulder。 “I got to thinking; you know; that
was just so cold of Bryce。 Especially since you've got that soft spot for him。”
“Who told you that?”
“Like I haven't got eyes? e on; girl。 It's a given。 Which is why I got to worryin' about you。
Are you seriously all right?”
“Yes; I am。 But thanks for thinking about me。” I eyed her and said; “And Darla? It's not a
given anymore。”
She laughed。 “How long's this diet gonna last?”
“It's not a diet。 I've just; uh; lost my taste for him。”
She looked at me skeptically。 “Uh…huh。”
“Well; I have。 But thanks for; you know; caring。”
All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain; but then Mrs。 Simmons
ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said;
“Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil。”
“What?” everyone cried; and believe me—I was right along with them。 I was not prepared for
a quiz!
“Everything!” she said。 “e on; you're wasting valuable time。”
The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders; and when we'd all pretty
much plied with her request; she picked a stack of
bright yellow papers off her desk; fanned them with an evil grin; and said; “It's time to vote for
basket boys!”
A wave of relief swept across the room。 “Basket boys? You mean it's not a quiz?”
She ticked through the stack; counting ballots as she spoke。 “It is like a quiz in that I don't
want you conferring with one another。 It's also like a quiz
in that you have a limited amount of time。” She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk
of row one; then went
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