That day my outfit was mostly purple, because I’d realized in all my orange-and-green Spirit Day enthusiasm I’d completely ignored my lilac-and-orange vibes. So I was wearing a purple corduroy jumper with a very puffy vintage orange blouse, baby-blue leggings and gold boots. I looked like a backup dancer from a seventies kids show. Which was just for me to appreciate.

Gilly, absorbed in her book, reached up and started twisting her hair around her finger.

“Anne?!” Berry looked at me from her seat. “I asked you. A question?”

“Right,” I said, embarrassed. “What was—uh, the question?”

“Geez, never mind.” Berry frowned, picking up her books. Her hands were covered in yellow spots of paint. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Dentist?” Berry’s lips pressed into a hard line. “I just told you?”

Right.

For the rest of the day half my brain argued about Gilly and half my brain did its best to get me through the day. Which did not work out great. Apparently high school requires a whole brain.

Highlights included:

1. Spending most of English class with my math textbooks open on my desk.
2. Walking into the wrong classroom for second period.
3. Writing on the whiteboard in regular marker in Biology.

You’re like, “Oh that’s not so bad.”

But wait. There’s more.

In History, because we were moving desks around and changing seats, I reached to grab a chair. . .

And yanked said chair right out from under Gilly’s butt.

Like I had some sort of vendetta. Against Gilly’s butt.

She went down like a bag of bricks, if a bag of bricks could fall on its ass.

Gilly looked up with wide eyes. This time like actually thinking maybe I was out to destroy her. This time I did reach down.

“Oh my CRAP, Gilly, I’m so sorry.”

“What the FUCK?” A hand grabbed me by the back of my jumper. It was Sarah. Who I weirdly hadn’t even noticed until that class. “What the fuck are you doing??”

“It was an. . .an accident,” I stammered, wrenching myself free as Gilly struggled to her feet once again. “I was trying to get a chair!”

“All right,” Mr. Keeper, who looked like a teakettle, stepped in with his arms out like a plow. “Everyone take their seats. Or a seat.”

“She grabbed Gilly’s chair!” Sarah screeched. “Gilly is, like, fal len.”

“It was an accident!” I screeched back.

“TAKE! YOUR! SEATS!” Keeper bellowed. “NOW!”

It probably wasn’t possible to mess up the day any worse, but I was considering skipping Chemistry, which was my last period. I thought it was entirely possible that if I went anywhere near something flammable, I might blow up myself—possibly Gilly, and possibly the school.

Not on purpose obviously. This isn’t Heat hers.

I kept turning to my right to say something to Berry, but she wasn’t there. Damn dentist.