“Oh, L.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “I saw how you looked at him outside Xander’s office. I mean, I don’t blame you, he’s, well, he’s Jake.” She tilted her head to the side, condescension practically oozing from her eyeballs. “But he is Jake. You know what I mean. Jake!” She was saying his name a lot. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“He’s not really the kind of guy to do relationships. He gets around. If you know what I mean?”

Stop saying, If you know what I mean? I screamed in my head.

“And . . .” she continued, “if he does do relationship, well, I’m not sure you’re his . . . type. If you get my vibe?”

“What?” I stared at her in utter shock, her words like a knife slipping between my ribs.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” There was such venom in her voice, and suddenly I wanted to cry. I felt like Lori Fatty Palmer all over again. But I wasn’t going to give Amber the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.

Why was she such a cow? Why had she taken such an instant dislike to me? Because I’d ruined her moment in assembly, snapped her nail, spilled some water on her, caught the ball, had the drink with Jake? Or did she just hate me because I was fat? Was there this unspoken rule somewhere that said girls like her should hate girls like me? And did they know what they did to us? Did they know that this moment would stay with us, me, for the rest of my life? Three words from them in a fleeting second would be words I would hear echoed in my head a million times over.

She flipped her hair, almost hitting me in the face, and then sauntered away. “See you around, L.”

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