He shakes his head. “White people are weird.”

Chapter Three

The Comeback Kid Minus the Comebacks

Rochelle Cordova moved away four weeks ago, and nothing has been the same since. Rochelle was nice, I guess. We weren’t exactly what I would call friends. But she changed my life in two major ways just by existing. First, her family moved out of the house that Dad is now renting, making this whole twinning-parent-freak-show thing possible.

Second, and more importantly, Rochelle was the ice cream in mine and Kiera Bryant’s ice-cream sandwich, which is to say that in class she sat behind Kiera and in front of me. God bless anyone whose last name starts with the letter C, because unless Kiera or I drop dead or we get a new student with a C last name before the end of the school year in just a few weeks, Kiera and I are stuck sitting close enough to touch until the final bell of seventh grade rings.

Kiera. My ex-best friend. It’d be better if there was one simple reason why we stopped being friends, but it was the kind of thing that happened slowly and then all at once. She started hanging out with a group of girls in the next grade—the kind of girls who even make teachers feel uncool. She’d invite me to tag along with her, but it didn’t take long before both of us figured out that I was way out of my league with her new friends. The more time we spent apart, the more reasons I found to be annoyed by her. But then we’d do something—with just the two of us—like slumber parties at my house or trips to the bowling alley while our dads played for their league, and I’d remember all over again why we were friends. Kiera was actually really funny as long as I wasn’t the butt of the joke. But then the summer after fourth grade created too much space between us, and when we went back to school in August, it was a little too easy for hurt feelings to turn into a distance we couldn’t seem to close up again. Mom says good things are worth fighting for, but sometimes it’s hard to remember why something was good to begin with.

It was like I used to love chicken and dumplings until one day I had it and the chicken wasn’t cooked all the way. I nearly ralphed right there in the middle of Honey’s Diner. I was so grossed out that I haven’t been able to bring myself to try it again, no matter how good it smells. Blech. Dad says it left a bad taste in my mouth.

So I wasn’t too pleased when, after the weekend Rochelle and her family moved back to San Antonio, I came back to find Mrs. Young had ambushed us by removing Rochelle’s desk and leaving me to stare at the back of Kiera Bryant’s head, her braids gathered into a loose ponytail at the back of her neck. And now even though I can’t see her face, I just know she’s judging me. I can see it in the way her shoulder blades pinch together every time I open my mouth. Nobody new ever moves to Valentine, so the likelihood of our alphabetical dilemma carrying over into eighth grade is high.