Gaby and Rebecca collapse in giggles. A juice box gets tipped over and we shriek as we escape the sticky mess. All the seventh graders turn and stare at us, which means it’s time to put on a show, remind everyone how popular we are. I start humming our favorite song, and right away Gaby and Rebecca join in. We’ve been rehearsing a bunch of choreography during sleepovers this summer and we’re ready. We stand up and use our bags of chips as microphones. We know all the lyrics and sing in unison. Gaby and Rebecca swing their hips to the right, to the left. I’m in the middle so I do the foot moves, in and out. “Na-na-na-na-na!” we sing. Kids around us look up from their sandwiches and laugh. The three of us coordinate our disco moves and the lunchroom audience stomps the beat. “I’m in the stars tonight!” I wail into my Doritos microphone. I love the feeling of being in the spotlight.

I’m about to take a big, exaggerated bow when Mrs. Leeds comes marching toward us. Uh-oh. Our principal does not like it when we’re loud at lunch.

“Ladies,” Mrs. Leeds says in a warning voice.

“Sorry,” we say. I like being the center of attention, but I also like being a good student.

As I’m sitting down again, I spot Mattie Gómez at the dork table and our eyes catch for a split second. Something seems to connect us, like an invisible spiderweb.

CHAPTER 3 Mattie

Mattie!” I hear someone shout as I follow the other seventh graders to lunch. It’s the boy with the spiky hair. The one who said it’s bad luck to see your doppelgänger.

“I’m in your social studies class. I’m November.”

“That’s your name? November?”

“Exactly. Like the month.” He doesn’t seem embarrassed about his name at all. “You can sit with us if you want,” he continues as we enter the lunchroom. He points at a table near the back where two kids are unpacking their lunch bags. A boy with black hair that hangs over one eye and a tiny girl in pigtails. “That’s Ted. That’s Sunny.”

I survey the landscape, looking for the place where a new kid would fit. At one end of the room, four tables are crowded with boys who pop up and down like prairie dogs. At the other end are a couple tables filled with girls—one of which includes my doppelgänger. Near November’s friends are several more tables half-filled with kids. I feel an ache in my chest as I picture Mai eating lunch with our other friend Sonja instead of me. A wave of homesickness washes over me. I plop my lunch bag next to November and his two companions. Better than sitting alone.