I glance at the other lunch tables, at kids I don’t know who don’t care who I am, at the girl who looks like me but is carefully not paying attention to me. I guess I could use a welcoming committee. “Oh, okay,” I say to November. “Thanks.”

“Where in Minnesota are you from?” Ted asks.

“Saint Paul.”

“That’s the capital city.”

“Ted knows all the capitals,” November explains.

“Montana: Helena; North Dakota: Bismarck; Idaho: Boise; Colorado: Denver,” Ted says in one breath. I’m impressed.

November grins. “He’s a walking Wikipedia.”

Ted taps his head. “Steel trap.”

“Isn’t it super cold in Minnesota?” Sunny squeaks.

“Brrr.” November makes a shivering noise. “Snow, right?”

“Not all the time,” I say. “It can be really nice—”

We’re interrupted by a commotion from across the lunchroom. My doppelgänger and her friends stand and start singing a song I probably should know but don’t. They’re doing some dance that involves a lot of hip shaking and stomping. They belt out the song at the top of their lungs. They look ridiculous—but also kind of cool. Like High School Musical is happening live at Poppy View Middle School.

“Mercedes Miller and her gang love attention,” November says. “Any kind. Watch.”

The moment he says this, a woman in a blue suit appears in the lunchroom. She strides to their table. “Ladies,” she says, tapping each girl on her shoulder, making them each sit. My doppelgänger is the last one. “Lunch period is for eating, not dancing.”

“That’s Mrs. Leeds, the principal,” November explains to me.

Mrs. Leeds looks around the room. “This is middle school, not elementary school. We expect better behavior. Next time you decide to put on a show, you’ll be sorting recycling.”

Mrs. Leeds strolls across the lunchroom. If I were them, I would be so embarrassed. But as soon as she’s gone, the girls stand up one more time. They bow in unison, like they choreographed the whole thing. Kids around us applaud.

I keep my eye on Mercedes Miller. She flips her hair and shakes her wrist so that her bracelets jangle. Her sneakers match her mint-green nails. For one second, she glances at me. The bite of sandwich in my mouth suddenly tastes like cardboard. There’s something about Mercedes Miller that makes me want to hate her. And something else about her that makes me want to get to know her better.

The next morning, when I grab my phone from the living room where my mom makes me charge it overnight, there’s a text waiting for me.

Good luck on your 2nd day!