“Going to Grammy’s?” she asks, fully aware that I’ve not been myself, especially since yesterday’s lunch.

“I’ll pick you up after school,” I promise her.

“Mr. Brewer,” calls Mr. Higgins from the carport where he’s on morning parking lot duty.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“How chivalrous of you to drop your twin sister off up front. I suspect you’re going to find a parking spot and that I’ll see you in first period?”

I nod mutely.

“Stupendous!”

Clem shrugs. “Sorry,” she says quietly.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her.

“Stupendous,” she says in her worst Mr. Higgins voice. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

I circle back around and take a spot at the back of the lot. After hopping out and walking halfway across the parking lot, I double back because I forgot my backpack, and I can already feel my annoyance at merely existing today start to ramp up. Maybe if I can make it through first period, I can skip for the rest of the day.

As I’m walking into the building, Clementine comes barreling down the hallway. “We have to go to Grammy’s!” she says breathlessly.

“What?” Panic spikes in my chest. “Is she okay? What’s wrong?”

“There she is,” Patrick Thomas sings as he steps in front of her, cackling in my face. “Miss America!”

“Are you high?” I ask him.

“Excuse me, Miss Patch?” says one of his younger goons in a voice so high it makes him sound like air escaping a balloon.

My chest begins to tighten. No. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. Suddenly, my throat feels like sandpaper. There’s only one way someone would know to call me by that name.

Clem grips my wrist. “Come on. Let’s go. Ignore these guys.”

Another guy who I vaguely recognize pretends to vogue, but does an awful job of it as he sings a nonsensical, barely recognizable version of “Lady Marmalade.”

Around me, the entire hallway full of students is laughing. At me. They’re laughing at me.

I turn to Clem, unable to hide the betrayal I feel deep in my bones.

I tear my arm away from her and look up just in time to see Tucker Watson grimace at this whole disastrous situation and turn away. So glad I could disgust you, I nearly spit at him.

I could hide out in Ms. Laverne’s office, but that would require diving even deeper into the school. If Patrick Thomas has seen my audition video, everyone else has too, and if this is what I am greeted with after stepping five feet into the building, no thank you. Sorry, Mr. Higgins. I’m out of here.

I walk with purpose, my head held high and my shoulders squared, the whole way to my car as Clem chases after me.