Like she’d told Nessa and Eve in the choir room, popular kids were hated, not loved.

Over the past couple of weeks that Eve had begun to meld with the Sophies, Sophie observed that Eve’s phone constantly buzzed. Eve would pick it up, glance at it, and put it down. Sophie would check hers, too, and see that it wasn’t the choir room text. And she’d look over at Nessa and see her chatting away with the actor kids, so she knew the texts weren’t from her.

That day, as Rose pestered Eve, Sophie saw a text show up on the main screen of Eve’s phone.

As Sophie read it, she swallowed hard. Sophie had never been called that before.

When Rose was momentarily distracted by Hayley, Sophie spoke lowly to Eve. “I saw that text you just got. You have to show me the other ones.”

Beneath the table, Eve handed her phone over with a reluctant sigh.

As Sophie scrolled through the texts, she struggled to hide her shock.

Eve’s sloppily eye-shadowed lids closed for a moment. “Yeah,” she whispered.

Text after text mentioned Eve’s chest, or how she looked in whatever she was wearing that day, some in good ways and some in filthy ones. Some called Eve words that made Sophie shiver, thinking of stuff her dad had yelled at her mom during their worst fights.

“No one ever did that to me,” Sophie whispered into Eve’s ear. “Who’s sending these to you?”

“I don’t know whose numbers they are.” Eve continued eating, head down, as if this as the last thing she wanted to talk about.

“I have almost everybody’s numbers,” Sophie answered, too loudly. “I can find out who these Malfoys are!”

Eve glanced at her, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly at “Malfoys.” But then her face clouded over. “No, please don’t. I don’t want to know.” Then she whispered almost inaudibly, “Just can’t wait for this to end.”

“What’s wrong?” Rose Reed interrupted.

Sophie turned Eve’s phone over and went back to her food. “Nothing. Just forget it. Anyway, moving on.”

“Um…,” Rose answered. “I wasn’t asking you.”

The whole table turned to Rose. It was the first time in Ford Middle School history that anyone had rejected Sophie’s directions.

Sophie dropped her fork onto her tray. “Excuse me?”

“I’m asking Eve,” Rose went on. “What’s your phone say, Eve?” She paused. “You don’t have to check with Sophie to see if you can talk, okay?”

Sophie tried to remember what Rose’s handwriting looked like. Had she been writing “#2” on those slips of paper? Had she put the Post-it on her back? Sophie looked to the other girls at the table, who had stopped eating, turning their foundation-heavy faces from Rose to Sophie and back again like they were watching a tennis match. Had one of those girls actually written the list? Were they all happy she was number two?

As Sophie prepared to respond, Eve jumped in.

“Oh, it was just a text about the dance. My costume,” Eve said. “Amina, are you still going as Veronica?”