Mom pushed rice pilaf around on her plate. "There's nothing wrong with going to a state university, and besides, if you needed the money for college that badly, I would track down your father and ask him for it. But you can make it on your own. What you don’t get in a scholarship, we can finance. You’re bright and talented, and you don’t need to take money from people who’ll treat you like a second-class citizen. You're better than that.”

"You don’t know that Kari Kingsley would treat me that way,” I said.

Mom gave me a half grunt, half laugh. And okay, I admit she had dealt with a few celebrities when she worked at an upscale hotel in DC. I used to love hearing her stories about them. The singer who insisted on having rose petals put in her toilet every morning. The actress who wanted someone to spray her brand of perfume around her room before she checked in.

But still.

I held out my hands to Mom. “Ten to twenty thousand dollars a month. I can put up with a celebrity for a few months for that much money.”

"Your self-respect shouldn't have a price tag.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up one hand to stop me. "Your school gave me this Maren Pomeroy’s contact information. I’ll e-mail her tonight and tell her you’re not interested. That way we won’t have to worry about her calling again.”

I simply stared at Mom. How could she be so unreasonable about this?

She ignored my stare and continued to push food around on her plate. "Larry and I are going out tonight. We're going to a chamber orchestra performance.” And just like that, our discussion was over.

Larry worked as an accountant for the hotel and was about as much fun as a ledger full of numbers. He insisted on taking Mom to things in which she had no interest whatsoever, and for a reason I never fully understood, this did not bother her.

I didn’t comment, though, because I was not speaking to her. Ever again.

"Orchestra.” Abuela repeated the word like it had a bad taste. “You should go dancing. What’s wrong with this man that he doesn’t know how to dance? He’s aburrido." Boring.

Mom let out a grunt. "I've had my share of flashy, romantic men. It never works out. Stable is good. Boring is even better.’’ Mom took a sip of water. "Boring men hardly ever dump their girlfriends. It takes too much effort. Plus, they make good fathers because they have no outside hobbies."

I didn’t want to even think about the possibility of Larry being my father.

I pushed away from the table, walked to my bedroom, and slammed the door. Then I threw myself down on my bed. I didn’t have a headboard, footboard, or the canopy bed I’d always wanted when I was little. I looked at the dresser that Mom had picked up at a garage sale, and my closet filled with clothes I'd bought at thrift shops and clearance sales. All of it came into sharp focus.

I'd never held it against Mom that I didn’t have a big house like my friends or that we didn’t take expensive vacations like their families. Mom couldn’t afford to buy me a car, let alone one like Theresa and the Cliquistas' fleet of sports cars.

And then there were the little things-—how I always had to pretend that I didn't like movie theater popcorn when I went out with my friends because I couldn’t afford the ticket and the junk food—how I never had the latest or the nicest of anything. But this? This wasn't fair.

I thought about her statement that if I really needed money she would ask my father for it. Had she not noticed the way we’d lived for the last eighteen years?

Eventually the doorbell rang. I heard Larry's and Mom's voices out in the living room and then a couple minutes later Mom opened my door.

"I’m leaving now. Make sure Abuela doesn't get into trouble while I'm gone.”

I knew she wanted me to laugh. I didn't even look at her.

“Look, I'm sorry you're disappointed about the job, but trust me about this, Lexi. It isn't right for you."

She shut the door, and I thought about my summer jobs at McDonald’s. Apparently those were right for me. I was a flipping-burgers type of girl.

But I didn’t want to be anymore.

CHAPTER 3

Mom had to be to work by seven A.M., so she was always gone before I got up, but just to torture myself I read her e-mail to Kari's manager. It said, “Ms. Pomeroy, Alexia appreciates your offer, but we feel she needs to stay here and finish school."

Which I suppose was better than writing, "I’m sorry but we think celebrities are such jerks that we’d rather spend our time using cast-off towels and piecing together broken soap than ever work for you.”

In physics Trevor was acting weird. He kept leaning toward my desk like he wanted to talk to me, but then he never said anything.

After the third time he did this, I leaned toward him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah,” he said as though he didn’t know why I asked. Then after another moment, he added, "I was thinking we should talk about the dance."

"Okay.” I had never discussed the details with him, and suddenly I looked forward to that. It would seem more official, less awkward when we were deciding the restaurant and who we'd go with. Lori had finally asked someone.

"I’ll talk to you after school, all right?”

"Sure." I didn't say more. The teacher had sent a glare in our direction.

I was actually in a good mood for the rest of school. For once I would have Trevor’s attention all to myself. No teachers to squelch our conversations, no Theresa to distract him.

After my last class, I waited at my locker, putting my homework into my backpack extra slowly. He didn't show up. I stayed a while longer, scanning the hallways. He should have been more specific about where he wanted to meet.

When I still didn’t see him, I walked to his locker. He wasn't there either. Had he forgotten?

I told myself not to be disappointed and headed toward the school door. He probably meant he’d call me after school.

As 1 walked through the lobby, I saw Trevor and Theresa standing together by the trophy case. Kissing.

I stopped walking.

Well, this was nice. I walked over to them, arms folded, and cleared my throat. "So, Trevor, you wanted to talk to me?”

Trevor lifted his head. "Oh,” he said as though just remembering I existed. "Alexia.”

Theresa slid her arm around his waist. A triumphant smile spread across her face. "Sorry, but he’s going to the dance with me.”

I kept my eyes on him. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a lot of class?”

He didn’t answer, didn't move away from Theresa.

"No? Well, there’s probably a good reason for that.” I turned and walked out the school doors, without waiting to see if he ever came up with anything to say. My throat felt tight, and my stomach lurched with each step I took.

Stupid dance. Why had I even bought tickets? What was I going to do with them now? And if Trevor didn't want to go with me, why hadn’t he just said so in the first place?

It didn't matter, really. He and Theresa were both pigs.

I walked faster. I wanted to run. I wanted to sprint all the way home and lock myself in my room and cry. I was probably going to cry anyway, but I wouldn’t let myself run. He wasn’t worth it.

Guys just couldn’t be trusted. Didn't I already know that? Wasn’t that the first thing I'd learned in life, that men wouldn't be there for you?

And now I was crying, and I wasn’t even home. I brushed a streak of tears off my cheek and forced myself to think about something else. The ugly yellow paint of the house I passed. The weeds growing in the sidewalk cracks. The big black car behind me, which was obviously lost because it was driving really slow.