Finally Polly turned to her sister. "Maybe it's not the contact. Do you see anything in my eye? A piece of dirt? An eyelash? A small crowbar?"

Polly held her eye wide open and Molly peered at it. "I don't see anything unusual except your mascara. It's starting to run."

That's when the front door swung open and Joe greeted us. "Hey, don't wait for an invitation, come"—his voice trailed off as he saw Polly blinking furiously—"inside."

"She's not winking at you," Molly said. "She's got contact problems."

"Contact problems?" Then Joe let out an "Ohhh," of understanding. "You mean contact lenses." He chuckled to himself. "For a second there I thought you meant physical contact."

Polly let out a strangled laugh and blinked harder.

Molly hurriedly said, "No, she doesn't have physical contact problems. She could make physical contact with you without any trouble at all."

Polly smacked her sister in the arm with one hand and covered her eye with the other. "Maybe I'd better go home."

I took Polly's arm and pulled her into the house. "I'm sure you can fix your contact in the bathroom."

We walked into the living room and immediately noticed people sprawled all over the couches and floors. Well, at least I noticed them. Polly with one hand over her eye apparently didn't notice much and nearly stepped on Mike's leg.

"Watch where you're going," he said, and then he saw me. His eyes narrowed as his gaze went back and forth between Polly and me, but he didn't say anything else.

Naomi wasn't with him, but I didn't have time to think about that piece of information. I put my hand on Polly's shoulder and propelled her toward the hallway, weaving her around people and objects. Molly followed close after us. "Hey," I heard a voice somewhere back in the room chide. "Do you have a license to drive that thing?"

I hoped that neither Molly or Polly heard this, or if they had, that they didn't realize that the comment was directed toward us. It had been a mistake to bring the twins here, I realized. It probably would have been okay if Aubrie and Rachel had come with us too, but at this point I was Ms. Dangerously Blonde, and my teetering popularity was apparently not enough to keep people from being rude.

Still, the only thing to do at this point was smile, pretend we belonged here, and only make an exit after it was clear no one had chased us away.

And perhaps that comment would be the worst of it. I mean, certainly as soon as Polly stopped flapping her eyelids like she was trying to take flight with them, we'd look like just another normal group of party guests.

We found the bathroom, and Molly and I waited outside while Polly fiddled with her contact. "I can't believe he answered the door," she said from inside. "And I can't believe you told him I'd have no trouble making physical contact with him."

"Sorry," Molly said. "I didn't come with a list of prepared topics like you did."

Polly's voice dropped to a growl. "Just don't say anything to anyone for the rest of the night."

"I didn't even want to come here," Molly hissed back. "You made me."

And then neither of them spoke until Polly emerged from the bathroom. "How do I look?" she asked me.

"Great," I said, and I wasn't lying. She looked nice. She was even standing with good posture. It was unfair that even though she looked so much better, stood so much more confidently, that someone had still made fun of her when she'd walked in.

What did people want from her? They'd tormented Molly and Polly for looking like geeks when they moved in, but now that they'd shaken off that image, people didn't want to treat them any better. Why did high school cliques have to be so rigid that once you'd been thrown in one, public opinion cemented to keep you there?

Well, it cemented to keep people at the bottom anyway. People at the top were fair game. We could be ripped off our pedestals at any moment. One misstep toward uncoolness and too many people were eager to see you topple.

"Come on," I said. "We'll get some sodas and mingle."

We walked to the kitchen and Molly followed us, arms folded and silent. I picked up sodas from an ice chest and handed one to each of the girls. Then I saw Joe by the sliding glass door and nodded in his direction. "Let's go."

Polly whimpered, but followed after me. Molly still didn't say anything, and I wondered if she planned on being sullen all night. That would make mingling a lot of fun.

We reached Joe. He'd apparently just put a dog outside and was still gazing in that direction. A layer of white covered the lawn, and his golden retriever was sniffing around, making a trail of gray circles in the snow.

"Hi Joe," I said.

"Hi Joe," Polly said.

Joe looked at me, not at Polly. "Hey, sorry to hear the cheerleading squad got in trouble tonight. No one on the team believes you guys are guilty."

"Thanks," I said.

"Of course, that doesn't mean we won't razz you about it anyway."

"Thanks," I said. This was just what I wanted to hear.

I glanced over at Polly. She wore a look of pained nervousness. I tried to change the subject to something she could join in about. "You guys played a great game tonight."

"We did okay," Joe said.

Polly smiled eagerly in his direction. "I saw you running down the field, you know, the time when that other guy ran over you."

Joe grimaced. "That describes a lot of times."

"And I saw them all." Polly sent her sister a look and I could tell she was waiting for Molly to ask me something, so I had an excuse to leave Polly alone with Joe.

Molly just pressed her lips together and looked around the room.

Polly turned her attention back to Joe. "I thought you played really well."

"Yeah," I added, and tried to think up an excuse that would take Molly and me away. I needed her help with . . . um . . . what?

"I bet if you hadn't dropped the ball that time, you would have made a touchdown," Polly said.

Joe sent her a stiff smile. "Funny—the coach told me the exact same thing—except his veins popped out of his neck while he said it."

"Oh." Polly, immediately grew distressed. "I didn't mean to imply that you'd messed up the inning."

"Play," he said, because innings are in baseball, not football.

Polly looked at him blankly. "What?"

"Play," he said again. "First down."

"Down?" Her eyes grew wide. Then she looked at the floor. "Exactly what are we playing?"

I elbowed her. "He's not giving you an instruction, Polly. He's talking about the football game."

"Oh, right," she said. "I knew that. English is my first language."

"Speaking of English," I said, "weren't you telling me about a study group you wanted to put together for English class?"

"Yeah." Polly put hand to her nose like she was smelling her knuckles, only she didn't move her hand away.

Joe shrugged. "I could use some extra help in English."

"Great," Polly said. "I mean great that you want help, not great that you're bad at English." She still didn't move her hand. It meant that she'd either gotten a bloody nose or was afraid of getting one.

This is not the way a girl wants a guy to remember her. You said hi, you flirted, and then you bled all over his carpet.