I tried to think of something, anything I could do to help. "Hey, what a great ceiling you have." I looked up intently, as though admiring the beige paint. So did Polly and Joe. This at least would keep Polly's face tilted in the right direction.

"My ceiling?" Joe repeated.

"Cool light fixtures too," I said. "Are your light fixtures the same in the hallway?"

"Uh, no, they're in the wall."

I grabbed Polly by the arm. "Let's go check." Partially because I wanted both hands free to guide Polly, and partially because I wanted a reason to come back and talk to Joe, I thrust my soda can into his hands. "Could you hold this for me for a minute?" Before he had a chance to answer, I turned and propelled Polly toward the hallway. Molly followed behind us, shaking her head.

I led Polly through the room and she kept her head tilted upwards the entire time. "Wouldn't this room look great with crown molding?" I said, as we walked by a crowd.

"And a mural of clouds," she answered.

As soon as we got to the hallway that led to the bathroom, Polly retrieved her Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her nose. "That was awful," she said. "Joe must think I'm totally strange now."

"Not at all," Molly said. "I'm sure a lot of girls ask him about playing on the floor and then spontaneously bleed."

Glaring at her sister, Polly pulled the second wad of Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her face. "You wanted me to look like a fool, didn't you?" She stormed into the bathroom, and shut the door. I heard the lock click and then the sound of crying.

I tapped softly on the door. "It's not that bad. I was the one who started talking about the ceiling. If he thinks anyone is strange, it's me."

No answer except for sniffling.

Molly ran her hand through her hair, sighed, and leaned against the door. "I'm sorry. Will you come out now? Joe is probably wondering what you were going to tell him about the study group."

And what to do with my soda can.

Polly's voice came out muffled. "My nose is bleeding, and I can't face anyone."

"All right," Molly said, "I'll face them for you."

The door opened and for a moment I caught site of Polly, a huge wad of toilet paper crammed against her face, then Molly slipped into the bathroom and the door closed again.

I supposed that Molly was in there giving Polly a pep talk, or applying pressure or something; I wandered further away from the door, looking at the family photos on the wall while I wondered how to salvage the meeting with Joe.

"So did you ditch Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

I turned and saw Mike, leaning up against the wall where the hall emptied into the family room. He held a drink loosely in one hand and his gaze traveled over me in a way that Naomi wouldn't approve of.

I bristled at his comment, but smiled at him anyway. "I notice your girlfriend isn't here. Was she afraid to come to a place where calories might leap out at her?"

Mike took a sip from his drink, then turned his attention back to me. "Naomi and I broke up this morning."

Which explained her performance with Bjorne at the game. "Oh, sorry," I said, because it must hurt to get dumped for a guy who barely speaks English.

One eyebrow lifted and his eyes studied me. "Are you sorry? I sort of thought you'd be glad."

I shrugged. "Well, okay, a part of me thinks you deserved to be dumped, but I was too polite to mention it."

He rolled his eyes. "I broke up with her, Chels. I admit it—you were right—she only has three topics of conversation and two of those are about herself."

"Oh." I didn't feel happy, just vindicated. "I thought she understood you."

"I guess I didn't understand myself." He stepped over to my part of the hallway and leaned against the wall next to me. "I wasn't seeing things clearly, but I can still see it was a mistake for us to break up."

He said this as though it had just occurred by itself. As though we were walking through school one day and—poof—we weren't a couple anymore.

But it hadn't happened that way. He'd decided that he liked someone better than me, and he'd thrown everything we'd had away. Now he just wanted me to forget about all of that?

I leaned away from him. "Well, what's done is done."

"But that doesn't mean it can't be undone." He took another step toward me. "Look, I know it's been really hard on you. I know that's why you've been acting this way."

"Acting what way?"

He shrugged as though it should be obvious. "The Chelsea I knew would never drink beer while cheering for a game."

Just the reminder made my stomach clench. "I wasn't drinking at the game."

"Your bag was the only one that didn't have a beer can in it. Why was that?"

For a moment I couldn't say anything. All the words rushed to my mouth at the same time and tangled themselves around my tongue. How could he know me and just assume I'd been drinking? He knew I never drank. My father's drinking had made my childhood miserable and I didn't want anything to do with it. Mike and I had had this conversation when we'd dated. Had he forgotten? Or had he never really listened to me in the first place?

"None of those cans were ours." I said. "Rick framed us so we wouldn't be able to audition for High School Idol. "

"If it was Rick, wouldn't he have put something in your duffel bag too? You're his main competition."

I clamped down on the words that wanted to stream out of my mouth. If I admitted that Samantha had taken the can out of my bag and it got back to the coach, I'd be in the same trouble as the rest of the squad.

"It was Rick," I said.

"And do you blame Rick for making you hang out with the Patterson twins, too?"

I lowered my voice to a near whisper. "There is nothing wrong with the Patterson twins."

"Nothing wrong if you want a membership to the Loser-of-the-Month Club. Look, I know you've made them your little project and you gave them makeovers and everything." He held up one hand as though conceding the point. "I'm not saying you didn't do a good job. They look better, but they're never going to matter to anyone but you. They're dead weight, Chelsea, and they're dragging you down. People are talking about it." He put his hand on my shoulder, gently massaging it. "You need to cut them loose and hang out with real people."

The horrible thing was I knew what he said was true. People were talking. Molly and Polly weren't helping my social standing. And they probably would never matter to anyone at school but me and a few others. It was true, and awful, and unfair in a way that stung my insides.

I looked up at Mike and kept my voice even. "Remember when you told me that Naomi understood you better?"

Perhaps he could feel the rigidness in my muscles because his hand moved from my shoulder to my neck, still massaging. "I'm sorry about that."

"No, you were right. She must have understood you better, because I didn't understand you at all." I took his hand and moved it off my neck. "But now I do, and I don't like what I understand."

He let out a sigh. "I know you're upset about Naomi—"

"This isn't about Naomi," I said. "It's about Molly and Polly. What kind of person refers to other people as dead weight?"

"A realistic one."

The bathroom door opened and Polly stepped out. She motioned in my direction. "Chelsea, can you come here for a second?"