According to Jane by Marilyn Brant

said the same thing about you." I paused, pretending to think. "Hmm. Who should I believe?"
    "Screw you, Ellie."
    "Not in your wildest dreams, Sam."
    I don't know why I said this exactly, other than that it was the standard teen reply. I didn't consider it a particularly nasty retort nor did I suspect blatant foreshadowing.
    But Jane said, You are being unpardonably coquettish.
    And Sam looked taken aback, almost hurt.
    For a long moment he and I scowled at each other, our eyes locked in a stare-down. The latest in our battle of wills, and one I presumed was indicative of why I needed to avoid him, despite my hormones telling me otherwise. He'd fight me on this, or on anything, not because I mattered to him, but just to win. Sam seemed to like me best as an opponent.
    Finally, he stalked off. And I left.
    Three hours later, though, Angelique arrived on my doorstep and, after dinner, Di dropped us off at the gym entrance for the basketball game and dance.
    "Hope the social is fun," Di said with feigned sweetness.
    "Thanks," our cousin said brightly.
    Di rolled her eyes at me. "I'll pick you both up at eleven. Don't do anything stupid, geek."
    The tires screeched as she zipped out of the parking lot and went to do whatever High School Bad Girls did on Friday nights in November. Angelique and I walked into the school, and she eyed the two thousand students in the stands with amazement. "C'est formidable," she murmured behind me.
    I swiveled around and stopped her right then and there. "Listen," I told her in my most patient voice. "Your French is great. Really. But here, in this gym, it's not a good idea to use it interchangeably with English. Okay?"
    "Why not?"
    "Well..." There were so many reasons, I didn't know where to begin. Because it was annoying? Because I already had enough problems? Because French was such a freaking pretentious language? Take your pick. But I said, "Because the goal of this evening is to be social, right?"
    "Right."
    "So, people can't socialize with you if they have no clue what you're saying."
    She thought this over for a second. "Oh. Okay."
    I felt a surge of relief. "Okay. Now, let's find a seat."
    We met Terrie at my favorite spot in the bleachers, admired Jason's perfect free-throw form and watched our team get soundly crushed by the visitors. And, though Angelique totally got into the game, even she knew the real event was yet to come.
    Terrie said, "Well, we lost, but at least we had the game's best scorer on our side. Number forty-five. That new Jason guy."
    I grinned. "Yeah. He was good, huh?"
    My friend squinted at me. "What's that smile mean, Ellie? You don't like him or anything, do you?"
    Always, always deny.
    I made a face. "No, of course not. But this afternoon he asked me to save him a dance tonight."
    Terrie's eyebrows rocketed upward, and Angelique looked at me as if I'd just recited a flawless, accent-free verse by Sartre.
    "It's no big deal. He probably already forgot about it."
    My friend whooped and grabbed my hands. "C'mon, Ellie! We've got to get you ready before the dance starts. I have makeup with me." She tugged at me until I stood. "You, too, Angelique. Let's pretend we're hot girls on the town tonight, okay?"
    Angelique answered with an enthusiastic, "Okay!"
    A half hour later, with faces adequately freshened, we entered the second gym, the one we lowly underclassmen used daily for PE.
    I felt the usual pit-of-my-stomach nausea just walking through those doors but, I'll acknowledge, the place had been transformed. Where there'd been floor mats and tubs of volleyballs, now stood a DJ with giant stereophonic speakers, two turntables and four boxes of LPs and cassettes. Where nets had been, there were now snacks, streamers and colored lights. The gym looked almost inviting.
    The dance started in the usual way: Kids milling around trying not to meet anyone's glance as they plunged their hands into bowls of pretzel sticks or corn chips. The lights flashed and the music blared