Devon Delaney Should Totally Know Better by Lauren Barnholdt, Nathalie Dion

why would he do that if he has a girlfriend?”
    “I don’t think he was flirting with me,” Mel says, slamming her locker door shut. We fall into step together, heading down the hall, me toward English and her toward social studies.
    “Um, he pulled your hair,” I say. “That’s most definitely flirting.”
    “It is?” We’re at the door of my English class now, and we stop to talk for a second until the bell rings.
    “Yes,” I say. “It is. Now he’s an eighth grader, so of course that means—”
    “Who’s an eighth grader?” Bailey Barelli asks, poppingher head out of the classroom.
    Great. Just how I want to start my morning! With Bailey Barelli asking me all sorts of annoying questions.
    “No one,” Mel says quickly, shooting me a look that lets me know she doesn’t want anyone else knowing, even though it’s totally unnecessary. Like I would ever tell Bailey Barelli anything about anyone.
    “Yeah, no one,” I say. I try to say it sort of short, so that Bailey knows I don’t want to talk to her anymore. She’s wearing this really fab red-and-white-striped top, and she has red clips in her hair holding back a little braid that goes to the side. It meets her curls and then falls all down her back. She looks like maybe she spent an hour getting ready this morning. I look down at my own outfit, a really cute white cotton dress with a pink butterfly on the bottom, over black leggings. Hmm.
    “Ohhhh,” Bailey says, in a very knowing tone. She smiles at me and Mel, like we’re all friends. I guess she doesn’t know she’s the bane of my existence.
    “What?” Mel asks.
    “Yeah, what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her suspiciously.
    “You must be talking about Greg, the guy you dated this summer. He’s the one who’s in eighth grade, right?”
    “Who?” Mel asks. “I didn’t date any guy namedGreg this summer.” I quickly step on her foot. “Ow!” she yells, “What’d you do that for?”
    “Uh, sorry,” I say. “Accident.” And I do honestly feel bad. Mel’s wearing ballet flats, and I’m wearing chunky black shoes with a little bit of a heel. I must have really hurt her foot.
    “Oh, how cute,” Bailey says, but she doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s cute. “You didn’t even tell Mel about Greg! Is that because he’s an eighth grader?”
    “Who’s an eighth grader?” Luke says, coming up to us in the hall. Great.
    “Greg is,” Bailey says. She shrugs her shoulders. “Turns out Devi was dating an eighth grader over the summer, which is why no one really knew about it, even Mel. Is it because your parents wouldn’t let you date older guys?”
    Um, my parents won’t let me date
any
guys. But I obviously can’t say that. Because, you know, I’m dating Luke. And he’s standing right there. “Um, not exactly,” I say.
    “You didn’t tell me he was an eighth grader,” Luke says.
    “Well,” Mel says. “It wasn’t exactly that big of a deal, I mean, people date eighth graders all the time.” I throw her a grateful smile, but Luke ignores her.
    “An eighth grader!” he says again, sounding a little dazed.
    “Luke, chill out,” Bailey says. She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “I mean, Devon said that we all could meet him, isn’t that right, Devon?”
    “No,” I say, “I never said that.”
    Bailey blinks her eyes innocently. “I thought you mentioned something about us all getting together.” “Us all”? Is Bailey Barelli crazy? How is it that she thinks there’s an “us all”? It sounds suspiciously like she thinks there’s going to be some sort of double date, her and Luke, and me and this Greg person.
    “Well,” I say slowly. “I’m not sure how that would work exactly, since, you know, he lives so far away.”
    Bailey waves her hand like this is nothing. “Not a big deal,” she says. “I once dated a guy who lived in a whole other state. We met at summer camp. Besides, my mom is always around and she loves to drive and