Just Your Average Princess by Kristina Springer Page B

piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, you like?”
    Dilly’s dark brown hair is newly highlighted with thick Crayola-yellow stripes. “It’s totally you,” I say. And actually, it’s kind of cute.
    Dilly looks thrilled. “Thanks! I’m making a statement. It’s supposed to be a message to all of the sheepeople out there with their matching haircuts and highlights.”
    I smile. I’ve never colored or highlighted my hair so I’m not sure I get the message she says she’s putting out there, but I get Dilly. And this is totally her.
    â€œSo, how was your weekend?” Dilly asks. She flips open a notebook on her desk and pulls a pencil out of the backpack hanging off the back of her chair. “Did your cousin start playing nice? Did you guys have fun?”
    â€œFun?” I repeat. Hmm. When I think of Milan the word “fun” doesn’t spring to mind. Manipulative, snotty, unfriendly, high maintenance … Now those words seem more on target. “Well, I—” I begin, but am interrupted by our math teacher walking in.
    â€œOkay, people, let’s get started right away. Open your books to page 112,” Mr. Cranshaw says, flipping on the overhead machine and uncapping a dry-erase marker.
    I watch Mr. Cranshaw’s scribbled letters and numbers appear on the large screen hanging on the wall at the front of the room and I know I should be taking notes like everyone else in class. But, really, how am I supposed to care about dividing one polynomial by another polynomial when at this very moment Milan could be blowing in Danny’s ear? It’s driving me crazy not knowing what she’s up to back at the Patch.
    At lunch I buy a greasy cheeseburger in the school cafeteria and take it outside to eat. I stop in front of a shady apple tree, kick the rotten apples lying on the ground out of the way, and plop down to call Sara. She answers in one ring.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Sara asks.
    â€œNothing, what’s going on there?” I reply. I absentmindedly pick up a red apple lying on the ground nearby and roll it around in my free hand.
    â€œWell, my Peanut Butter Cup apples are selling like crazy.”
    â€œNo, you know what I mean. What’s she doing?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œSara!” I say, exasperated.
    â€œYou mean Precious? She’s … Well, I believe she thinks she’s working. Socializing while doing the least amount of physical exertion is a more accurate description, however,” Sara says.
    â€œIs she, I mean, has she been talking to Danny?” I ask, hating how I sound. But I can’t get those flowers she brought home Saturday and her implication that they were from Danny out of my mind.
    There’s a pause.
    â€œSara?” I prompt, knowing that if it’s taking her this long to answer then I’m not going to like what she says. At all.
    â€œWell,” she begins, and she pauses. “Here and there. I wouldn’t get worked up over it though,” she adds quickly.
    My heart sinks. Milan is totally blowing in his ear.
    Neither of us says anything for a moment. Not that we need to. We’re both thinking the same thing.
    â€œSeriously, Jamie,” Sara finally says. “I don’t think she’s Danny’s type. Don’t worry.”
    I appreciate Sara’s effort to make me feel better, but I’m having a hard time seeing Danny turning Milan down if she is in fact throwing herself at him. “Just, keep an eye on them, okay? And let me know if she’s hitting on him.”
    â€œAll right, I will. But I really do think it’s no big deal,” Sara adds.
    â€œThanks,” I say, and we hang up.
    The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly and I race for my car after the final bell rings. Ever since I hung up with Sara I’ve been getting these horrible visions of Danny and Milan sneaking off behind one of the barns to make out. I