Shifting by Bethany Wiggins Page B

him to notice her. And he finally did notice her when she beat him at hurdles,” Yana said. I cringed—this was starting to sound all too familiar. “They dated for a little bit,” she continued, “and when he dumped her, she stopped eating and didn’t come to school for a week. When I told Naalyehe about it, he said Bridger’s parents want him to marry someone in their social class . Therefore, he only gets serious with girls in his social class .”
    â€œWhat social class is that?”
    â€œThe über-rich, world-traveling, university-graduate social class.”
    â€œWow.”
    â€œSorry to have to tell you, but that’s what friends are for.”
    â€œYeah. Friends. Thanks for letting me know.” I looked at my T-shirt, purchased from a thrift store in Albuquerque, and felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. If Bridger’s social class had an opposite, I would be it.
    Yet a little part of me hoped Yana was wrong. Okay, a big part of me hoped. Mrs. Carpenter’s dogs liked him, after all.
    Even though I had been warned, my heart beat like a galloping horse every time Bridger said hi to me in the hall. When he smiled at me, or talked to me during track, I couldn’t stop grinning. The few times we walked the same direction to class, he took my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine, and my blood raced through my veins.
    I started counting the hours until prom.
    On Thursday, when I got to third period, Senior English, I noticed the female half of the class was staring at me, as if noticing the new girl for the first time—again. Their eyes and whispers clung to me. When I sat down at my desk, a loud snickering filled the classroom. Danni, who sat directly behind me, was in full hysterics.
    I turned around to see what everyone was laughing at, and they laughed harder. The girls did anyway. The guys were studying the walls or ceiling.
    Class passed normally, with me struggling to hold my eyes open. We were discussing The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, a novel about a woman who had to wear a red A on her dress so that everyone knew she’d had sex out of wedlock. It was one of my least favorite books and, to make matters worse, I’d read and dissected it junior year. The urge to let my eyelids sag shut was almost overwhelming. The rest of the class seemed just as bored, antsy for class to end. Yet when the dismissal bell rang, no one made the usual mad dash for the lunchroom. They all stared at me.
    My palms became clammy and my stomach started to churn, the same feeling I got when I knew the girls at my old school were planning on jumping me in the hall. My eyes met Danni’s. She grinned from ear to ear. Did Ollie tell her about me?
    I stood to leave.
    The class burst into raucous laughter. I reached between my shoulder blades, expecting to find a paper with Kick me taped there, but felt nothing. The class laughed harder. I clenched my teeth and left.
    Laughter followed me down the hall. Every person I passed exploded with it when they looked at me. They pointed at my back and whispered, told other people to look, and they laughed, too.
    Panic clawed at me. I started to run toward the girls’ bathroom. It felt a mile away. By the time I reached it, tears were filling my eyes and I was gasping for air.
    When I looked in the mirror, though, nothing was wrong. It was just plain old red-faced me staring back. I don’t know what I had expected—a clown nose, maybe? Footsteps echoed in the empty stalls and Yana walked into the bathroom.
    Her eyes met mine, and then wandered down my neck, over my red sweater, and to my jeans. She cringed.
    â€œYou riding the crimson wave?” she asked delicately.
    I didn’t know what she meant. Crimson wave?
    â€œYou’ve bled through your pants,” she croaked, as if the words hurt her throat.
    I turned around and looked at my butt in the mirror. Crimson smeared the seat of my