Stealing Popular by Trudi Trueit

faces.”
    â€œNah,” I said shyly, writing the idea in
     my notebook.
    â€œThat would be so incredible,” said Adair, bouncing.
     “Imagine a huge wall of different faces blending
     together. . . .”
    â€œOne second,” said Renata. “Aren’t you forgetting
     something? We have to get the class to agree—the whole class.” She tipped her head toward Dijon’s group. “I’ve got a
     better chance of getting elected fall queen.”
    Renata was right, of course. Social rules dictated that any time a class
     vote was called for, everyone was required to vote for the most popular Somebody in the
     room. Dijon’s idea, whatever it was, would win.
    Breck popped up from behind Adair. He glanced at me over my friend’s
     shoulder. “Can I be in your group?”
    â€œSure,” said Adair with a wink to me.
    â€œBreck!” Dijon snapped her fingers. “You’re with
     us.”
    â€œSorry. Next time,” said Breck, flicking his bangs out of his
     eyes.
    Whatever. I lifted a shoulder. And turned away.
    They were gray.
    Anyway, like I said. Too much hassle. Would never work.
    I meant his eyes. They were gray.

Eight
    â€œWhat kind of soup do they have?”
    I set my tray on the table beside Adair and across from Fawn. “Can’t you tell by the beans?”
    â€œChicken,” Fawn and Adair said together, then laughed.
    Adair peered into my bowl. “It looks like antifreeze.”
    â€œAnd smells like wet dog,” said Fawn.
    â€œIt was either this or the mystery-meat chimichanga.”
    My friends nodded to confirm I’d made the right choice. I crumbled four packages of crackers into my soup to soak up the sludge.
    Through a thin curtain of rising steam I grinned at Fawn. From across the table she grinned back. It was strange, sharing a secret with her. Adair, Fawn, and I had never hidden anything from one another before. Unless, of course, the two of them had a secret I didn’t know about, which they probably did becausethey had known each other since the fifth grade.
    Truth was, I smiled to hide my fear. I had done something else—something not even Fawn knew about. And though I didn’t want to admit it, I had begun to regret it almost from the moment Fawn left the girls’ bathroom to deliver the envelope to Mrs. Rivkin. What if, in my rush to finish, I’d made an error? What if Mrs. Rivkin didn’t follow my instructions? What if she suspected something was up? What if Coach Notting, Miss Furdy, or Mrs. Ignazio had gone to the office after we’d left?
    Since yesterday afternoon, a million “what ifs” had been puncturing my brain. And it was beginning to hurt. Fawn was the only link between the judges and Mrs. Rivkin. If any one of my “what ifs” came true, the trail would lead the administration straight to us. Fawn’s guilty heart would spill her guts in record time. Knowing how well organized she was, she probably already had her confession written and had made individual copies for Dr. Adams, Mr. Falkner, and Mrs. Pescatori in detention. We were never going to get away with this. Never.
    The temperature under my hoodie was starting to rise.
    â€œI can’t sit still,” said Adair, jiggling. “I wish they would post the cheer results. This is killing me.”
    â€œMe too,” I murmured, fanning myself with my napkin.
    â€œMonday is three whole days away.”
    I wished Adair would stop bobbing. She was shaking the whole table. I was getting seasick. Across from me Fawn was sipping her chocolate milk and going up and down. Up and down.
    I struggled to escape my stifling hoodie. “Hey, Liezel’s in the lunch line.”
    â€œSay that three times fast,” teased Fawn.
    Adair gave it a try. “Liezel’s in the lunch line. Liezel’s in the lunch line. Liezel’s in the lee line—aaugggh!”
    I didn’t know she