The Reinvention of Moxie Roosevelt by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel Page B

and checked out Vintage Tunage yesterday.”
    Spinky had suggested we visit the used CD store, and even advised me on my first purchase as a non-ordinary person—a retrospective collection by someone named Iggy Pop.Which sounded to me like it involved slippery balloons.
    “ You went to Vintage Tunage with Spinky?” Kate asked. It sounded like an accusation.
    “Well, yeah,” I said. I was trying to keep an even tone, but Kate was alarming me. “We signed out and got a bus pass and everything. Was there . . . I mean . . . um . . .”
    “ We were supposed to go,” Kate said. “Spinky and I.” She scowled at me. It was not a good look for her. Not a good look for me either.
    “Oh,” I said. “She didn’t say anything. I mean, maybe she forgot. I mean, sorry.”
    Kate’s scowl deepened.
    “But we’ll definitely be going back,” I said quickly. “We could let you know when we—”
    “Forget it,” Kate said abruptly. “I’ll talk to her myself.”
    She walked off quickly, leaving me standing there with a bad feeling in my stomach. Though I hadn’t warmed at all to Kate, something told me she was not a person whose bad side you wanted to get on. And I had apparently just gotten on hers, by going to a CD store with my roommate.
    Weird.
    Well, it was not Detached or Unique or Coolly Knowing to stand there frozen like a sculpture, so I continued on toward Dempsey Hall, trying to put a spring in my step. When I had almost reached the door, I heard someone call my name. I looked around and saw a girl waving at me from the other side of the quad.
    Black hair . . . black hair . . . calling something about a score . . .
    “YanKEES!” I yelled, giving her the thumbs-up.
    Guadalupe, if that was her name, returned my thumbs-up and mimed whipping an imaginary baseball at me.
    “What about that thing at third base last night?” she called.
    Having not actually watched or read about the game, I went for an oblique hand gesture that might have meant “nuts” or “hit in the head with a ball” or “I can’t hear you,” then dashed inside.
    I didn’t even have to check the Personality Log, I thought, pleased. I was on top of my facts, if nothing else. But I wasn’t so sure about the Hale and Hearty Sports Enthusiast in general. I still loved the idea of having a team, especially since there were so many matching collectibles—T-shirts, mugs, Beanie Babies in ball caps, all with team logo.The only problem was I didn’t like watching baseball all that much. Maybe I should try out for field hockey instead. Or soccer. The uniforms were awfully cute. But that meant after-school games and meets, which would cut into my practice time. My first lesson with Mr. Tate had been intense and occasionally hilarious, and left me more determined than ever to struggle through Variation 28. That meant plenty of time at the keyboard.
    It was very quiet inside Dempsey Hall. The marble floors gleamed in the soft yellow light, as if they had been polished that very morning. I climbed a wide wooden staircase to the second floor and walked down the hallway, scanning the doors for the number 212. It was the last room on the left. The door was standing open, so I walked right in.
    There was no one there. The room had high ceilings, white walls, and a large blackboard built into the front wall, on which someone had drawn a picture of two large cats walking upright. Desks were positioned in a circle around the room. I walked over to one of the tall windows that overlooked the inner campus. I hated that I was the first one there.
    I stared out the window, mentally rehearsing what I would say to the teacher. I decided that as soon as she came in I’d go over to her so that we could speak privately. I didn’t want to offend the other people in the EE, after all. Presumably they had all chosen Self-Confidence Through Comedy because they thought it sounded great. It was a nightmare only to me.
    Where were the other kids, anyway? I looked at my