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a lot.
    Chelsea had the same aggressive attitude. You were either with her or against her. She had frizzy blonde hair always pulled into a ponytail, a pointy nose and a matching chin, and she always dressed in whatever was most stylish or most expensive. But I had known her since kindergarten so I was grandfathered in as her friend.
    Not so with Daniel. Every day at lunch she sniped about his clothes, his shaggy hair, his off-brand sneakers. One day she was criticizing his T-shirt, a retro design from some Cuban cigar box label. Though it was a cheap cotton, baggy on him, and the design was faded, I thought it was kind of cool and that made me tired of Chelsea harping on him.
    "Give it a rest, Chelsea," I said. "Not everybody has a rich daddy who buys her anything she wants."
    She looked at me like I had stuck an arrow into her chest. "My daddy is not rich. We are upper middle class, just like your family, Melissa. Girls whose fathers drive Mercedes sports cars should not throw stones."
    "I'm not throwing stones at you, Chelsea. Though I do owe you a snowball from last year--don't think I've forgotten. I'm just saying it's not his fault his mother can't afford to buy him fancy clothes."
    "His mother? What about his father?"
    "I think his father's dead."
    She looked at me closely. "And how do you know so much about him?"
    "Geez, Chelsea, it's not like I've memorized his complete biography. I sit next to him in math class, remember."
    "Uh-huh," she said, nodding.
    I got up and walked over to where Daniel was sitting. "I like your T-shirt," I said.
    He looked up. "Thanks. It belonged to my dad. My mom dug it out from somewhere a couple of weeks ago because she thought it would fit me." He smiled. "I know it doesn't, but it's cool to have something of his."
    That was so sweet. I couldn't imagine my dad dying, and I was sure that if he did I would want to wear his T-shirts too. "You ready to walk to history?" I asked.
    He got up so fast he knocked the table, and a kid on the end said, "Watch it." Daniel just ignored him, and we walked out of the cafeteria together.

Comprehension

    On the bus home that day, Brie asked me, "So what's up with you and Daniel Florez? Do you like him?"
    "He's okay. Don't tell me you're starting to act like Chelsea and go all ballistic on the poor guy. He may be a geek but he's all right."
    "Uh-huh."
    "So have you heard anything from Military Boy lately?" That was always good for shifting Brie's attention.
    "He scored really well in target practice," she said proudly. "He hit his target in all the important places. Did you know that you can break the body down in to different zones based on how easily a shot there can kill someone?"
    "And you're worried about me hanging around with Daniel?" I asked. "Do you ever listen to yourself, Brie?"
    "I'm just trying to develop some common interests with him."
    I thought about Daniel reading all those Jane Austen books because I had mentioned them to him. Was he doing the same thing Brie was? "What about books? He must be taking English too, right? What's he reading?"
    She shook her head. "He finished English last year. This year he's studying military theory, calculus, biology, and European history. And he's on the drill team."
    She launched into a description of the kinds of commands he had to memorize and be able to perform, and I zoned out. Daniel did like me; that was clear. But did I like him? I just didn't know. I still thought he was hella cute, especially when he pushed a strand of his wavy hair back over his ear, or he smiled and this light shone out of his eyes.
    But I was determined not to moon over him the way Brie did for Military Boy. And if Daniel ever told me about target practice, I was so changing my seat in math class.
    After that day I felt like Chelsea was watching me, and just out of basic perversity I made a point of being extra nice to Daniel. I was also curious to see what would happen. I kind of liked him; he was interesting, when he