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whipped my head back around and faced front again.
    Payton would tell me to chill out. I took a deep breath. I had more important things to do than chat right now, anyway. Like organize. I had my schedule now. Yay! I opened my backpack and took out my organizer and binder. I neatly placed my schedule on the desk beside them.

    Science was first! I woo-hooed silently. That would start the day off with a bang. I placed my green folder (Science was always green) into the first slot of my case. I closed my eyes and pictured the science room. I was sure science in middle school would be in a real lab. Test tubes, measuring scales, safety goggles. So fun.
    â€œExcuse me?” The boy turned from my left. Was he talking to me? I opened my eyes. He was! Oh, jeez. Did he think I was sleeping? That was embarrassing.
    â€œYou dropped your schedule,” he said, handing me my paper.
    Oh, I must have knocked it off my desk.
    â€œDon’t want to lose your schedule,” he said. “That would be a nightmare; you’d have no clue where you were supposed to be.”
    â€œOh, I’d know. I have it memorized,” I blurted out.
    â€œAlready?” he said. “So then, what do you have fourth period? No peeking.”
    â€œEnglish/Language Arts,” I said, confidently. “Burkle, 266.”
    Oh. Burkle. As in Mrs. Burkle from the hallway outside the janitor’s closet. Well, being in her class would give me a second chance to show how wrong her first impression of me was. I looked at the boy on my left.
    â€œNext question?” I said.
    â€œSeventh period,” he challenged me.
    â€œSpanish Two, Kane,” I said.
    â€œMan, you’re good,” he said. “How about third period?”
    â€œLunch,” I said. “Cafeteria, of course.”
    â€œI have third-period lunch, too,” he said. “What a joke.”
    I looked at the boy. I suddenly realized that he had nice green eyes. And that he was a boy.
    When I got around boys, it was usually like my mouth had a mute button. I opened my mouth to say something else. I looked at his green eyes and . . . nothing came out. I felt my face turn as red as my folder. Red = Social Studies. I turned back to my binder and popped the red folder into slot two.
    The boy started talking to someone on his other side.
    Well, three sentences spoken out loud to a boy. That was practically my record!
    Yellow folder, ELA . . . PE? Don’t even think about that one. . . . Moving on to study hall . . . always good for doing extra-credit assignments. Then it hit me. What the green-eyed boy had said. Third-period lunch?Third period was at 9:23. I had to eat lunch at 9:23 in the morning? Lunch?
    The warning bell rang once. Oh no, only three minutes before homeroom ended. Lunch at 9:23 in the morning was almost as bad as Choir 2. I didn’t sign up for Choir 1 or 2. This mathlete doesn’t sing. I’d have to get Choir changed.
    Next, Spanish. White. Blanco. La folder into el file. Finally, Math.
    math math math math math math math math math math math math
    I tenderly tucked my turquoise-blue folder into the last opening. Why turquoise? Because this summer at camp Payton had informed me that “To form separate identities, we needed to be seen as separate people.”
    â€œPayton,” I’d said. “We’re identical. Not Siamese. What are you talking about?”
    â€œSignature colors,” Payton said. “Mine is hot pink. What’s yours?”
    I knew Payton wouldn’t drop the subject until I chose a stupid color. She got really stubborn about her crazy ideas. “Gray,” I told her.
    â€œYou can’t have gray!” she squealed. “It’s so blah! So nothing!”
    â€œIt’s the shade of my mechanical pencil,” I said, holding up the pencil I was writing with.
    â€œJust pick something else.” She sighed.
    â€œFine,” I said. I