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who freakin’ stare, and anyone who calls me Jill. The name is BLADE. I had it legally changed.
    Before I’m done reading, she snatches it away from me and then goes back to her bed, where she curls up again into the fetal position. There’s no reason to ask her why she’s here. It’s pretty obvious that she wouldn’t fit into any normal high school. Can you say Freak with a capital F?
    I put my bag on my bed and start unpacking. It’s a bit odd with Blade (why not Hatchet or Steak Knife?) curled up in a ball and facing the opposite wall, but after a while, I just decide to ignore her. I open my closet, where I find a row of identical Bard Academy uniforms. I shove them aside to make room for my real clothes. Mom would only let me pack a few outfits, because that’s what the Bard Academy guide suggested. I’ve brought: jeans, my favorite Lucky Brand hooded sweatshirt, a dress (in case of dance/date potential), a couple of baby doll tees, and my favorite flannel Boys Stink PJs. I turn off the light and then turn my attention to the bed. I put sheets on it, and then I take out the framed pictures I brought with me — one of me and Dad, one of me, Mom and Lindsay, and one of my two best friends (Liz and Cass).
    Dad’s got his sunglasses on and he’s smiling because we’re on the golf course. That was the summer Dad gave me golf lessons for my birthday. The lessons were a disaster (I threw the golf club farther than I hit the golf ball) but the picture is a good one. It’s the only one I have of Dad when he’s with me and he’s smiling. Every other picture he looks bored, or worse, annoyed.
    I get sad when I look at this picture. More than a little sad — like almost choked-up sad, which is ridiculous. I’m not normally sentimental, especially not about Dad, but the picture suddenly makes me feel very alone.
    I put it down and pick up the next one to distract me (I am not going to cry over Dad — especially not now). The third picture is me at my fifteenth birthday. Liz (boy-crazy drama queen) and Cass (rock - star - in - training) are making funny faces, because they are total goof-balls I’ve known since I was four. If I’d met them in high school, we wouldn’t have been friends because we hang out with different crowds, but somehow we’ve stayed friends all this time, despite the fact that Cass listens to Audioslave and can slug a beer in one gulp, and Liz’s dream is to be this year’s homecoming queen (a goal she’s attempting to achieve by sleeping with half of the football team). I think I’m her last remaining virginal friend.
    My parents think they’re bad influences on me, but the truth is that I’m a good influence on them. I’m the one who talks Cass back from the ledge when she wants to do tequila shots at a keg party, and I’m the one who convinced Liz to try waiting until the third date before offering the blow job. I’m the one who keeps my friends sane. But do I get points for this? No. I get sent off to reform school.
    Still, Liz and Cass are loyal and supportive, and I miss them worse than caffeine, which by the way I haven’t had since I snuck some of Mom’s coffee earlier this morning. When they heard about my Bard Academy exile, Liz and Cass both offered to hide me in their respective attics. I should’ve taken them up on their offer.
    Looking at the framed pictures on my desk makes me suddenly and desperately homesick. My anger at my parents melts away a little bit as I take in my side of the room, which is pretty bleak and has nearly no decorations, since I didn’t think to pack any. It’s just my polka-dot bedspread, my pictures, my pink towels, and my Paul Frank monkey robe.
    I glance over at Blade’s side of the room and wonder how I’m going to sleep with a giant poster of the tarot Devil staring at me all night. I look up and see that my closet light is back on. That’s weird. I thought I turned it off. I glance over at Blade, who’s still lying on her bed. She