“Maybe she is your antiperson?” Ian says.
Stephanie and I look at each other, perplexed. “My what?”
Ian flips back a few pages and clears his throat. “It says here, and I quote, ‘There could be whole antiworlds and antipeople made out of antiparticles. However, if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands. You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’”
Stephanie bursts into laughter. “You’re such a nerd.”
“This is serious business,” Ian says, shifting slightly to face me. “Whatever you do, don’t shake hands with Paige. It could spell your doom.”
Nothing like good ol’ fashioned encouragement from your friend. “I’ll . . . keep that in mind,” I tell him. The good news is the chances of me shaking hands with her are zero, and I intend to keep it that way.
As always, the cafeteria is loud and chaotic. My inner radar, ever so averse to trouble, homes in on the Queen Bees, who sit right in the middle, surrounded by their adoring fans. Two of her closest sidekicks flank Paige on either side, both of them clones of her: blonde, confident, and dressed like they walked out of a trendy fashion magazine.
It’s like they’re holding court, laughing too loudly and tossing their hair every few minutes.
Paige is looking at Theo, who’s one table over, not looking back at her.
“Let’s sit as far away from them as possible,” I whisper to Stephanie, who nods in full agreement.
We chat about our classes, comparing notes and laughing about the minor mishaps we’ve already encountered. Ian, of course, complains that Paige didn’t even look at him when they crossed paths in the hallway.
“Dude, she doesn’t even know you exist,” Stephanie says.
“Life is full of hardships.” Ian sighs, staring at the table where the Queen Bees took up permanent residence since freshman year.
“Maybe she’s your antiperson, too,” I say.
Ian’s expression turns ponderous, then his lips curl into a wide smile. “It would be a dream come true to join as one and disappear with her into oblivion.”
“You’re hopeless,” Stephanie says, and we all have a good laugh about it.
The day drags along without further setbacks—which is just what I want—and when the last bell finally rings, I go to see Mrs. Waverly. Apparently, I’m not the only one hoping to change their schedule, because the waiting area isstillfull of students.
I take a seat in the corner and wait my turn, trading texts with Stephanie about the disappointed faces that keep coming out of the counselor’s office.
This doesn’t bode well for me
u got this
Wish me luck
good luck meet u after by the entrance
Five minutes later, my name is called, and I step into the office, a small room with an enormous desk littered with pictures of Mrs. Waverly’s kids. She gives me a warm smile as I take a seatacross from her.
“What can I help you with, Chrissy?” she asks, placing her hands on her desk, one on top of the other.
I pull out my schedule and offer it to her. “Is there a way I could change my first period from chem to English, or another class? I’d really appreciate it. I have . . . difficult classmates in that class.”
Mrs. Waverly’s eyebrows rise as she scans the paper. “I’m sorry, Chrissy, but the English class you want is already full. You’re not the first to ask. Ms. Burton’s reputation is well-earned.
Mrs. Waverly has been my counselor since freshman year, and I think she’s the nicest person in the school, always encouraging me in my endeavor to become an astronaut, so I try not to let my disappointment show, but it’s hard. “I’ll take anything else. Any other subject.”
She adjusts her glasses, skimming over the rest of my schedule. “I see you took my advice and picked the science courses we discussed, including AP Calculus. Given the requirements for your career goal, this is the best arrangement we could make. You’re one of the brightest students here. If anyone can handle some chemistry in the mix, it’s you.”
Her kind words should make me feel better, but they don’t. “Please. I’m desperate.”
Mrs. Waverly shakes her head. “I’m really sorry, Chrissy. There’s nothing I can do.” She hands me back my schedule.
