“Are　you　doing　okay？”　She　shifted　her　backpack　and　looked

over　each　shoulder。　“I　got　to　thinking；　you　know；　that

was　just　so　cold　of　Bryce。　Especially　since　you've　got　that　soft　spot　for　him。”

“Who　told　you　that？”

“Like　I　haven't　got　eyes？　e　on；　girl。　It's　a　given。　Which　is　why　I　got　to　worryin'　about　you。

Are　you　seriously　all　right？”

“Yes；　I　am。　But　thanks　for　thinking　about　me。”　I　eyed　her　and　said；　“And　Darla？　It's　not　a

given　anymore。”

She　laughed。　“How　long's　this　diet　gonna　last？”

“It's　not　a　diet。　I've　just；　uh；　lost　my　taste　for　him。”

She　looked　at　me　skeptically。　“Uh…huh。”

“Well；　I　have。　But　thanks　for；　you　know；　caring。”

All　through　first　period　I　was　still　feeling　strong　and　right　and　certain；　but　then　Mrs。　Simmons

ended　the　lesson　a　full　fifteen　minutes　early　and　said；

“Clear　your　desks　of　everything　but　a　pen　or　pencil。”

“What？”　everyone　cried；　and　believe　me—I　was　right　along　with　them。　I　was　not　prepared　for

a　quiz！

“Everything！”　she　said。　“e　on；　you're　wasting　valuable　time。”

The　room　filled　with　grumbles　and　the　sound　of　shuffling　binders；　and　when　we'd　all　pretty

much　plied　with　her　request；　she　picked　a　stack　of

bright　yellow　papers　off　her　desk；　fanned　them　with　an　evil　grin；　and　said；　“It's　time　to　vote　for

basket　boys！”

A　wave　of　relief　swept　across　the　room。　“Basket　boys？　You　mean　it's　not　a　quiz？”

She　ticked　through　the　stack；　counting　ballots　as　she　spoke。　“It　is　like　a　quiz　in　that　I　don't

want　you　conferring　with　one　another。　It's　also　like　a　quiz

in　that　you　have　a　limited　amount　of　time。”　She　slapped　a　set　of　ballots　down　on　the　first　desk

of　row　one；　then　went