ary　school；　trying　to

figure　out　if　they　were　more　or　less　than　the　sum　of　their　parts。　Chet　was　right。　A　lot　of　them

were　less。

Top　of　the　list；　of　course；　was　Shelly　Stalls。　To　look　at　her；　you'd　think　she　had　everything；

but　there's　not　much　solid　underneath　her　Mount

Everest　hair。　And　even　though　she's　like　a　black　hole　at　sucking　people　in；　it　doesn't　take

them　long　to　figure　out　that　being　friends　with　her　requires

fanning　the　flames　of　a　wildfire　ego。

But　of　all　my　classmates；　the　one　person　I　couldn't　seem　to　place　was　Bryce。　Until　recently

I'd　have　said　with　absolute　certainty　that　he　was

greater—far　greater—than　the　sum　of　his　parts。　What　he　did　to　my　heart　was　sheer；

inexplicable　magic。

But　inexplicable　was　the　operative　word　here。　And　as　I　looked　across　the　room　at　him　during

math；　I　couldn't　help　feeling　crushed　all　over　again

about　how　he'd　thrown　out　my　eggs。　What　kind　of　person　would　do　that？

Then　he　looked　my　way　and　smiled；　and　my　heart　lurched。　But　I　was　mad　at　myself　for　it。

How　could　I　still　feel　this　way　after　what　he'd　done？

I　avoided　him　the　rest　of　the　day；　but　by　the　end　of　school　there　was　a　tornado　inside　me；

tearing　me　up　from　one　end　to　the　other。　I　jumped　on　my

bike　and　rode　home　faster　than　I　ever　had　before。　The　right　pedal　clanked　against　the　chain

guard；　and　the　whole　bike　rattled　and　squeaked；

threatening　to　collapse　into　a　pile　of　rusty　parts。

The　tornado；　however；　was　still　going　strong　when　I　skidded　to　a　halt　in　our　driveway。　So　I

transferred　pedal　power　into　painting　power。　I　pried

open　the　gallon　of　Navajo　White　my　dad　had　bought　me　and　started　slopping　paint　arou