Mission (Un)Popular by Anna Humphrey

honey,” she went on, putting an arm around me. “It’ll grow back. Someday you’ll look at this photo and smile.”
    She showed it to me in the display. My head was tilted weirdly to one side, and I had red-eye. Right. So photogenic. Real potential. But I didn’t ask her to take it again. Seriously, what difference would it have made?
    When I woke up the next morning, I hadn’t exactly forgotten that I’d uglified myself, but still, it was a shock to see how bad I looked. Overnight, the hairspray had dried my new bangs into two gross chunks on either side of my face, and the eyebrow gap seemed to have grown even huger, somehow.
    After showering, I tried to fix my bangs with the blow-dryer and round brush, but it was useless. Then I soaked them in leave-in conditioner and gel and used my flat iron. My hair made a sizzling sound as I pulled it through the straightening plates, but as soon as I released it, it sproinged back, only now my bangs were frizzy and crunchy—like cotton candy gone partly stale.
    â€œMargot, sweetie,” my mom said, knocking on the door, “it’s half past. You’d better get going.” I sighed, shoved the horrible bobby pins back in, to at least hold down the frizz/poof, and went to get dressed. Maybe, I thought, if I just tried to be perfectly quiet all day:
I won't embarrass myself like I did the day before.
Nobody will even notice I'm there, let alone that I have a “new look.”
If they do notice me, they won't even recognize me. “Who is that mysterious, perfectly quiet girl with the interesting bangs?” they will wonder. (Okay, so even I knew that wasn’t going to happen.)
    Even though I was already running late, I checked my e-mail one last time. There was still no message from Little Miss Holy-Saint-of-Ditching-her-Best-Friend. So much for all of her IM promises. I’ll call you every day. We’ll hang out all the time. Lies, lies, and more big fat lies. In a fit of anger and frustration, fueled by bad hair and loneliness, I opened my e-mail and typed as fast as I could.
    Dear Erika,
    I hope you had a great first day at Sacred Heart. I hope you had a wonderful time learning superior skills in a wholesome environment. I understand why you didn’t have time to call me back. You’ve got a new friend, and you guys are probably really busy shopping for kneesocks and reading the Bible. She’s probably really smart, too. And a good influence. I’m sure she would never steal a ham.
    Whatever, Erika. I’m hurt, but life goes on. I wish you and your new friend all the best. Really, I do, because despite what you might think, I’m actually a good enough person that I still care about you, even though you have thrown me away like a moldy tangerine.
    Sincerely,
    Margot
    I hit SEND , then glanced at my clock. I had exactly fourteen minutes to get to school. I rummaged frantically through my clothes piles for something to wear, finally deciding on a slightly too baggy blue T-shirt from the Gap and the Parasuco jeans again. (Just because Erika and I weren’t friends anymore didn’t mean the jeans had to get caught in the middle, did it?)
    I ran most of the way to school and made it through the doors just as the second bell was ringing.
    â€œGood morning, everyone,” Mrs. Collins said as I slid into my seat a moment later. “Margot.” She paused. “I’m glad you could join us.” Everyone turned to look at me. So much for not drawing attention to my “new look.”
    Thankfully, Mrs. Collins was feeling all eager-beaver and didn’t waste any more time embarrassing me. “Today is a special day,” she said. “It marks the beginning of our poetry unit.” Groans of joy emanated from all over the room. Poetry is like the square dance unit of English class. Only a few geeky people actually get into it. Secretly, I happen to be one of them, but I’d never