Odd Girl In by Jo Whittemore

checking, the blue and red lines, and the basics of the game.
    â€œWhen do they try to rope the Zamboni?” asked Claire.
    I sighed. “Never. It’s for smoothing out the ice.”
    By the time homeroom ended, the girls seemed tounderstand hockey well enough to follow along with the presentation I’d put together.
    â€œI owe you big time,” said Chloe, helping me take down my posters.
    â€œJust don’t lie to Ms. Success anymore,” I said.
    Chloe smiled. “Deal. Speaking of Champs, what did you end up doing for your teamwork task?”
    She and I stepped into the hallway, and I took my time navigating the crowd for an excuse not to answer. For some reason, I didn’t think it wise to tell the whole truth, so I said, “I baked desserts with Emily for the slumber party.”
    â€œKissing up to the teacher’s assistant.” Chloe elbowed me. “Clever! Not that I would have traded places with you in a hundred years.” She grabbed my arm. “Then you’re still coming to the slumber party?”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” I said.
    â€œGreat. See you at Champs tonight! I’ll keep the seat by Trevor warm for you.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink and strolled down the hall.
    Emily poked her head around the corner of a locker bay and I let out a startled yelp.
    â€œChloe likes Trevor too, doesn’t she?” she asked.
    I sighed. “Listen, you should just let it go. Let him go. It’s not worth the hassle.”
    Emily stared after Chloe. “You’re probably right.”
    But she didn’t look like she believed me.
    That evening when I got to Champs, Chloe wasn’t warming my seat. Instead, to my annoyance, a grungy skater chick was there, talking to Trevor.
    I cleared my throat. “Um, excuse me. I just had that chair disinfected.”
    Trevor laughed, and the girl gave a derisive snort. “Geez, Alex. Relax!”
    She caught my eye and I gasped.
    Emily’s perfect ponytail was gone. Her hair was now draped around her face, hanging to her shoulders … and she’d dyed it black . On top of that, her eye makeup was so thick that she’d have to peel it off in order to remove it.
    â€œEm-Emily?” I could only stutter her name. All other words had left my vocabulary.
    She smirked lazily and leaned on the desk. “That’s what the kids call me.”
    I glanced at Trevor, who gave an amused shrug. Then I grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s step outside for a second.”
    â€œWhat, the phrase ‘excuse me’ isn’t in your vocabulary?” She rolled her eyes at Trevor.
    â€œJust go!” I pushed Emily in front of me.
    Once I’d closed the door, she gathered her hair into its usual ponytail.
    â€œThat went well, don’t you think?” she asked, beaming.
    I stared at her. “ What went well? Your frontal lobotomy?”
    Emily frowned. “Excuse me?”
    â€œYou’ve lost your mind! And your stepmother,” I said as I flicked her black ponytail, “is going to kill you!”
    Emily waved me away. “It’s a wig, and Sharon already knows about all of this.” She made a sweeping gesture from her head to her ripped jeans, and I noticed for the first time that she was wearing an Ankle Biters T-shirt.
    I pointed at it and exclaimed, “You don’t even like them!”
    â€œShhh!” Her eyes widened and she pushed me farther from the door. “Trevor doesn’t know that,” she said.
    I marveled at her idiocy. “I’m pretty sure he’ll figure it out when he plays one of their songs and you run away screaming!”
    â€œThat’s not going to happen.” Emily tugged on the front of her shirt, as though even wearing something related to the band made her uncomfortable. “Besides, sometimes sacrifices are necessary to make romance work.”
    â€œWha—?