Twilight by Meg Cabot

says!”
    “Um, hello, Suze.” Kelly Prescott’s voice rose above the noise of slamming lockers and chitchat. “Talk to the wall much?”
    I flung a glance over my shoulder and saw her standing there with the rest of the Dolce and Gabbana Nazis, smirking at me. I knew, of course, what they were seeing. Me with hands raised, clutching nothing but air, and speaking to one of the pillars in the breezeway.
    Like I don’t have enough of a reputation for being a freak. Now I really looked like I was going around the bend.
    But when I turned my head back to tell Jesse we’d finish this conversation later, I saw that I was too late. He’d already disappeared.
    I dropped my hands and turned to face Paul, who still stood there looking angry and defensive and pleased with himself at the same time.
    “Thanks a lot,” I said to him.
    “Don’t mention it.” He walked away, whistling to himself.

Chapter

nine
     
     

    “Is there wheat in this?” a petite woman in a China chop and huge dark sunglasses asked me as she held up a chocolate chip cookie.
     
    “Yes,” I said.
    “What about this?” She held up a brownie.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “What about this?” A Mexican wedding cookie.
    “Yes.”
    “Are you telling me,” she demanded, looking outraged, “that there is wheat in all of these baked goods?”
    I lowered my chair. I’d been tilting it out of boredom, to see how far back I could lean without falling.
    “Because Tyler doesn’t eat wheat,” the woman went on, her hand going to cradle the chubby-cheeked face of a kid standing beside her. His blue eyes blinked out at me past his mother’s perfectly manicured nails. “I’m raising him on a gluten-free diet.”
    “Try one of those,” I said, pointing to some lemon bars.
    “Is there dairy in it?” the woman asked suspiciously. “Because I’m raising Tyler lactose-free, as well.”
    “Dairy-and gluten-free, I promise,” I said.
    The woman slipped me a dollar, and I handed her the lemon bars. She passed one to Tyler, who inspected it, bit into it… then gave me a dazzling smile—his first of the day, no doubt—as his mother took his hand and led him away. Beside me, Shannon, my fellow bake sale attendant, looked appalled.
    “There’s wheat and dairy in those lemon bars,” she said.
    “I know.” I rocked my chair back again. “I felt bad for the little guy.”
    “But—”
    “She didn’t say he was allergic. She just said she was raising him without it. Poor kid.”
    “Suu-uuze,” the eighth grader said, giving my name multiple syllables. “You are so cool. Your brother Dave said you were cool, but I didn’t believe him.”
    “Oh, I’m cool, all right,” I assured her. It was weird to hear someone call David “Dave.” He was such a David to me.
    “You so are,” Shannon said with perfect seriousness.
    Whatever. It was so the story of my life to be stuck running a school bake sale while the rest of the world was enjoying such a perfect Saturday. The sky overhead was so blue and cloudless, it was almost painful to look at. The temperature was hovering at an extremely comfortable seventy degrees. A beautiful day for the beach or cappuccino at an outdoor café, or even just a walk.
    And where was I? Yeah, that’d be manning the eighth grade bake sale booth at the Mission’s charity antique auction.
    “I couldn’t believe it when Sister Ernestine told us you would be helping out at the booth,” Shannon was saying. Shannon, I’d discovered, was not shy. She likes to talk. A lot. “I mean, you being an eleventh grader and all. And, you know. So cool.”
    Cool. Yeah, right.
    I hadn’t expected so many people to show up at the auction. Oh, sure, a few parents, eager to look like they cared about their kids’ school. But not, you know, hordes of eager antique collectors.
    But that’s exactly who was here. There were people everywhere, people I’d never seen before, all wandering around, peering at the items that would be auctioned