She slumps into the classroom, arms folded and slouching. I see her and wave to her, but she ignores me.

For two weeks, Casey has been coming to our school. For two weeks, I’ve been trying to make friends with her. And for two weeks, she’s completely ignored me.

“Hi, Casey!” I call.

Stone-cold silence.

“What’d you do this weekend?”

Arctic, flinty silence.

Never mind, I think.

Casey looks like she’d totally be a good friend for me. She comes from a tiny little town in the sticks, just like me. She loves drawing and reading (or at least she’s always drawing or reading)- again, like me. And she wears the same sort of clothes I do- sort of girly Gothic.

I decide that I’m going to ask her why she doesn’t want to be my friend. Since we ride the same bus, I’ll talk to her about it there.

And on the bus, there’s nowhere to hide…