Bad enough to be banished to the Island of Misfit Toys without having everybody you know come and visit you there. I’d have given anything to take a pass on this dance. I’d even offered to do an extra-credit project for Oz. He’d just regarded me sadly, as if to say, what could I possibly deliver that would be good enough? Showing up was the only thing I could do every bit as well as Abigail or Noah. Speaking of Noah, he looked like—holy hamburgers, what did he look like? It was almost comforting that I had no idea. If I understood his getup, it might have meant part of me was inside that bizarro world. I saw the smirks and overheard some of the nasty remarks directed toward kids like Noah and Abigail, who was dressed for the National Spelling Bee. Or Latrell, who had asked at least half a dozen girls to dance, and had been shot down by all of them. If Oz thought this would be confidence building, he was nuts! “Pa-a-arty!!!” It wasn’t easy to drown out the sound system, but Sanderson bellowed it right in my ear.
