"My allotted week to hang out with you."

Slow realization came over her face. "Oh. You mean you don't want to be my friend anymore?"

Now I was the confused one. "You said I could spend time with you for a week. The week's over."

She waved a hand. "That was just the screening process. I wasn't sure if you would try to use me or not."

I blinked. "Do a lot of people use you?"

"You'd be surprised." She shrugged. "I only realized it recently-it became, like, crystal clear to me-that at least half my so-called friends aren't really my friends. They usually try to use me for what they think I can get them- popularity, hot guys, you name it. So they flock. Therefore, my friendship screening process recently came into effect."

"And I passed?"

"With flying colors." She grinned. "So, can we be friends? For real?"

I could have been wrong, but I swear I saw a glimmer of doubt in her eyes, as if she half-expected me to say no. Melinda James-the queen of the Royal Party-scared I wouldn't want to be her friend?

I hadn't even thought it was possible, but at that moment I could admit to myself that, yeah, I did want to be Melinda's friend. I'd realized over the week that we had a lot in common. I mean, she was perfect and I was far from it. But we liked the same movies, television shows, books. We'd talked for hours one night about absolutely nothing. I felt comfortable with her.

"Friends," I agreed with a smile. "For real."

And that was that.

Suddenly I had a chance to fit in somewhere and be accepted after sixteen years of being a big nobody. I hadn't asked for it, but being friends with Melinda was like winning the social-life lottery.

Which apparently included being stared at by a really strange guy with shoulder-length dark hair that hid his face so I couldn't even see what he looked like.