That day, she arrived at 5:24.

"Hey, Claudia, what's up?" she said.

"Ohhh, uptown, upstate ..." I answered cheerfully. (Not bad, huh? I had just thought of it.) "Groan." Kristy rolled her eyes and sat in the director's chair near my desk. That's her usual spot. (Mine is on my bed, sitting cross-legged.) "Kristy," I said, "I need an activity, something really interesting and fun. And don't tell me to take a sport — " "DON'T WORRY, I WON'T UPSET YOU." Kristy spoke in this exaggerated, loud voice, then started laughing and slapping her knees.

"Uh, Kristy? Are you okay?" "Upset! Get it? Up . . . set!" I love Kristy. Really. But there's another side to that incredible brain.

She's competitive. Even with jokes. Sometimes she just doesn't know when to stop.

I smiled patiently. "Uh-huh. Um, listen, Kristy. What do you think I should take, tap or drama?" Kristy looked at me as if I'd suggested adding another nose to my face. "Are you serious? What about something like volleyball?" Fortunately Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike walked in the room then. Jessi's eleven, like Mal. They are our two sixth-grade members (the rest of us are eighth-graders).

I explained my situation. Well, almost all of it. I didn't say I felt sad and friendless, just that I needed a change of pace.

Jessi was all smiles when I mentioned tap. "Stand up. I'll give you a lesson," she said.

"Now?" I asked.

"Before the others get here. Come on, hold onto the side of your desk." I did.

"Okay, watch." She began shifting from side to side. "Ball change, ball change. ..." I tried to copy her. It wasn't hard to do, but I looked like a total geek.

When she started doing things called shuffles and falaps, 1 was hopeless.

The problem is, Jessi is practically a pro. She takes all kinds of dance lessons. (Ballet is her specialty. She's performed lead roles in productions at her ballet school.) She even looks like a dancer. She's thin and graceful, with turned-out feet.