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MIND READING IS EXHAUSTING. I don’t hear voices—I think other people’s thoughts. It’s as confusing as it sounds. Thoughts don’t exactly flow…they whirl or flit—random and fragmented.

Yep—reading minds sucks. With the way I some- times zone out in the middle of conversations, or forget what I’m saying as I’m saying it, I can understand why everyone thinks I have an ordinary case of ADHD. The fact that I started gaining control over this “gift” at about the same time my parents started popping Adderall in my mouth only proves their diagnosis (or so they think). “Six,” I mumble, spinning the dial on my gym

locker past the zero twice and stopping at the six.

But the timing is a coincidence. I don’t even take the pills anymore. I’ve just taught myself to push the foreign thoughts into the background so that I can focus on what people are saying instead of what they’re thinking. “Twelve.” Once around the zero in the other direction.

It’s not easy. Ever tried to read a book, watch a movie, and talk to someone at the same time? It’s kind of like that.

…get rid of this muffin top…

…her boobs can’t be real…

It’s getting easier though. In the last six months or so, I’ve taught myself to block out the thoughts completely. That only works in a one-on-one situation, or at the very most, in a group of three or four. In a crowd—like right now—it’s a little more complicated.

Totally anorexic…just want to shove a hamburger down her throat…she’d probably just puke it back up… I miss the twelve and swear under my breath. I have to start over now. That last thought was directed at me, but I don’t know who it came from. There are people who admire my just-this-side-of-emaciated figure. Skinny is in, right? But skinny on aglamorous runway model with designer clothes and layers of makeup looks a lot different than on an awkward teen who’d rather sleep an extra ten minutes than spend time primping.

“Bulimia and Anorexia are two different things,” I mumble.

“What?” the girl next to me asks. “Nothing.”

…always talking to herself…

She finishes dressing down for P.E. and walks away from her locker. I blow out a breath.

“Seventeen,” I say, a little too loudly. I don’t really care who hears me at this point; I just want to get my locker open. “Six.” I think it’s going to work this time. “Twelve.”

With a satisfied smile, I pull the locker open. The gym uniform is basic—a plain t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I wiggle out of my jeans and pull up the shorts as quickly as possible because underneath the bubbly chatter of the locker room lurk mean-girl thoughts—a natural consequence when girls are forced to dress in front of each other. There’s a lot of insecurity and jealousy floating around.

“Oh hey, Hopeless,” Tina Jensen says behind me (speaking of insecure and jealous).

I sigh at her pun. My real name is Hope. “Very clever,” I say, not bothering to turn around. I slip into my sneakers hoping she’ll leave so that I can change my shirt in private. But she doesn’t. And I can tell by the number of foreign thoughts streaming through my head that she’s not alone—probably flanked by her two cronies, Gabby and Melissa.

Like I said, I don’t hear voices, and for a long time I assumed all the extra thoughts running through my brain were my own (I thought I was gay for an entire week in sixth grade). After years of practice, I can almost always tell which thoughtsare mine and which ones are foreign, but figuring out whose thoughts are whose is a little harder. I can tell which thoughts are Tina’s—they’re more dominant than her friends—but Gabby’s and Melissa’s sort of blend together. They’re the followers, both of them ready to laugh at whatever Tina is about to say. She’s waiting for me to take my shirt off so she canmake a joke about how I must be in the wrong locker room. I sigh again as I hear the punch line in her head andconsider my options. I can wait, see if she gives up, or I can just get it over with.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it into the locker.

“I think you’re in the wrong locker room,” she be-

gins.

I pull my gym shirt over my head and then turn around, forcing a big smile. “Yeah, I look like I should be in the boy’s lockerroom, huh? Because I’m so flat-chested?”

She frowns, angry I’ve ruined her joke. Gabby and Melissa laugh, but only a little. It’s not as funny coming from me.

“Well,” I say, “see ya.”

I turn and lock up before walking away and into the gym. Tina is one of the most popular girls in the school and definitely the most popular Junior. Why everyone likes her is kind of a mystery to me—and I’m a mind reader! She’s not bad looking but not exactly pretty: short dark hair, dark eyes, and an oversized nose. She has an athletic build that’s more intimidating than attractive. She’s not nice either so it can’t be her personality. She oozes confidence though. And, as much as I hate to admit it, she can be funny.

Tina has never liked me and has always been kind of a bully. That’s how life goes. Harry Potter had Draco Malfoy, and I have Tina Jensen. In elementary school and middle school, she wasn’t too bad. She wasn’t jealous of me. Then Bryce Nelson changed everything.

Bryce Nelson. My gaze lands on him as soon as I walk into the gym. He stands with a small group of friends underneath one of the basketball hoops as they take turns jumping up to grab the net. From a distance, Bryce looks like an ordinary jock. He’s about six feet, and his upper body is chiseled in a masculine “V” shape. He walks with his arms a little bent, like they’re too muscle-bound to properly hang at his sides. He struts too. It’s a little annoying…until you get up close and really look at him. 

His face isn’t perfect. The stubble on his chin grows in patchy, and he breaks out from time to time. But his eyes are big and blue and outlined by the darkest, thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a guy, and his smile is warm and friendly. Half the junior class has a crush on him, including Tina…and me.

Bryce wasn’t always so hot. In elementary school, he was short and chubby, and his mom cut his hair. Mrs. Nelson is good at a lot of things, but hair styling is not one of them. He would end up with uneven locks and bald spots. In fifth grade, he had a bit of a crush on me. But then middle school happened. The kids got meaner. Bryce wasn’t popular right away, but he started to distance himself from me at school. The more I got picked on, the more he pulled away.

Around that time, I started focusing on my mind-reading thing—started really working on it, getting it under control. And Bryce started playing sports. He went through a transformation. The chubby little boy turned into a cute kid, and the cute kid turned into a hot teen. He’d already been pulling away from me so it didn’t sting too much when he sort of disappeared into the popular crowd. I think it would bother me more if we weren’t next-door neighbors. Our families live in the same two-storyduplex, with our bedrooms right next to each other, separated by only a thin wall. His mom adores me, and since our families have regular summer barbeques in our shared backyard, he can’t totally ignore me. Instead, we’ve settled into a sort of secret friendship. At home, with no one but our parents to see, we’re friends. We play video games. I eat breakfast at his place. And sometimes—like when it’s raining or snowing outside—he drives me to school. But once we’re at school, everything changes.

That makes him sound like a jerk, but he’s not. Not really. He doesn’t completely ignore me. He just tries not to look at me or talk to me if anyone is watching. It’s okay. He’s confused. Popular Bryce is a fake; I know the real him. And someday, he’ll realize who he is too. Someday he’ll realize we’re soul mates.

He feels my gaze and glances over…fleeting smile, quick nod. Tina and her friends make their way out of the lockerroom, heading straight for Bryce’s group. She joins in on the “who can jump the highest?” game, finding excuses to touch Bryce—elbows him in the ribs, punches him on the arm, grabs his shirt and pulls him down when he tries to jump. He laughs, but he’s annoyed. He puts up with Tina because she’s popular, but she’s too aggressive for him. She knows we are friends, and she worries that deep down, he actually likes me. That’s why she’s so mean to me. She’s jealous. Unfortunately, I know his thoughts, and I know she has no reason to be.

I walk around the gym, eavesdropping on conversations and thoughts, waiting for class to get started.

There’s a group of girls in one corner talking about a new boy in school.

“Have you seen him yet?” a redhead named Connie

asks.

“No,” a short, square-shaped girl named Alison answers.

“He’s in American Government with me,” another girl whose name I don’t remember says. “Sooo hot.”

I sort of hover for a minute, curious. It’s not the “sooo hot” description that stops me, just the fact that he’s new. I like new people. New people haven’t formed an opinion of me yet. They don’t have any memories of me from middle school or the beginning ofhigh school—back when I still blurted out answers to questions no one had asked yet or laughed at jokes before the punch line. I’m much better now, but high school is short on second-chances. Besides, it’s probably tough moving to a new school in the middle of a semester. Maybe he’s as desperate for a friend as I am.

“What’s he look like?” Alison asks.

“Dark hair,” Connie answers. “Kind of long and messy. Tall, sexy, mysterious.” Perfect lips…wanted to kiss him right then and there…

Just my type… “Did you talk to him?” the girl whose name I don’t remember asks.

“No. I was too nervous.” Seemed a little danger- ous…don’t care…sooo cute… Should be nervous…way out of your league… “I tried,” she says.

“What happened?” Alison asks.

Connie shrugs. “He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me.”

Harsh… “Sounds like a jerk,” the girl whose name I don’t remember says.

Connie shakes her head quickly. “No, I really don’t think he is.” …I like the bad boys…

I roll my eyes and move away. “Bad boys” don’t interest me. They’re never as complex as they pretend to be.

As I circle the gym, I spy a mesh bag filled with multi-colored balls, and my stomach drops a little. Dodge ball. Perfect. I can’t throw and I can’t catch.

Mr. Cannon struts into the gym, his beloved silver whistle already perched on his lips. Mr. Cannon looks like an aerobics instructor but yells like a drill sergeant.

His whistle shrieks and then, “ROLL CALL! LINE UP!” We stand obediently on the half-court line as he calls our names.Once he establishes that everyone is present he divides us alphabetically into two teams. My last name is Murdoch, and I endup on the M-Z team with Bryce. Mr. Cannon always divides us this way, even though it’s not even. I don’t think he’s ever actually counted it out. I’m not going to complain. His system means that I’ll never have to play on the same team as TinaJensen.

Mr. Cannon and a few volunteers line the multi-colored balls down the half-court line while the rest of us spread out on the floor. I choose a spot in the back, hoping not to draw too much attention to myself. The guys don’t hold back in dodge ball, not even when they’re throwing balls at a skinny girl who bruises very easily. Chivalry is dead.

Bryce glances at me, noticing my trepidation. Even though he considers himself too cool to publicly be my friend, he still worries about me. Like an embarrassing little sister.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

I smile at him. He looks around to make sure no one notices our little exchange and then faces the front. He takes P.E. very seriously.

Mr. Cannon’s whistle starts the game, and everyone sprints to half-court for a ball. The athletic kids get there first while the poor slowpokes are taken out before they even get to the line. I don’t bother running for a ball. Bryce really does make an effort to protect me, darting in front and either catching or deflecting the balls aimed at me. I’m too busy watching him to really pay attention to the thoughts around me so Tina’s plan to aim a vicious side arm at my head doesn’t register until it’s too late. It hits hard enough that I stumble a little before walking to the side of the court to stand with the rest of the rejects. Bryce watches me go and gets hit while he’s distracted.

He leans on the wall next to me but keeps his eyes on the game. “You okay?” he whispers, his lips barely moving.

“Yeah. You?”

“I didn’t get hit in the head. You sure you’re okay?” “It’s dodge ball, Bryce. The balls aren’t hard enough to give mea concussion.”

“The way Tina throws?” he jokes, and we both watch her. She’s glaring at us so Bryce steps away from me, looking in the other direction.

Tina’s team wins, but the torture isn’t over. We still have fifteen minutes of class. Mr. Cannon calls us back to the court,making the teams switch sides this time, like that makes any difference. Bryce actually walks with me, promising he’ll do a better job protecting me. Tina notices his attention, and above all the other thoughts and emotions, I sense her jealousy.

I glance up, meeting her eyes.

Stick to your own kind, freak…

It’s going to mean an enormous headache later, but what the hell? I take my place in the back, close my eyes for a moment and…listen.

I still don’t bother sprinting for a ball with every- one else and instead bide my time. Tina hurls a ball at me as soon as she has one in her hands, but I step to the side before it even slips off her fingers. Unable to hit me, Tina takes out Bryce, which is definitely not the way to win his affection.

On your own, he thinks, and casts me a sympathetic look as he walks off the court. I don’t have time to acknowledge him. Tina’s preparing to throw another ball at me, and so are two of her teammates. I dance away from all three, impressing even Mr. Cannon. Still, I don’t bother trying to pick up or throw any balls.

Pretty soon we’re two-to-two.

“Come on, Hope,” my teammate, Carson, encourages right before launching a ball at Tina’s wingman. It bounces off him, and Tina catches it, immediately throwing it back in my direction. I smile at her when it yet again misses me.

Don’t smile at me!… Knock your freaking head off, then we’ll see who’s smiling…

She throws another ball at me, but Carson reaches out to catch it. His fingertips touch it, but fail to grasp it. He’s out. Just Tina and me.

I keep smiling.

“Go, Hope!” Bryce shouts. His voice is a little hesitant, but the rest of my team echoes him.

Tina is down to three balls on her side of the court. She throws one right after the other. The first she aims toward myhead, the second for my gut, and the third she throws at my ankles.

“Hope, Hope, Hope,” everyone chants as I dodge each one.

I stand in the center of my side of the court, surrounded by multi-colored balls, and smile at poor ball-less Tina.

“Lose your balls, Tina?” I ask, and Mr. Cannon doesn’t even warn me to watch my mouth. He’s rooting for me; he was an outcast in high school too. “You can borrow some of mine.” 

Finally, I pluck three balls off the floor, placing one under my arm and one in each hand. I saunter to half-court. Tina’s so arrogant, she doesn’t bother backing away. She paces back and forth like a caged tiger.

“Red or blue?” I ask, holding up each one.

She just glares at me. I took it easy on you before… this time…red…

I throw both balls at the same time in different directions. They bounce on the floor and roll away from her. “Red or blue?” I ask again.

She’s going to take the red one, but she wants to fake me out. She steps toward the blue one and then pivots to sprint for the red, but I’ve already thrown my third ball. In a movie, this would be the slow motion scene. There’d be a close-upshot of a few people on my team, jumping up and down, or maybe holding their breath while they wait. Then a close-up shot of the ball traveling through the air…before it hits Tina and maybe knocks her to the ground. But this isn’t a movie. It’sover in two seconds. My ball travels five feet before it starts to dip.

Luckily, it bounces off her hip before hitting the ground.

And my team erupts in cheers.