Other people have suggested that I write about teens because I'm perpetually stuck in that stage of my own development. That could very well be true. I would throw out that teens and tweens are just absolutely fabulous and the most interesting people on the planet. And it is a time of high drama, and everything matters.

Is he a sophomore?" Lydia says. "Please tell me he's in our grade." "I don't know," I say. "But weren't you there when he came to the office?" Peyton says. "The secretary didn't get out her bullhorn and announce what grade he's in. She just took him to meet Headmaster Perkins.

And you're figuring out who you are, and you haven't yet become stagnant in your thinking. You haven't solidified. And one thing that I find is that a lot of grown-ups tend to look back on their high school or middle school years and say, "Oh, thank God all that's over."

Prancing around with marshmallowss on your nipples does *not* constitute living your life fully!

You have to be nicer to me," I said. Again he laughed. "What? I'm the King of nice. What are you talking about?" "You have to be nicer to me or... or..." "Or what?" he said. Still Lars, still charming and jokey, but with a thread of fear. It snaked in and pierced my numbness and almost broke my resolve. Almost, but not quite. "Or I have ti break up with you." I whispered What was there more to say? Nothing. So I hung up.

If she did see, I hoped she' be amazed. Amazed and thankful, because without even asking, she'd received a genuine autograph from a genuine girl from Atlanta. Not just any girl, but a girl who was, frankly, a pretty big deal. A girl who was me.

So as a seventh grader, no, you weren't friends with people you didn't like. But sometimes you also weren't friends with people you did like, which was complicated, and which didn't make any sense if you tried to explain it. Sometimes things just changed. That's where the sadness came in.