Lunchtime used to be a no-brainer for Nola. Every day from kindergarten until eighth grade, she and Marnie would sit and eat together, although Nola never really enjoyed the cuisine in the brown paper bag she’d brought from home. Nola’s mom, Carol, was a doctor who had done some research and discovered that the school cafeterias in the region hadn’t been providing their students with enough “healthy choices.” Thus, since the age of five, Nola had gotten stuck with a variety of salads, or “lawn clippings,” as Marnie had referred to them last year.

Back in grade school, when Nola had opened up Marnie’s Powerpuff Girls lunch box, all she’d find was junk food with fun, neon-colored packaging that had phrases like BURSTING WITH FLAVOR! written on it. Nola was jealous, and rightfully so. Thankfully, Marnie began sneaking Nola some Milky Ways and extra bags of Doritos, never forgetting to give Nola a stick of cinnamon Trident so that Dr. James wouldn’t smell the Polysorbate 80 on Nola’s breath – the woman’s nostrils were that strong.

In middle school, the girls would be off in their own little world during lunch, recapping what had happened in each class as if they hadn’t spent all morning together. Those forty-two minutes had become precious to Nola; for once, she was able to relax and not worry about being called on by a teacher, or going up to the chalkboard to solve a math problem.

Yet all of that was in the past. Now Nola was holding a tray stacked with unhealthy items that her mother would never approve of, wondering what to do with herself. While the cafeteria wasn’t too big, the scariest thing about it was the shape of the blue tables. They were circular, which meant that everyone seated around them could be included in a conversation, or a castle-defense-strategy plan like the Knights of the Round Table.

Marnie Fitzpatrick flinched when she heard the dismissal bell ringing loudly in her ears. It was 2:57 P.M. on the day when she and her best friend, Nola James, had their first fight – not the average “I can’t believe you lost my favorite cashmere scarf!” type of fight (which would have been bad enough), but a colossal, volcanic, “If I ever see you again, I will scratch your eyes out and spit in your face!” type of fight.

As her classmates filed out of the room one by one, Marnie gripped her Earth Science textbook and took a deep breath. Posture, she said to herself. Think strong, confident posture. She rolled her head forward and touched her chin to her chest, then rolled her head back until she heard her neck make a small cracking noise. Then she loosened her shoulders and brought them back so she wasn’t slouching. When she was finished with her relaxation routine, Marnie grabbed her things and stood up, remembering to smooth out her black-and-red pleated plaid miniskirt and adjust the barrette fastened in her wavy blonde hair.

Even though she’d been on edge all day, Marnie knew she had to look cool and composed once she walked out of this room. Everyone in school was still whispering and gossiping about her and Nola’s showdown. If Marnie’s older sister, Erin, were here, she’d remind Marnie that she couldn’t risk losing the stellar reputation she had built at her birthday party two days ago. So no matter what happened from here on out, Marnie had one resolve – to show that her newly found almost-a-Major (a.k.a. popular) status was well deserved and hard-earned, not a fluke.

Nola James had been standing on Weston Brigg’s cardboard box-filled porch for ten minutes before realizing that she hadn’t rung the doorbell. In fact, she hadn’t so much moved since she’d climbed up the steps and set her Skechers-clad feet on the dirty welcome mat. Nola wasn’t sure if it was fear keeping her from making her presence known or…okay, it was definitely fear. What made Nola think that she could hatch some mean-spirited Punk’d-style plot against her ex-best-friend-turned-nemesis Marnie Fitzpatrick, run next door to the house newly occupied by Marnie’s former boyfriend, and expect to go through with it?

Nola let out a heavy sigh, turned on her heel, and retreated a few paces. When she reached the edge of the porch, she turned her gaze upward and looked at the evening sky. The stars were twinkling like glitter above the city of Poughkeepsie as a chilly autumn breeze kicked up piles of raked leaves in the yard. Nola zipped up her navy blue Columbia windbreaker and put her hands in her pockets, thinking about what she would do if she ever got up the nerve to ring that doorbell.

She’d concocted a basic three-pronged plan on the walk over here, which had taken her no more than thirty seconds. The first stage called for telling Weston that Marnie had just seen him from Nola’s bedroom window and sent her out to ask him to meet her at Stewart’s Ice Cream Shoppe tomorrow night. The second stage called for Nola convincing Marnie to work on their English project together at Stewart’s tomorrow after school. The third stage called for lurking outside of Stewart’s to watch a stunned Marnie come face-to-face with Weston, the boy who’d thrown Marnie’s heart into a woood chipper last year (metaphorically speaking, of course).

As Marnie Fitzpatrick stood under a stream of water, she looked down at her hands and saw that her fingers were starting to prune. She usually took extra-long showers on Sunday mornings, but never this long. Then again, Marnie had never a Saturday night as bad as the evening before, so she was hoping that she could prune herself into oblivion. But she knew that in about five more minutes the water temperature was going to leap from lukewarm to bone-chilling cold, which meant the odds of shriveling up into nothingness were slim at best.

Marnie turned the shower off with a slippery wet hand, opened the door, and reached for the green plush towel that was hanging on a hook on the bathroom wall. After she dried off, she wrapped the towel around herself, tucking a small flap of fabric near her chest so it would stay put. Marnie approached the bathroom mirror and wiped off the fog. When she caught her reflection, she practically jumped back in horror.

Oh, my god, what happened to my eyes?

Marnie touched the puffy skin near her eyelids and winced. She figured that they’d swollen up because of the five-hour crying jag she’d had last night after Weston Briggs had escorted her home post inauguration party-fracas. As she grabbed a washcloth and ran tepid water over it in the sink, Marnie felt the tears coming on again. She could still hear the pinched, sour voice of that insufferable monster Brynne Callaway, telling her that she was “oh-ver.” She could still picture how enraged Marnie’s best friend and veritable icon, Lizette Levin, had looked when she accused Marnie of hooking up with skateboard stud Sawyer Lee behind her back. And she could still feel the strong wind that almost knocked her on her butt once Grier Hopkins slammed the door to her exquisite house right in Marnie’s face.

When Marnie dabbed the damp washcloth around her blue eyes, her mind was cluttered with angst-ridden questions. Was there a way to convince Lizette that Brynne was a detestable liar who would do anything to see that Marnie bit the dust? Could Marnie hire someone to run Brynne down with a speeding steamroller? Would she be able to go to school tomorrow and walk the halls knowing that everyone, especially the revered Majors, perceived her to be a dirty, conniving traitor who dared deceive the Almighty Lizette Levin?

Marnie leaned over the sink as her stomach clenched tightly.

I’m screwed. Totally, completely screwed.

“Honey, I’m about to take off,” Marnie’s mother called out from behind the bathroom door.

Marnie had managed to sneak into the house yesterday without running into her mom, so Mrs. Fitzpatrick had no idea that her daughter had been recently punted into the far reaches of the socially ostracized section of the popularity playing field.

“Okay,” Marnie replied weakly.

“Did you need anything from the outside world?” her mom asked.

A new life would be nice.

“No, I’m fine.” Marnie glanced at her face and saw that she still appeared as though she’d narrowly escaped a dogfight.

“All right then. I guess I’ll just bring Erin straight home after I pick her up from the train station.”

A sharp pain shot up from Marnie’s stomach and lodged in the back of her head. She had forgotten that her sister would be coming to stay for a while during Penn State’s midsemester break. Erin would be there so she could MC the crowning ceremony and distribute tiaras to lucky winners at the Poughkeepsie Central Homecoming dance, among other duties the former senior class queen was expected to perform. How the hell was Marnie supposed to deal with her deity of a sister when a freaking million-ton asteroid had just struck her once-perfect world?