Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

Lead:  It is my first morning of high school.  I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache.

I need a new friend.  I need a friend, period.  Not a true friend, nothing close or share clothes or sleepover giggle giggle yak yak.  Just a pseudo-friend, disposable friend.  Friend as accessory.  Just so I don't feel and look so stupid.

The cement-slab sky hangs inches above our heads.  Which direction is east?  It has been so long since I've seen the sun, I can't remember.  Turtlenecks creep out of bottom drawers.  Turtle faces pull back into winter clothes.  We won't see some kids until spring.