Trevor Mitchell, my kindergarten nemesis, and his shuffling sidekick, Matt Wells, followed us. They were perfectly combed, conservative, rich soccer snobs. They knew they were great looking, and it made me sick that they were so cocky.

"Sweet sixteen!" Trevor said, obviously having overheard my chat with Mr. Harris. "How lovely! Just ripe for love, don't you think, Matt?" They were close on our heels.

"Yeah, dude," Matt agreed.

"But maybe there's a reason she doesn't wear white—white is for virgins, right, Raven?"

He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. His blue eyes were beautiful, and his hair looked as perfect as a model's. He had a girl for every day of the week. He was a bad boy, but he was a rich bad boy, which made him very boring.

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing white underwear, am I?" I asked. "You're right—there's a reason I wear black. Maybe you're the one who oughta get out more. "

Becky and I sat on the far end of the bleachers, leaving Trevor and Matt standing on the track.

"So how are you spending your birthday?" Trevor shouted, sitting with the rest of the class, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You and farmer Becky sitting home on a Friday night, watching Friday the Thirteenth? Maybe placing some personal ads? 'Sixteen-year-old single white monster girl seeks mate to bond with for eternity.'"

The whole class laughed.

I didn't like it when Trevor teased me, but I liked it even less when he teased Becky.

"No, we were thinking of crashing Matt's party tonight. Otherwise there won't be anyone interesting there."

Everyone was shocked, and Becky rolled her eyes, as if to say, What are you dragging me into now? We had never been to one of Matt's highly publicized parties. We were never invited, and we wouldn't have gone if we were. At least I wouldn't.