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IT'S MONDAY AFTERNOON.
Phoebe and Joey have wasted the first five minutes of Bored Game Club arguing over whether to play Yahtzee or Boggle, when Delia walks into the room, practically glowing.

“Oh, good,” Mandy says. “Now we outnumber them. Who's up for Upwords?” She raises her own hand and looks expectantly at Delia and me.

“Yeah, sure, that's fine,” Delia says, still smiling.

“You hate Upwords,” Joey says, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Yeah, and why are you smiling like that, anyway?” Phoebe adds.

“Okay, I know this shouldn't be a big deal,” Delia says, as she sits down between Mandy and me. “But just now, Carolyn came up and started talking to me about the math test. And I was totally ready with my distraction—”

“Which was?” I ask. Delia's “distractions” have been, to be honest, pretty bizarre. Her most famous one at this point was when Tamberlin came up to her in the hall, totally cueing with the beady-eyed fake smile that we've come to expect. So Delia asked her how many teeth humans are supposed to have. And Tamberlin actually stood there, stuck her fingers into her mouth, and counted them.

“Oh. I was going to ask her for a pad. With wings.”

“Ew,” Phoebe says.

“Gross,” Joey says.
“Wings,”
he repeats under his breath.

I look at Delia. “Really?”

“I thought it would definitely get her off the subject of my face, and who knows? Maybe she'd even feel a little sisterly bond.”

“Wait. What are wings?” Joey asks, more quietly than usual, but no one seems to be paying much attention to him. We're all caught up in Delia's moment.

“That's so
brave
,” Mandy says.

“Thanks. But the good news is I didn't even have to ask her. She actually just wanted to talk about the math test—she was worried she got half the answers wrong! Not one single mention of my zits. I mean, she didn't even look at me strange!” She smiles. “It seems like it's working.”

I feel myself grinning along with Delia.

“I know, Dee, it's awesome,” Mandy says.

“Sounds promising,” Phoebe adds.

“Your
mom
has wings.” That's all Joey.

“You know what?” Usually I like to let the room air out a little after his comments, but today I jump right in. I can't help myself. I'm excited. “I think we're ready for the next step. Rewarding good behavior.”

“Yeah, but,” Mandy says, “at this point I'm lucky if Glass Eye just ignores me when I see him in the hall, or if Corbin walks by with just a weird stare. It's not like either one of them is like, asking to carry my backpack, or like, helping me to get to class when I lose a clog or something.”

I swallow. I always hoped the fact that we were considered dorks was really just a case of bad packaging. Now I'm starting to wonder if this dorkiness thing we've got going on really
is
more than skin-deep. Am I the only one making an effort here? “That was
yours
?” I ask.

“Well, technically it was my mom's, who, by the way, almost killed me when I came home without it.” She eyes me. “Don't you remember me having to wear my ugly gym shoes that day?”

Well, no, I didn't, because one, I was too busy not thinking about Young Uncle Jesse, and two, Mandy wears her ugly gym shoes four out of five days of the week. But a clog—that's just bad judgment. I make a mental note to talk to her about this later.

“Okay, well, here's the thing,” I say. “Garrett or Corbin just walking by without saying something mean is good behavior.”

“I'm not really understanding how this will work, Olivia,” Phoebe says.

“Once you start to see good behavior—and this could be your tormentor just treating you like any other person, or it could be something more—then you can reward it. Candy, gum, all that stuff works,” I say. “For example, next time Carolyn wants to talk to you, Delia, about anything other than your complexion, you give her a piece of gum.”

“Isn't that going to seem weird?” Delia asks quietly.

“Seriously, guys, who
doesn't
want gum? Or candy?” I ask. “I mean, has anyone ever stopped and asked why you're offering them a piece of gum? No! They just grab it and stick it in their mouth like it's going to explode if they don't.”

“I guess you're right,” Delia says.

“But gum? Candy?” Phoebe, whose diet-obsessed mother doesn't allow any sort of refined sugar in the house, acts inconvenienced. “What am I supposed to give for a reward? Molasses chews?”

“That's so Amish,” Joey tells her.

“See?” Phoebe turns to me, actually agreeing with Joey.

“It doesn't have to be something you eat. Just bring in something tomorrow, Pheeb. I'm sure you have
something
people would be happy to get,” I say, although I'm secretly wondering what that might be.

THE NEXT MORNING
I raid Corny's purse and find a nearly full pack of spearmint Freedent. It may not be Bubble Yum, but it's about all you have on hand when you live with a sixty-year-old.

When I get to school, Phoebe's waiting for me at my locker, looking impatient but excited.

“You found something, Pheeb?” I ask.

She nods. “It's not a traditional reward, but I think it might work. Instead of handing out sugar for positive behavior, I'm going to hand out office supplies.” She says this like she's proud, so even though it sounds a little ridiculous, I hold back my laugh.

“Like
what
?”

She looks at me like
I'm
the weirdo.

“Like refillable lead pencils. Tiny staplers. That sort of thing. Stuff from my mom's shop.” As funny as it sounds, I know she's got a point. Those lead pencils are probably more popular than candy. Now my Freedent really seems stupid.

I try to stuff it into my pocket and turn away. But she sees it and coos. “Oooh, Freedent! Perfect for orthodontia! Can I have a piece?”

“Sure. Only a couple more weeks, right?” I ask. Phoebe's finally getting her braces removed.

“Right. Just in time for the dance.” But before it gets awkward, she asks, “Want a pencil?”

“Oh, God, yes,” I say, very quickly. I laugh, and she gives me one of her strained little smiles that shows that somewhere, maybe buried under the layers of her very big brain, she does have some hint of a sense of humor.

“You think—” she starts, then stops.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, and shakes her head.

“Phoebe,
what
?”

She looks at me, blushing. “You think—I mean, since my braces will be off, you think Brant might try to, you know”—her eyebrows raise—“kiss me?”

“
Uhhhh
,” is all I can say.

Then there's a little squeak of a sound coming from her. It stops just as soon as it starts. She's red, but her eyes are wide with excitement. And then she says, “J.K.”

But my mouth still hangs open.

“J.K.,” she says again. “Just.
Kidding?
”

Okay, so it's a totally wack sense of humor, but yes, it does exist. It might just need a little tweaking. But then, really, what doesn't?

“So,” Delia asks at lunch, “anyone have anything interesting to report?” She's gloating over the cranberry-applesauce oatmeal-butter cookies that her mother made and she's brought in for rewards. Carolyn called them “The Best Cookies On The Face Of The Planet,” and now everyone seems to want one.

“I'm working on it,” I say, and sigh.

Mandy sniffs the air with a slightly puzzled look on her face. “You smell like my great-grandfather. Is that Dentyne?”

“No,” Phoebe says, shaming me with her look. “That's Freedent. And she's
supposed
to be saving it for her rewards.”

“It's not what you think,” I tell them. The truth is that I've been jamming the gum into my mouth between every single class since I ran into Caleb on my way to first period. Yes, I like, literally
ran
into him. I was walking and reading, trying to review my periodic table, and the crown of my head slammed right into his very firm chest. He said, “Ouch?” like it was a question. I stepped away and knew I should have been feeling pain, but all I felt was a lingering warmth in my scalp. I think I apologized, but he just gave me that adorably lazy smile and said, “Be careful with that head of yours. It's practically a weapon.” And even though he's new at school, everyone within earshot laughed good-naturedly because he's the kind of person that doesn't have to train people to like him—they just naturally do. So the gum, well, it's just in case this happens again. The last thing I want to be accused of is having fart-breath like Danny Pritchard.

“Well, I'm sure it'll get better,” Phoebe says. Then she empties her stash onto the lunch table; there are only three pencils left and a foldable ruler.

“Cool,” Mandy says. “So who got the goods?”

“Let's see. Peyton Randall, for one. I had some toilet paper stuck on my shoe, and she offered to step on it so it would come off. Earned herself some number seven lead refills.” She takes a bite of her tuna sandwich. “Who else? Oh! I gave a packet of colored paper clips to Morgan Askren because she said hi to me.”

Morgan Askren is practically untouchable. She's popular even though she doesn't go to parties or talk to anyone in school. It's like she floats above it somewhere. She's supposed to be related to Angelina Jolie. I don't know if it's true or not, but the rumor alone has made her a legend.

“Oh, and Brant, of course,” Phoebe adds. “I dropped my math book in the hall and he came over and picked it up. He's just so nice.”

Joey says, “Get a clue, Martin.”

“Stop it, Joey. He was really sweet. I gave him a mini-stapler.”

“Your
mom
gave him a mini-stapler.”

Phoebe looks at Joey like she's ready to throttle him. He's being annoying enough right now that I'm not so sure we wouldn't pin him down for her if asked. “For your information,” she says through tight lips, “he smiled. Like he meant it.”

“He was just smiling at how stupid you are,” Joey mumbles.

Delia jumps in. “Joey, just let her—” She sucks in her breath; it's obvious that her words aren't about to comfort Phoebe. “I mean, we all know—” she tries again. Finally, she says, “Just shut up, Joey.”

Phoebe looks at us all and gets up, throwing the rest of her lunch into the gaping trash can with a strong jerk of her arm. Delia runs after her.

“Wow, Joey,” I say. “That was brutal. What is up with you?”

“Well, we all know what's going on. How can you guys just keep humoring her? She's gonna get wrecked when it finally sinks in!” He's practically yelling at us.

“I know, I know,” I say, hoping to quiet him. It's strange to see Joey all worked up like this, especially about Phoebe's
feelings
. Weird. “We just have to be nice about it, okay? She seriously likes him.”

He puts his head down on the stretch of table in front of him and thumps his forehead against it three times.

“Yeah, just calm down, Joey. You're being a major smear,” Mandy tells him. He doesn't raise his head.

No one says anything for a minute. Mandy pulls the pepperoni off my slice of pizza and eats it. I roll up the rest and eat it like a burrito.

“Now I need something sweet,” Mandy says, after she's through with her scavenged lunch. “Joey, you got any Ho Hos left?”

This morning, Joey brought in a big box of them to use as rewards.

“No,” he says from his face-plant.

“Well, why not?” I ask.

He doesn't answer. Mandy looks at me knowingly.

“Did you eat them all, Joey?” she asks.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't even lift up his head, not even a little.

“I hope they were worth it,” I say, trying not to get too mad. Joey's such a
liability
sometimes.

“I'm sugar-crashing now,” Joey finally says, his nose still pressing into the table.

“God, Joey,” Mandy says, and shakes her head. “From now on, nothing edible for you. You've got to bring in something that you can't stuff into your mouth.”

He raises his head, finally. “Like what?” He appears to be completely stumped.

“What do you have a lot of?” I ask.

“Uh, Yu-Gi-Oh! cards?”

Mandy shakes her head. “Look, alpha dogs don't play Yu-Gi-Oh!, okay? Let's just get that straight. What else you got?”

He shrugs.

“What about office supplies? Can you buy some of those?”

He cocks his head as if it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. “
A
, I haven't gotten allowance in two years, and
B
, Phoebe already cornered that market.”

Mandy looks at me. “We need something free. What costs nothing?”

“
Nothing
costs nothing,” I say.

Joey puts on a sickeningly sweet face, full of sarcasm. “A smile is free,” he says, reciting the line from yet another “inspirational” poster tacked up by the soda machine. We all gag out loud. And then I get an idea.

“Compliments!”

Mandy stares at me dully. Joey says, “What about them?”

“They're free!”

“So's your advice! No offense, but sometimes you're such a tool,” he tells me, his face contorted with disgust and disbelief. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Seriously, Liv,” Mandy says. “You think a person like Brynne is going to care at all if she gets a compliment from someone like Joey?”

“Hey!” Joey says.

“I see your point and all, Mandy, and I don't think anyone would admit it,” I say. “But think about it—at first they might be like,‘Who's that stupid kid and why should I care if he thinks I'm pretty?' But then they'll go home and look in the mirror and think, well, if it doesn't get any better at least I'll have Joey Spagnoli.”

She glances over at Joey, who looks like he's injured, and pats his arm like it helps somehow.

“Well, it's got to be true,” I say. “If it wasn't, would there be all this self-esteem stuff splattered all over the walls?” I gesture toward a poster of a warthog. Above the warthog are the words i'm fine
…
in a large bold font. Across the animal's feet, in dreamy italics, are the words just the way i am.

“I guess you're right,” Mandy says, and turns to Joey. “It could work.”

“I don't do compliments,” he says, his voice a monotone. “They're just stupid.”

“Only sometimes,” Mandy says.

“
All
the time,” he argues.

We both look at him. If only he was willing.

“What?” he says, raising his palms up. “It's just that they're so embarrassing.”

“Joey, do you want to be a Marcie all your life?” Mandy asks.

“I'm not a…” he mumbles, trailing off. Giving up.

The three of us are quiet. Joey shuffles a little in his seat and avoids looking at either one of us. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, okay, whatever. Will you guys just, I don't know, give me a list or something?”

Mandy and I smile at each other.

“All right, Joey,” I say. “We'll give you a few starters. Then you're on your own, okay?”

He shuffles his feet under the table and gives us an I- surrender-but-this-is-ridiculous face.

“Look, they're coming back,” he says. We turn around and see Delia and Phoebe heading back to our table. Delia's arm is wrapped over Phoebe's shoulder.

“Quick,” I say to Joey, “you've got to give Phoebe a compliment!”

“But why? She hasn't done anything to earn a reward!”

“Just for the practice,” I tell him.

Mandy slaps her hands on the table excitedly. “Tell her she's hot.
Smokin'
hot.”

He looks at us like he'd rather eat a plateful of raw broccoli, which, for Joey, is worse than eating, say, live parasitic worms.

“Okay,
fine
,” Mandy says, as she and I laugh. “Then just tell her you like her hair like that.”

“Like
what
?!”

“Just say it,” Mandy tells him, practically gritting her teeth.

“You all right, Pheeb?” Mandy asks, as Phoebe and Delia sit back down at the table.

“Fine,” she says, though she doesn't seem it.

“What did you do to your hair?” Joey asks.

“What? What's wrong with it?” Her hands fly to her head and shake out her hair as if trying to forcibly remove a trapped spider.

“Nothing. It looks—fine,” he says. I tap my knee against his under the table. “I mean, nice. Kind of good, actually.” He is red, as if in pain from the stress of giving the compliment.

She eyes him distrustfully.

Joey sighs. “I like your hair, Martin.” And then he looks down and away, fidgeting with his hands. It's a little uncomfortable to watch. I have to look away for a second, too.