When Garrett gave me his old phone that Monday, I sent out a mass text message to all my closest friends saying that I would have a different number for a while. I didn't tell my parents, lest they try to confiscate my temporary phone. Their reaction was exactly what I predicted: "Maybe this can be a lesson in taking care of your things," they told me. "You won't be getting a new one for a while." Then they offered to throw a Sim card in an old Pantech, which I politely declined.

"How are you supposed to get in contact with us?" They asked me.

"Smoke signals?"

"Wrong answer. You just won't go anywhere, until we have this all straightened out."

"You mean, until you buy me a new phone?"

"Maybe this can also be a lesson in not being so materialistic, Penny."

Garrett didn't give me the phone right when I walked into chemistry class that morning, though. The first thing he said to me was,

"What's with the knee socks?"

"I don't know," I said, because I really didn't. It was the first time I ever wore them, but I thought they went nicely with the plaid uniform skirts we were forced to wear.

"You know what Charlotte says about knee high socks." Charlotte was a blonde, bubbly girl in theatre, who was known for playing the stereotypical cheerleader roles in our class skits. She hadn't broken a 17 on the ACT, but she was beautiful, and I figured that was probably a fair trade off.

"No, what?"

"She says they're her stripper socks. And she's the only other girl in the school who wears them." I hadn't thought about who else in the school wore knee socks when I had put them on that morning. Actually, I had asked my mom to run out to Wal Mart and buy them for me last night, but I hadn't thought about it then, either. I was a junior, so there was a limited amount of upperclassman who really had permission to make fun of me, and they were probably going to do that regardless of what kind of socks I wore. The sophomores and freshmen weren't allowed to say anything, by nature of the high school social ladder.

"Oh. Well, you think people are going to make fun of me?" I asked, not because I cared, but because I was genuinely curious.

"'Make fun' probably isn't the right word."

"You think people will talk about me? That's a stupid thing to talk about someone for.

"Maybe." I couldn't lie; the socks did make me feel sexier than usual, but I didn't think that was a bad thing. They gave me a much-needed confidence booster.

"I think I know why Matt said 'nice socks' when I walked in a second ago." I cringed internally at the thought.

"Well, you're just asking for it today, Penny," Garrett said, but I could tell he was joking now. Then, he slid me his used iPhone 4s under the desk.

"I really will pay for it!" I exclaimed, pleased that he remembered.

"I told you, you didn't have to."

"I know, but you might've changed your mind...." I trailed off.

"This phone is like salvation, in many ways. Number 1: Because it's saving your life. Number 2: Because it's a free gift." Religious comedy was a genre very much appreciated at our Catholic school. "Just take good care of it, and return it to me when you're done."

"What makes you think I'll be done? My parents make it sound like they're not getting me a new phone, so long as I live."

"They'll change their minds faster than you'd think. They'll get tired of not being able to call you."

"They told me I'm grounded."

"Oh. Well, they'll get sick of you being around the house all the time. Trust me. That's why my mom only grounds me, for, like, four hour periods at a time. Then she's like, 'what are you doing? Stop being so antisocial!' And I'll actually have to remind her she grounded me. Sometimes she'll apologize. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Garrett. You go out and have yourself a good time.'" I could vouch for the validity of that statement, knowing his trendy mother, Tiffany, who had just hit thirty while the rest of our parents were planning for their retirements.

"Yeah, that sounds like Tiffany."

"Classic Tiffany," he agreed. "By the way, you might got some weird texts, by like, people who don't have my new number. Sometimes I still get texts on that phone. Also, turn the volume off if you don't want it to go off in class. I have it on top volume."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes I keep my phone at the bottom of my backpack," he said.

"Sometimes I keep my phone at the bottom of a lake." Garrett laughed,

"That's a very expensive joke you just made, Penny Shapiro."

"I still can't believe I did that. I'm such an idiot. Jose talked to his mom, and she won't even let him chip in for a new phone, because she says it was my fault I had my phone in the canoe in the first place."

"Oh, come on. Since when did Jose's mom become Chet?"

"Right? I see her point, though. I mean, I've been beating myself up about it."

"It's not entirely your fault. I'd say 60-40, at least."

"Who's sixty and who's forty?"

"My lawyer told me not to comment at this time."

"What happened to your phone?" Cal asked me. He was immune to overhearing our conversation;: since we were all sitting in the back, Garrett and I recently discovered we could talk at a relatively loud volume, without Mrs. Kipling ever hearing us. The one time she chastised us must have been a fluke.

Of course I remembered Cal's name, but I didn't want to let on that I did. I was noticing him around school even more, since our occasional chemistry class banter had started. He was always with the same shorter, cruder Spanish boy, the other one in the grade, who wasn't Jose. And he was in my seventh hour, too, which was drama class. There was only six other people, so I don't know how I hadn't noticed him before. I think I had, in passing, but I had never given him much thought.

"Cal, right?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. My name is Cal."

"Why does Mrs. Kipling call you David?"

"That's the other side of my personality." When I stared at him blankly, he said, "Kidding. People call me both. David is my first name, Calvin's my middle name."

"Oh, so what do you want me to call you?"

"I don't know. Which do you like better?" That made me laugh, even though he wasn't intentionally trying to be funny.

"It's your name! It doesn't matter to me."

"You like Cal better?"

"A little. But, I like both."

"Just call me Cal, then."

"Okay, Cal, then my phone is currently at the bottom of a lake."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I dropped it there."

"As far as losing phone stories go, that's a pretty good one. I cracked my phone on a ride at Disney World and my parents wouldn't pay to fix it, because they said I should learn to take better care of my stuff."

"That's exactly what my parents said."

"Our parents would be best friends."

"David!" Mrs. Kipling said. "What's the answer to number five, on the board?"

"I can't see the board from here, Mrs. Kipling."

"Do you need to change seats, Mr. Fuentes?" Fuentes, I thought to myself. I wondered what kind of last name that was, because my own, Shapiro, was so obviously Jewish, that I couldn't hide from my Jewish-ness. Between that and the nose, the first question anyone asked when they met me was if my ancestors were from Israel.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm fine here. I just need to put my glasses on."

'Well, we'll wait for you to do that." He fished around in his backpack, obviously stalling, until he removed thick, black frames from the front zippered compartment. He looked self-conscious as he put them on.

"Uhh, four?" Mrs. Kipling sighed.

"Not even close, Mr. Fuentes. The correct answer is 369.4. It would benefit you to do the extra practice problems, found at the back of the textbook."

"Yes ma'am."

"Okay, moving on...."

"Sorry," I whispered to him. "I got you busted."

"It's all your fault. Just like the rest of my problems," he said, but he took his glasses off before he turned to face me.

"Nice glasses."

"Okay, whatever."

"What? I'm being serious."

"They look stupid."

"Yeah, but you look more stupid whenever you're squinting at the board," I said, because my idea of flirting was being vaguely mean. I was also so used to trading off sarcastic comments with my friends, I forgot how to interact with people I hadn't known since elementary school. I was glad that he laughed:

"Thanks a lot."

"Sorry, I was just kidding."

"Yeah, I know. You seem like the sarcastic type."

"You seem like the slutty type," Garrett joked, referring to our earlier knee sock conversation. Cal seemed confused, so Garrett filled him in: "People are saying Penny's a slut because she wears knee socks." That was an exaggeration, since besides Matt's potentially creepy comment earlier, Garrett was really the only one who had said anything.

"But you're not slut," Cal informed me, in case I was confused.

"Thanks," I laughed, not knowing how to take his confident statement. Then Mrs. Kipling called us out, since naturally she wouldn't notice Garrett and I passing a phone back and forth, but would be deeply disturbed by Cal and I's hushed banter.

"Penny, move by Matt," she said, pointing to an empty seat by the window.

"I was just asking her a question," Cal was squinting again, and sounding more exasperated than I expected.

"It doesn't matter. It was both of you. You're causing a distraction"

"Then move me instead," he pressed.

"I think this will be fine." Cal opened his mouth like he had another point to make, but Mrs. Kipling continued with the lesson. I got up, and gave Garrett a longing look as I moved into exile.