KATI

"You're lucky you don't go to school," I say to Charlie, my little hamster.  He stuffs his cheeks with sunflower seeds and watches me with his tiny eyes. I smile. "Sorry, Charlie, I have to go to school. Can't play today." I sigh. Why does the Christmas holiday have to end? I stick my finger between the bars of Charlie's cage so he can give me a good luck high five from his little paws, but all I get is a twitch of his whiskers.

Outside the air is crisp but the snow is all gone, melted away by the warm Chinook winds overnight. I hurry towards the bus. No one is standing outside so I'm the last one to get there. The bus doors are open and I run up the stairs, ignoring the bus driver's glare.

"Hi !" I huff, falling into a seat next to Mindy. She has a big smile on her face.

"What did you get for Christmas?" she asks.

"Um..." I try to think of something that would impress her. She would only care about clothes or jewellery. "Oh, I got a new sweater." I unzip my jacket to show her. It's not at all my style, I prefer earthy colours like brown and green, but my mom bought it for me so I have to wear it at least once. A fuzzy pastel pink sweater that actually has some sparkle to it.

"It's so cute!" Mindy gushes. Her high pitched voice grates on my nerves. I rub my back against the back of the seat, trying to itch it but only making the itching worse. My skin feels hot under the sweater. Maybe I should have washed it first before wearing it.

The roaring engine of the school bus drowns out all conversation as it takes off. I wish it would finally break down, on the way to school today. Then while we wait for help to arrive the kids can form groups that battle each other to the death....

"Kati! Are you even listening to me?" Mindy whines. The bus breaks screech as it takes a corner and we all lean left.

"You were talking about what you got for Christmas," I say. Mindy's face lights up and she starts talking again. I tune her out and glance around the bus. The other kids look as tired and miserable as I am. I know Mindy is excited see her friends again, friends that aren't really her friends, if you ask me. They talk behind her back, I've heard them.

I don't know if it's Mindy or my itchy sweater but the bus ride to school is the longest it has ever been.

Finally we get to school and at my locker I put my jacket away, but the itching doesn't stop. Fifteen minutes into my first class I know something is wrong with the sweater. The material is poky and my skin is burning up. As soon as Mr. Ferguson finishes depressing us with an outline of every essay, quiz and exam coming up in the next four months, I put up my hand to be excused.

"Kati," Mr. Ferguson says, not even turning around from the board to look at me. "It's the first class of the day and we've only been here for fifteen minutes. I'm sure you can wait another half hour."

The rest of the class snickers and my face heats up.

I can't concentrate on anything Mr. Ferguson says for the rest of the class. All I can think about is the poky sweater. What if I'm allergic to the material or the horrible dyes they used to colour it pastel pink? At this very moment boils could be growing on my skin. Soon I'll start to convulse and foam at the mouth and someone will have to stab me with a geometry set compass in the throat and stick a pen in my neck so air can get in ...

The bell finally rings and I jump out of my desk, then run out of the room towards the washrooms. I turn left, then right. Even now, in the second half of my first year of middle school, I still get the halls confused.

Heads turn as I run in circles. I slow to a jog, trying not to look like I'm in a mad dash for the washrooms.

  When I reach the washrooms I push my way in and immediately take the hideously pink sweater off and throw it. It goes flying under the sinks. I hate pink.

Suddenly the bathroom door opens and a boy steps in. I scream, wrapping my arms around my chest. I'm in my bra, and not my prettiest one either.

"Get out!" I yell. The boy backs up, slamming into the door behind him and hitting the back of his head. It's David from my grade.

"Uh..." he says, rubbing the back of his head. "You're in the guy's washroom."

"What?" I turn around, then freeze when I see the urinals against the wall.

"Why is your skin all red?" David asks, looking at my arms. I glance in the mirror. My arms and shoulders and stomach are all covered in tiny red spots.

"No!" I screech. "My stupid sweater is made out of fiber glass." I point towards the pink heap of microscopic spikes under the counter.

"Really?" David raises his eyebrows and looks down at the sweater with interest.

"No!" I yell, startling him. I grab the sweater from the floor but the fabric pinches my finger-tips like a million shards of glass so I drop it again.

"David," I say. "Can I have your t-shirt?"

"My shirt?"

"Please? I have to get to math class."

"Sorry. But I have to go..." David starts to back away.

"No!" I reach forward and grab him by the front of his shirt. "Please! I just need to borrow it for a little while."

"I can't... I..." his eyes go wide.

I let him go. Scaring him isn't going to make him cooperate. "Please, I'm trapped in here. I can't go to class in..." I look down, realizing that I haven't been covering myself with my arms. "In my undershirt."

David looks at me for a brief second, then away again. He has very blue eyes. "How did you get trapped in the boys' washroom?" he asks.

"That doesn't matter, can I just borrow your shirt? Do you have a gym shirt or something?"

"No, I don't have an extra one..."

I clench my fists. Someone could walk into the washroom at any moment. It's time to resort to the tears. I've done it before, to get out of trouble, and it isn't too hard, if you're practiced at it like I am.

"Please..?" I sniffle, willing the tears to come out. I add a little crying sound and cover my face with my hands.

David pulls his t-shirt over his head and hands it to me. I drop my hands from my face and smile.

"Thanks." I grab the shirt and quickly put it on. Now my problem is finally solved. David shrinks back towards the wall, looking uncomfortable being shirtless. We look at each other and seem to come to the same realization. What's David going to wear now?

"Well," I say, "We shouldn't both leave the boys washroom at the same time."

Before we can formulate a plan, the football team barges in through the bathroom doors. Or at least five or so of them. They're all older than me so I don't know them by name, but I do know Rob the guy who dated Shawna for like a week. They stop talking when they see us.

"This is not what it looks like," I say, stepping farther away from David.

The guys come out of their shock then give each other knowing glances, hooting and whistling, all but Rob. He looks at me then David, a frown on his face. David ducks under the crowd and sneaks away in a flash, leaving me behind. I break free from my shock and push past the large jocks, running out of the washroom, unable to stop the tears of embarrassment.