Melanie was the most beautiful girl in school. It wasn't just her natural white hair, or her rosy complexion, it was the kindness in her eyes that always came across so innocent.

Bashful Ashton and timid Melanie would make a good couple if they ever actually got around to asking each other on a date. But school life went on that year without much more excitement in the boy department for me, Sal or Melanie despite going over to beautiful Sally's house on a regular basis. And school events began to dominate most of our free time, particularly the sixth grade play that each track performed at the end of the school year: Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Alex, Sal and Sally were set on playing the three cherubs, as those involved some of the least amount of lines and easy was more than enough for them, but somehow Melanie and I got it into our heads that we would play the two female leads: Hermia and Helena.

Which brings me to why we're standing in an empty classroom during recess practicing lines.

"Do you really think we'll get the parts?" Melanie asks.

I nod fervently. "Oh, yeah. We'll have our lines down pat by Friday."

That was when auditions were. There was just something of the excitement in her eyes that rubbed off on me whenever she talked about it.

I steal a glance at her eyes now and see sincerity in them as she says: "Listen, I'm glad we've been able to become friends again after so long. I'm really sorry about how I treated you in First Grade. I feel really bad about it."

I cringe away from those two blue orbs as they become overwhelmingly sympathetic. Sympathy is an emotion in other people that makes me feel very uncomfortable. Something about seeing myself reflected back through them, probably.

It seems to me that she is so kind and innocent she mustn't really have anything to apologize for.

Back in first grade, Melanie made a friend who she obviously related to better than me because they made it a habit of running away from me and screaming whenever I got close, which was very confusing because Melanie and I had been friends since kindergarten. But the stint had only lasted temporarily and I shrug the memory away.

"It's fine," I say. "That was a long time ago."

I tell Eva about it the next week at recess, after Melanie and I are done rehearsing for a while.

"I don't know why you care so much what she thinks," Eva concedes. "She's just hanging out with you so she can get the lead part in the play with you. Everyone knows you're Ms. Heiskell's favorite."

Ouch, that hurt. "That's not true!" I retort, but Eva just shrugs.

Eva is not what you'd call someone to beat around the bush. She's bossy, straightforward, and blunt. The word too many use when describing her: bitch.

But that's why I like her so much.

"Congratulations on getting the main part in the play, by the way." She looks me in the eye to make sure I know she's serious. "And I mean that sincerely. Your success has nothing to do with Melanie pushing you. You did that all your own."

I'm not so sure as we round the bend around the basketball hoops and circle back around toward the playground. That's also what I like about Eva: she doesn't mind walking and talking. I always seem to think best when I'm moving around-something about a change in scenery, or maybe just a familiar route.

"Melanie was supposed to get Hermia and I was supposed to get Helena, not the other way around. That's what we auditioned for," I inform Eva, which seems to amuse her to no end.

"Serves that attention whore right," Eva says.

"Eva!" I exclaim, and she just shrugs once more and offers me a Botan rice candy. It's one of those candies where you can eat the wrapper and it seems to fascinate most of the sixth grade to no end, as they always swarm our lunch table when they find out Eva's brought some to school. Or at least, that was how it was in fifth grade. Eva and I are on different tracks now. Well, Eva and Mary are still on the same track. I got switched tracks this year. And thus why we're talking about Melanie.

"I have to memorize a whole new set of lines," I complain. "You know how it is. You got narrator. Narrator gets just as many lines as the lead parts."

Eva shrugs. "I would have been happy with Pip," she informs me, "but my mom's thrilled I got picked for narrator. According to her it's the most important part of the play. 'Without the narrator, none of the ignorant parents would understand what was going on,' she says."

Eva's mom is the daughter of Chinese immigrants and Eva talks about her heritage constantly: the traditions, the superstitions. I sometimes wish New Years Eve was as exciting as the Chinese New Year rather than just banging pots and pans. Of course, she gets to celebrate both on account of her father, which makes me incessantly jealous.

"That's because they wouldn't," I agree.

She bats her hands as if warding my compliment away. "Nah, Hermia's way more important," she says. "By the way, how is it with the grandma-in-law?"

I shrug. "Same as normal."

"And the sister-in-laws?"

I give her a look. "Ex-sister-in-laws," I clarify firmly, enunciating the ex. "And they're still just as understanding as always."

Eva rolls her eyes. "Right, understanding." And she does an impersonation of Sierra. "Oh, do you think my hair looks alright? I only spent an hour on it this morning," she says in a high pitched, girly-girl voice.

In truth, I like my ex-stepsisters, especially when they feel like sitting down and watching scary movies or Smallville marathons (though mostly because they think superman was hot in high school). But I laugh at her impression regardless.

"They are girly-girls," I admit. 'Girly girl' is the term we use to describe pretty much anyone but ourselves this school year: obsessed with make-up and designer clothes and looking good. Me and Eva and Mary: we pride ourselves on not caring. Or at least, that's how it was last year.

Mary pops up behind us now as if sensing her role in my thoughts.

"Mr. Jones finally let me go to lunch after nitpicking my English paper to a T," she explains quickly. "So I misspelled a few things, isn't that what spell check is for? Like I care how you spell English anyway if I can speech-to-text." And then she informs us of something Mr. Jones told her which makes my stomach instantly turn to knots.

"Entrance exams for seventh grade are coming up."

The bell rings and we each head to our separate classrooms (well, Eva and Mary to their's and me to mine) with entrance exams on our minds.

Middle School was daunting for me. Not only would the classroom setup be different (there were no tracks but only the courses you chose to take), but I worried about what Eva said constantly to Mary and I: that middle school couldn't break us apart. That we would stay friends forever.

Somehow, I sense a changing tide that might not make that possible.

"Michigan!" Ms. Heiskell barks at me and I come out of my train of thought. "Get up there with Melanie! It's time for rehearsal."

There may only be six weeks of the sixth grade left, but Ms. Heiskell seems bound and determined to make it count as play rehearsal becomes an everyday thing for the next four weeks.