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“It was true when I wrote it,” she said. “About him.”

“Really,” I said. “And how did you know that?”

“I overheard him telling Marcus about it in study hall,” she replied, smiling wanly.

“Well, just because something is true doesn’t mean you should broadcast it to the world. I used to think just like you, Taryn. I’d just go off on people just for the joy of pointing out their faults to the world.”

Then I babbled on and on about a yogic practice called satya that I learned about from the book Hope gave me. It’s about telling the truth all the time, but in way that doesn’t hurt people’s feelings. Basically, choosing words carefully so they do the least harm and the most good. I know I’m not perfect, because my words still tend to piss off their targets. But you know what? Sometimes—like with Paul and Hy—it has worked, which is a very encouraging start.

“Otherwise, what’s the point? So you piss people off by pointing out their faults. But there’s got to be more to it than that.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said solemnly.

I was feeling very superior in my maturity. “So how did you find out all this stuff, anyway?”

“You’d be amazed the things people say right in front of someone who isn’t really there.”

“What?”

“People speak openly right in front of me because they either didn’t notice I was there or just didn’t give a damn.”

I remembered how Scotty had blurted out his prom proposition without even acknowledging Taryn’s presence in the room. Taryn was a nobody at Pineville, so she didn’t even have to eavesdrop. Her very insignificance made her one of the most powerful people in school.

“There was only one bit of information I was never able to get, which is why I wrote this last item.”

“And what’s that?”

“Who really peed inside the cup,” she said. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“Really?” I said, pretending to be shocked, but without overdoing it. I was very aware of how even subtle hand gestures or facial tics could give me away.

“I lied because I thought it would make me popular,” she said with a grimace. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

I patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“I thought that if I wrote this item, perhaps Marcus would maybe, I don’t know, reveal the truth to squelch this rumor. . . .”

“And if he didn’t?”

“Then I’d have a hot rumor going around about me, which is more than I could ask for on a regular day.”

How sad. Really. Outwardly, Taryn does everything within her power to go unnoticed. Yet she secrely harbors this sick desire to be popular. If there’s one thing I can say about myself, it’s that I’ve been blessed by a complete disregard for popularity. I’ve never really wanted to be popular. All I’ve ever wanted was one person who totally understood where I was coming from—who wasn’t a thousand miles away.

“But I guess I’ll never know who did it,” she said. Her huge eyes fixed on me, unblinking.

“I guess not,” I replied.

the thirtieth

Wow.

Yesterday, little Marin Sonoma didn’t exist. Today she does.

I love her despite her completely ridiculous name, which is a testimonial to her cuteness. She’s the tiniest, pinkest, baldest thing I’ve ever seen, and when I held her, this sleepy six-pound, four-ounce bundle, I cried.

Yes, me, the female least likely to get ga-ga over goo-goo. I can’t explain this transformation. All I know is that now that she isn’t just a concept, now that she’s an actual living, breathing little person, my whole outlook has changed. I want to be the Cool Aunt, the one who takes her for weekends in the city and whisks her off to Broadway shows, museums, and Central Park. I want to be the one who spoils her and makes her mom seem like a clueless dork. I look forward to this.

Strange, isn’t it?

Even stranger is the profound effect this event has had on me and my dad. That’s right. My dad.

My mom was still at the hospital, and we were alone in the car on the way home. I can’t remember the last time we were alone anywhere together.

“I remember the night you were born like it was yesterday,” he said.

I didn