The next day at school I told my best friend, Katie, what had happened. "Well, I don't blame him," Katie said when I was done. "You are nosy."
"Am not!" I protested.
"Yes, you are. Remember that time in third grade when I wouldn't tell you what I was doing that weekend so you stayed after school to look in your desk and you found out about your surprise party?"
"That was like seven years ago," I argued.
"And what about in eighth grade when I wouldn't show you what was inside that little bag so you snooped and found all my tampons?"
"That...was....different," I defended weakly.
"And what about that time..."
"Okay, okay, I'm nosy, but he didn't have to criticize me about it. He doesn't even know me!"
Just then, a vaguely familiar voice said, "Hey! Nosy!" I slammed my locker door and walked over to where the boy from last night was.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I go here."
I glowered and walked past where Katie was waiting all the way to my homeroom. When I got there, I calmed down a little.
My spot was the best in the class. It was right next to the window and there was an empty desk next to it. Just as I was getting comfortable, the boy walked in.
"Class," Mr. Beetlebug, my homeroom teacher said, "this is Peter Fryer. He's new. Peter, why don't you sit down over there," he said pointing at the seat next to mine. I dug my fingernails into my palm to keep from protesting.
When he sat down I said, "Fryer? What kind of name is that? Where your ancestors fry cooks or something?"
"No. Where would there be fry cooks back then, anyway?"
"I don't know, Ye Old McDonald's?" The bell rang and I jumped out of my seat and ran all the way to Algebra.