Dancing with the enemy: school dances should be a blast, right? Maybe not so much when your best friend since second grade sides with the mean girl.

I've had it. I'm done doing whatever Kaitlyn Evers says, like I'm her obedient Yorkshire terrier. I am way better than that. Yeah, I've said this before, but this time I mean it. This is too much. And now she has my BFF Sarah Ryan playing along with her.

I totally should have stood my ground about meeting up before the dance. But when I texted Kaitlyn to see what time I should be at her house, she texted me back not to be stupid. She then wrote, "Losers go in packs. Meet in gym. B there @ 8."

It's 8:42, and I'm the only one here. These dances are killer to face solo. Everyone looks at you like you're tragic. Of course, Kaitlyn isn't coming alone. She texted Sarah to be at her house at 7 so they could get ready together.

It's one thing for Kaitlyn to do this to me--but Sarah? She and I have been best friends since second grade. But when Kaitlyn moved here from Chicago this past fall, I became the outsider. Now, Sarah only calls me if Kaitlyn's busy. They include me when Kaitlyn feels like it. She rarely feels like it.

I don't completely blame Sarah (OK, maybe a little). I understand Kaitlyn's appeal. She is one of those girls everyone wants to be. She wears clothes from Neiman Marcus. Three decent guys asked her to the dance and are still crushing on her even though she turned them down (she wanted to keep her options open). She even made cheerleading as a freshman, which nobody does. Basically, in just a few months, she's become the queen of Veela High.

She's the epitome of popularity and, lucky me, she chose my best friend to be her best friend. To be fair, she has turned around my status in school. Sarah and I weren't that popular before but, because Kaitlyn includes us in her group, everyone wants to be friends with us.

At first, it felt like I'd won the social lottery. I never thought I'd be one of those girls everyone seeks approval from. But just yesterday, Heather Wilkes ran up to me after homeroom. She wanted me to check the e-rite list for her b-day party to make sure she had the "right" people on it. I'm not even close to her but there, third on the list under Kaitlyn and Sarah, was my name: Jessica Curtis.

I know I owe my current standing to Kaitlyn, but you have to be careful around her. I've seen other girls make her mad, and it's a surefire way to commit social suicide. She's trashed girls so badly they've wanted to transfer schools.

Last week, Meghan Daly wouldn't let Kaitlyn copy her systems of equations homework for algebra II--a move she later regretted. Kaitlyn spread a bunch of lies about her, telling everyone she wets the bed and has a crush on Mr. Bellows, our balding school custodian.

No one believes Kaitlyn, but they also never want to be on the receiving end of her vicious attacks. So they kiss her butt and let her get away with stuff they shouldn't. That's kind of where I fall. Even though I'm in her inner circle, I'm not her nearest and dearest. Kaitlyn tolerates me so, while I know I should have more pride than that, I go along with whatever she wants.

Note to self. Grow a spine. Make new friends. I remember being a strong person once upon a time. Now it's like I need Kaitlyn's permission to have fun. And, let me tell you, this dance is no fun.

The school throws them in the gym every other month. Our principal calls it "organized entertainment." As lame as that sounds, everyone goes.

Granted, most of the cool kids ditch the dance around 10 to go hang out on the football field, but they make their presence known. Because it's the holiday dance, it's particularly crowded with a lot of upperclassmen I don't know. The only freshmen I see are the nose-pickers and wannabes.

I'm so glad I have my cell phone. "Where r u guys?" I text to Kaitlyn and Sarah. Kaitlyn doesn't write back, but I finally get something from Sarah: "B there soon. Kaitlyn almost ready."

Sheesh, how long could she take? She's one of those annoyingly pretty girls who looks good even after gym class. She's like a full-sized Bratz doll. Did I mention I hate dolls? When I was a kid, I used to rip their heads off and bury them in the sand.

"What are you smiling at?" Matt Murphy asks, walking over to me.

I don't tell him it's a mental image of Kaitlyn face down in a sandbox.

"Nothing," I say, deciding if I should make a mad dash for the bathroom.

Not that Matt is a loser or anything. He's kin& cute, but I haven't forgiven him for the last stunt he pulled. He prides himself on being the class clown and, somehow, I've become a favorite target. That's what you get when you're stuck with the locker next to his.

He figured out my locker combo and used it often. I could handle the little things--taking my English paper out of my binder and putting it into my backpack, taping posters of has-been boy bands with hearts drawn around them inside my locker door, swapping out Fundamentals of Biology and The Scarlet Letter with books that--let's just say--don't belong on school grounds. But then he went too far. He stole a sports bra from my gym bag and tacked it up on the lost-and-found bulletin board. As a bonus, everyone knew it was mine since my mom wrote my initials on the tag before I went to camp last summer.

This was embarrassing on so many levels. One, it is intimidating enough having boobs bigger than every other girl in class, let alone having the whole freshman class know my size. They're all perky A-cups, and I'm an overachiever with a 36 DD. Two, it makes me look kind of slutty, which I am not. I mean, really, what kind of girl can't keep track of her undergarments? And three, it wasn't even a cute bra. If he had to take one, why couldn't it have been the lacy pink Victoria's Secret number with the little black bow? No, he got the ugly white one I use for track. It looks like something my grandma would wear. I think it might even have sweat stains on it. Humiliating. After that, I got a new lock and made sure Matt wasn't looking over my shoulder when I used it.

That was four weeks ago, and I had not spoken to Matt since. My plan was to ignore him the rest of the year, which is difficult since he's now in my face.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" he asks, giving me a lopsided grin.

"Yes," I answer, crossing my arms over my chest. Clearly, his prank hasn't helped my self-consciousness one bit.

"I really didn't mean for everyone in the school to see it," he says.

"Right," I say, studying his face. I can't tell if he's going to try to pull something else, but I want to be ready this time. "You just hung it up on the board so it could have a change of scenery."

"You're always the first one to get to fourth-period gym class," he says, rolling his foot over a plastic cup someone had dropped. "I figured you'd see it on the way in and pull it down. I didn't know you'd get stuck behind in third period."

I don't say a word, so he continues: "I took it down as soon as I realized you hadn't grabbed it. I was even going to put it back in your locker, but the lock was changed." He stands there for a moment, staring down at the cup. He crushes it before looking back up. "I'm so sorry," he says as he turns to walk away.

"Wait," I call out, before I realize what I'm doing. I'm not sure what possesses me to stop him. I guess talking to him beats hiding in the bathroom or leaning against the wall by myself.

"I suppose I can let it go if you promise not to pull something like that ever again," I say.

"Good," he says, a big smile forming on his face. "So I guess this means my plan to steal your pink thong next week is ruined." Matt gets a really big dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. I suddenly feel the urge to poke it, but I don't.

Now we're just standing there smiling at each other. I have to say something to break the silence. "Where's your hat?"

He always wears a vintage, navy blue Lake Muskoka baseball cap. He looks so different without it, more the type to play bass in an underground band than the guy who throws crumpled-up paper balls (with stupid comments written on them) at my back during class. He's running his hand through his curly, light-brown hair for about the fifth time since we've been standing there.

"Mrs. Ryeclifftook it. She said young men should not wear hats indoors. 'It's rude,'" he says, imitating Mrs. Ryecliff's high-pitched nasally voice. He's got her down.

Nick Lachey's "I Can't Hate You Anymore" fills the gym.

I have to laugh. Of all songs ... talk about timing. Matt laughs, too.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks me.

"No, she doesn't," someone answers from behind me. I turn around, and it's Kaitlyn. Sarah is right next to her, like a good little groupie. "She needs to come with us. Now," Kaitlyn demands.

I'm so not in the mood to go with her. What happened to the promise I made myself that I wouldn't put up with her drama anymore? But she's giving me a look that says, "Follow me or spend the rest of your high school days eating lunch in the bathroom." Sarah's expression isn't much better--it's begging me not to set Kaitlyn off.

Matt is still looking at me too. His expression is more like "what the @!!#?." I don't know what surprises me more--the fact that I really want to dance with the guy who totally humiliated me just a few weeks ago or that I'm about to leave him standing there near a sea of slow-dancing couples. I mouth, "I'm sorry," and follow Kaitlyn away. Yes, I'm pitiful.

"You don't want to dance with that Will Ferrell wannabe, do you?" she asks, loud enough for Matt to hear. She makes the disgust in her voice obvious.

"No," I lie. "Of course not."

I don't turn back to look at Matt, but

I'm almost certain he heard my response. Why do I let Kaitlyn do this to me? I can feel my stomach turning.

"Good," she says, "He's a total spaz." I want to tell her that, despite the fact that I'm the butt of the majority of his jokes, I secretly think he's pretty hilarious. But, instead, I just nod.

"Yeah, he's weird," Sarah pipes in. I give her a baffled look, but I don't say anything. For the past month, any time I complained about him, Sarah would tell me that at least the guy who was giving me problems was hot. Not only that, but she kept asking me to invite him to our table at lunch so she could "see if he's really as bad as I say."

"OK," Kaitlyn says, her scowl turning into a smirk. "Let's go see which guy gets to dance with me first."

"None, if they're lucky," I say. But I quickly add, "Kidding," when she gives me another evil stare.

Sarah and I follow her around the dance floor as she stalks her prey. This wasn't how I had envisioned my evening. I imagined dancing with a cute guy, laughing, having fun. I almost had that, too. Yeah, so what if it was just Matt? It beats being Kaitlyn's lackey.

I find myself glancing around the room for Matt. When I finally spot him, he's dancing with Candice Yellin, a girl on my track team. Great. Not only does she beat my time in long distance, but she gets to dance with the funniest guy in school, too.

He's whispering in her ear, and she's giggling. I'm trying not to stare at them, but it's hard. Am I the only person in the room who thinks this dance sucks? Matt and Candice sure look like they're having a grand time.

Candice was the only girl invited to Kaitlyn's birthday party last month who didn't attend. There's a rumor going around that Kaitlyn confronted her about it the next day and told her it was a huge mistake to blow off the invite. Word around school is that Candice didn't care and laughed right in Kaitlyn's face. Candice would never walk away from Matt because Kaitlyn told her to.

I'm careful not to let Kaitlyn and Sarah notice I'm watching Matt and Candice. More embarrassing than having them know I care that he's dancing with another girl? Having them know I care that I lost him to Candice. Kaitlyn thinks Candice is a major waste of space.

Kaitlyn stops walking about a couple of feet away from Scott Cavanaugh and Rich Meyers, two juniors on the basketball team. She eyes them briefly, then talks to Sarah like they don't even exist. Less than a minute later, they are standing right in front of us. I wish I had that kind of affect on guys.

I'm standing to Kaitlyn's right, but she shifts her body so that I am completely out of the conversation. She and Sarah have the guys to themselves. Typical Kaitlyn. The four of them go out onto the dance floor, and I am officially the fifth wheel. I put on a smile, get out there, do my best Shakira swivel and pretend everything is the way it should be. But then I just feel stupid shaking my hips when I'm alone.

"I'm going to go walk around," I say to Sarah and Kaitlyn, but they don't even acknowledge me.

It's back to the wall. I steal a few glances around the gym. Matt is still dancing with Candice.

I decide it's time to be bold. I want my spine back. Now seems like as good a time as any to do it. I pull out my phone and type out a text message.

It seems like forever, but Matt finally checks his phone and looks at me.

I give him a smile and a shoulder shrug. He excuses himself from Candice and her friends and walks over to me.

"Do you mean it?" he asks, smiling.

"Part of it," I answer, smiling back.

He holds up the text message I'd just sent him. It says: "I'm sorry. If u 4give me u can keep the bra."

"Which part?" he asks.

"You know which part."

We're smiling at each other in silence just like before.

"So ... you and Candice?" My voice sort of trails off.

"Just friends," he says.

It's exactly what I want to hear.

"So are we going to dance?" he asks, still looking straight into my eyes.

I don't answer. I just take his hand and lead him onto the dance floor, right next to Kaitlyn and Sarah. I give them a small wave and say "hi."

"What do you think you're doing?" Kaitlyn hisses at me.

"Dancing," I answer.

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. I thought you didn't dance with freaks like him?"

"You thought wrong," I answer.

As a slow song comes on, Matt puts his arms around me.

I can feel Kaitlyn staring at me. I know she's not going to let this slide.

"Jes-si-ca," she says loudly, putting extra emphasis on each syllable, "we really need to talk."

"I'm busy," I say. I'm not about to make the same mistake for the umpteenth time. I'm finally having fun.

"You might want to reconsider," Kaitlyn says, her hands on her hips. "You don't want to make me upset."

"Don't you ever get tired of listening to yourself?." I ask. "I sure do." I turn my attention back to Matt, but I can sense Kaitlyn's eyes drilling into me. There's no way I'm getting the last word.

"You little ..." she stops herself and moves closer to me. "Fine, if that's the way you want it. You're out. You never have to listen to what I say again," she says, her mouth curling up into a smile. "Everybody else does. Just ask Meghan."

I simply smile at her.

Sarah is looking at me as if I've grown a hump and a third nostril right in front of her eyes.

"You're so pathetic," I say to Kaitlyn, shaking my head. "I bet you've never had a real friend in your entire life. People only want to suck up to you because they're afraid of what might happen if they don't."

"Lay off her, Jess," Sarah says, coming to Kaitlyn's aid.

"I think she can handle herself just fine," I say. "Maybe you should be standing up for Meghan, Kelly and Lisa. You know, those people who used to be our friends before Kaitlyn came along."

"I know one more name you can add to that list," Kaitlyn says, still staring at me, her eyes little slits.

"Let me guess. Me?" I ask.

"So you're not so dumb, after all," Kaitlyn answers.

"Not anymore," I say, and it's true. I've finally had it with Kaitlyn. Maybe, one day, so will Sarah.

"I hope you enjoy spending the next three-and-a-half years of high school alone," Kaitlyn says.

"I think she'll be fine," Matt says, his arm around me.

"I'll second that," Candice adds. I hadn't even seen her walk over.

"Isn't that cute," Kaitlyn says. "You have your own little loser posse." She looks at Matt and lets out a breathy snort. "That's good, Jess. Surround yourself with people who make you the laughingstock of the school."

"I'll take my chances," I answer.

"Whatever," she says, rolling her eyes. She stalks off of the dance floor, taking Sarah with her.

Don't get me wrong, I know she's going to try to intimidate me and make my life difficult. But instead of fear or regret, I actually feel a huge sense of relief. It hits me that I can finally hang out with the people I want to hang out with and never have to worry about angering the she-devil.

And Matt's right--I'll be fine. It certainly doesn't hurt that I have the school's biggest prankster on my side.

It took me a while--OK, a whole semester--but I've found my spine ... and maybe even (do I dare imagine it?) a real boyfriend.

Matt twirls me around and dips me. I smile because, even though it's December, my school year-has just begun.