I can't get the name Avanla Maxwell out of my head. Even on this beautiful Monday morning, the name still echoes like a broken record; It keeps spinning circles round it and it's driving me almost to the brink of insanity because I don't know who that person is or what her intentions are. Why would someone I've barely heard of impersonate my ex in a letter?
''Hey, Paris,'' I whisper to her as we walk to her locker. Seeing as it is February, the preparations for the Sadie Hawkins dance are in full swing. The hallway is decorated with flyers filled with announcements of the dance, along with a very big poster pasted on the general notice board with the words, HAPPY SADIE HAWKINS DAY written in block letters and on a baby pink cardboard.
''Yea?''
''Do you by any chance know anyone named Avanla Maxwell?''
