"Can you stay for dinner, Joe?" Angela's mom asks.

"Not tonight, Mrs. Wood. My parents are expecting me home," Joe replies.

"I'll walk you out," says Angela.

They get in his car and fool around for a few minutes. Then Joe lets out a sigh. "What's wrong?" Angela asks him.
"I just feel like I'm never going to see you if you have to take pictures for the yearbook," he says, looking at the steering wheel.

"I'm telling you, it's not going to take that much time," says Angela. "And it's really going to help me on my college applications. I need to start thinking about that. Brian said that admissions officers start looking at your extracurricular activities junior year."

"Brian?" he says, mimicking her tone of voice. "Is that why you joined yearbook this year? To be close to Brian?"

"Stop that," Angela says. "You know I hate it when you mock me. I have to work with Brian. He's the editor. I hardly even know him."

"Fine," says Joe. He leans over and unlocks Angela's door. "Bye. And oh, by the way, I wouldn't wear that shirt if you're worried about what Brian thinks of you. It's trashy."

"I thought you liked this shirt," says Angela. "You said I looked great in it when we bought it."

"Well, it doesn't look great. It looks trashy," says Joe. "There's classy, and there's trashy. And you look trashy. You don't even take care of yourself anymore."

"What are you talking about?" she asks him. "No, just forget it." She opens her door and starts to get out of the car.

"Where are you going?" Joe says angrily, grabbing Angela's wrist and yanking her arm hard. "You just can't wait to get away when you're with me, can you?"

"Ow!" Angela says, wincing with pain. "You're hurting me!" He pulls her back into the car and glares at her, and then lets go of her arm in disgust. Angela sits next to him, rubbing her arm, crying quietly. They sit in silence for a minute.

"I'm sorry," he says, taking her hand. "It's just that I miss you when you're not around. I'm sorry I lost my temper."

Angela's shoulders fall. "Okay, just forget about it," she says.

"Maybe I won't do the yearbook. I'll think about it." She leans over and kisses him goodbye.

She goes into the house and changes into a sweatshirt, throwing her new shirt into the trash can.