crush on Josh and then ask her how long I should know a guy before it was okay to French kiss him. She’d be falling over herself to get me out of his car.
“Get this,” Elise said, scowling at her phone. “Bell a hooked up with Carter.” Josh pulled onto the street that led to the high school. “Is that Isabel or Isn’tabell? I could never keep track of the Bell as.”
“Bell a Rogers,” Elise said. “The slut.”
As though interpreting for me, Josh said, “Carter was Elise’s boyfriend. Bell a Rogers—Isn’tabel to me—was one of Elise’s loyal friends that she was distraught about leaving behind.”
Elise kept staring at her phone’s screen. “I’ve been gone for what—twenty minutes?”
“Maybe it’s just gossip,” I said.
Elise flashed her phone at me. The picture on the screen showed a girl in a bikini top lip-locked with a bronzed, shirtless guy.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess not.”
Elise turned back in her seat and began texting with much more force than the process required. She muttered as she did this, and despite all the flack she’d given school, she had a thesaurus full of synonyms for the word slut.
* * *
I didn’t see Elise when I went to lunch. I figured she had either skipped out on school altogether because of the Carter-Bell a thing or found other people to eat with—people who weren’t straight-laced scholars. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or offended.
I wasn’t sure how much Carter had meant to her. She hadn’t seemed too attached to her boyfriend when she’d ogled Chad yesterday. But then, to see your friend kissing your boyfriend—and kissing him out in public where people could snap photos and send them to you—ouch. Low blow.
Hall mark should make sympathy cards for those sorts of occasions.
I hadn’t expected to see Elise in English, either, but she was already sitting at her table, speed-reading Macbeth, when I came in.
I walked over. “How’s it going?”
She didn’t look up. “I’m mired in Macbeth. That pretty much says it all.”
“We missed you at lunch. Are you hungry?” It was completely juvenile, but I was fishing to see whether she’d skipped out or found someone more worthy to sit with.
She flipped over a page. “Josh took me out. I had three McDonald’s hot fudge sundaes.”
“Sounds better than cafeteria food.”
“Yeah.” She flipped another page, still skimming.
“Your brother is really nice.” I had already upgraded him from a nine to a nine and a half. And then, because I didn’t want her to think I had a thing for him, I added, “It makes me wish I had a brother.”
“There are days when I would gladly rent him out.” She glanced up at me for the first time. “But I guess not today.” Chapter 6
Samantha Taylor’s mom was not only involved in her daughter’s school activities, but also in all sorts of community boards, activities and fundraisers. I figured she planned on running for something someday—mayor or senator or Mother of the Year—and wanted a resume that would put every other candidate to shame. This wouldn’t have mattered to me, except that our mothers were friends, so I often got dragged into projects right alongside my mother.
Last month, we went over to the Taylor’s house with a bunch of other women to tie quilts for a homeless shelter in Seattle. I had pointed out to my mother that the homeless people would be just as happy with a quilt we bought at a department store, but she made me go anyway. For my mother, these projects were as much about socializing with the neighbors as they were about getting anything done.
This might not have been so bad if Samantha and I were still friends, but we weren’t. Mrs. Taylor either didn’t know or didn’t want to accept this fact. She was always directing me to where Samantha and her friends were, as though they would be glad to see me. It was awkward.
On Wednesday after dinner, Mrs. Taylor, my mom, and a dozen other women
“Get this,” Elise said, scowling at her phone. “Bell a hooked up with Carter.” Josh pulled onto the street that led to the high school. “Is that Isabel or Isn’tabell? I could never keep track of the Bell as.”
“Bell a Rogers,” Elise said. “The slut.”
As though interpreting for me, Josh said, “Carter was Elise’s boyfriend. Bell a Rogers—Isn’tabel to me—was one of Elise’s loyal friends that she was distraught about leaving behind.”
Elise kept staring at her phone’s screen. “I’ve been gone for what—twenty minutes?”
“Maybe it’s just gossip,” I said.
Elise flashed her phone at me. The picture on the screen showed a girl in a bikini top lip-locked with a bronzed, shirtless guy.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess not.”
Elise turned back in her seat and began texting with much more force than the process required. She muttered as she did this, and despite all the flack she’d given school, she had a thesaurus full of synonyms for the word slut.
* * *
I didn’t see Elise when I went to lunch. I figured she had either skipped out on school altogether because of the Carter-Bell a thing or found other people to eat with—people who weren’t straight-laced scholars. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or offended.
I wasn’t sure how much Carter had meant to her. She hadn’t seemed too attached to her boyfriend when she’d ogled Chad yesterday. But then, to see your friend kissing your boyfriend—and kissing him out in public where people could snap photos and send them to you—ouch. Low blow.
Hall mark should make sympathy cards for those sorts of occasions.
I hadn’t expected to see Elise in English, either, but she was already sitting at her table, speed-reading Macbeth, when I came in.
I walked over. “How’s it going?”
She didn’t look up. “I’m mired in Macbeth. That pretty much says it all.”
“We missed you at lunch. Are you hungry?” It was completely juvenile, but I was fishing to see whether she’d skipped out or found someone more worthy to sit with.
She flipped over a page. “Josh took me out. I had three McDonald’s hot fudge sundaes.”
“Sounds better than cafeteria food.”
“Yeah.” She flipped another page, still skimming.
“Your brother is really nice.” I had already upgraded him from a nine to a nine and a half. And then, because I didn’t want her to think I had a thing for him, I added, “It makes me wish I had a brother.”
“There are days when I would gladly rent him out.” She glanced up at me for the first time. “But I guess not today.” Chapter 6
Samantha Taylor’s mom was not only involved in her daughter’s school activities, but also in all sorts of community boards, activities and fundraisers. I figured she planned on running for something someday—mayor or senator or Mother of the Year—and wanted a resume that would put every other candidate to shame. This wouldn’t have mattered to me, except that our mothers were friends, so I often got dragged into projects right alongside my mother.
Last month, we went over to the Taylor’s house with a bunch of other women to tie quilts for a homeless shelter in Seattle. I had pointed out to my mother that the homeless people would be just as happy with a quilt we bought at a department store, but she made me go anyway. For my mother, these projects were as much about socializing with the neighbors as they were about getting anything done.
This might not have been so bad if Samantha and I were still friends, but we weren’t. Mrs. Taylor either didn’t know or didn’t want to accept this fact. She was always directing me to where Samantha and her friends were, as though they would be glad to see me. It was awkward.
On Wednesday after dinner, Mrs. Taylor, my mom, and a dozen other women
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