stupid Rodeo Carnival. I wanted to be at home, suffering. Megan
knows
how much I like Tyler! How could she let him take her to the movies? On a real date! Wasn't that like one of the unbreakable rules of friendship?
Traitor!
"You're thinking about it," Hannah said. "I can tell by the way you've scrunched up your nose."
The last thing I need: a major nose-highlighting quirk whenever I freak out. I should just go live in a convent with a bunch of nuns. I already have the chastity thing down.
"I don't know why you aren't mad. You're the one who started the tradition, so she's completely letting you down too," I said.
Hannah took a deep breath, straightening her spine. "Sure I'm a little disappointedâ" A frown flickered across her face. "Okay, more than a little, but Jory, we've got to try to live in the moment. And tonight we're here to find us some real live cowboys!" Hannah's gaze followed an older guy built solid as a stallion. "Or cowmen."
"This is not a moment I want to live in." I watched a tattoo-covered carny ogle Hannah's yoga-enhanced curves, eyes roaming up her frilly cowgirl blouse and down her tight Wrangler's. I'd dressed like Hannah's city cousin: flouncy mini, layered tees, and vintage cupcake-pattern Vans. I had bought them with my first paycheck and saved the rest for el nose job. With a couple of hours of overtime, and minus taxes and Vans, I'd saved $314.65. In only one week!
Then again, what was the point if Tyler was falling for Megan? Right at this moment, Megan was probably whispering big words from her SAT prep course to her date, getting him all hot and horny:
perspicacious, volition, antediluvian, sagacious, turncoat, tramp.
"I think you need some cotton candy." Hannah adjusted her cowboy hat and headed toward the concession stand. We stood in line behind a group of boys having a burping contest. Tyler would never act so crude!
Stop. Don't think about him.
But why couldn't he like
me?
Of course he likes Megan. Not only does she share his lawyerly ambition, she'd suddenly grown into the girl every college puts on the cover of its brochure: gleaming smile, shoulder-length dark hair, big blue eyes, no-nonsense style, and the cutest little perky nose. She and Tyler shared the same level of attractiveness. They matched, the way movie-star couples looked good together. If Tyler took me out, people would probably say that I must be really sweet, or, worse, that I must
do
something really sweet.
Hannah handed me a towering fluff ball of pink cotton candy. I pinched off an airy chunk and let it melt in my mouth to take away the salty taste of the tears I'd choked back.
"You're so cute!" Hannah swiped at a strand of cotton candy stuck on my cheek.
Cute!
That's all anyone says about my looks. I'm cute the way those creepy Cabbage Patch dolls are cute, the way those little hairy trolls are cute. The way scruffy old dogs are cute, the way a newborn babyâall smooshed-looking and redâis cute. Even a kid who has just smeared grape jelly all over his face gets called cute. I don't want to be cute. I want to be beautiful. Or
gorgeous, ravishing, exquisite, captivating, alluring, resplendent, radiant,
or
pulchritudinous.
Oh, God, Jory. How sad is it that you've looked up synonyms for
beautiful
in a thesaurus? And
that's
what you're thinking about at the Rodeo Carnival.
I scanned the crowd for gorgeous cowboys but saw only whiny kids yanking on their parents' arms, begging for stuff.
"Oh, I love that ride!" Hannah pointed to a swaying pirate ship. "And look." She nodded to a group of guys wearing shorts and matching red Wooster High football shirts.
"They're not exactly cowboys, Han."
"They're the Wooster Colts." Hannah walked ahead of me. "Cowboys ride horses. Close enough."
"I don't know." The smell of hamburgers, gasoline fumes, cigarette smoke, and greasy fries mixed with all the loud music, bells, whistles, and screaming made my head ache. I wanted to go home, hide under my covers, and
knows
how much I like Tyler! How could she let him take her to the movies? On a real date! Wasn't that like one of the unbreakable rules of friendship?
Traitor!
"You're thinking about it," Hannah said. "I can tell by the way you've scrunched up your nose."
The last thing I need: a major nose-highlighting quirk whenever I freak out. I should just go live in a convent with a bunch of nuns. I already have the chastity thing down.
"I don't know why you aren't mad. You're the one who started the tradition, so she's completely letting you down too," I said.
Hannah took a deep breath, straightening her spine. "Sure I'm a little disappointedâ" A frown flickered across her face. "Okay, more than a little, but Jory, we've got to try to live in the moment. And tonight we're here to find us some real live cowboys!" Hannah's gaze followed an older guy built solid as a stallion. "Or cowmen."
"This is not a moment I want to live in." I watched a tattoo-covered carny ogle Hannah's yoga-enhanced curves, eyes roaming up her frilly cowgirl blouse and down her tight Wrangler's. I'd dressed like Hannah's city cousin: flouncy mini, layered tees, and vintage cupcake-pattern Vans. I had bought them with my first paycheck and saved the rest for el nose job. With a couple of hours of overtime, and minus taxes and Vans, I'd saved $314.65. In only one week!
Then again, what was the point if Tyler was falling for Megan? Right at this moment, Megan was probably whispering big words from her SAT prep course to her date, getting him all hot and horny:
perspicacious, volition, antediluvian, sagacious, turncoat, tramp.
"I think you need some cotton candy." Hannah adjusted her cowboy hat and headed toward the concession stand. We stood in line behind a group of boys having a burping contest. Tyler would never act so crude!
Stop. Don't think about him.
But why couldn't he like
me?
Of course he likes Megan. Not only does she share his lawyerly ambition, she'd suddenly grown into the girl every college puts on the cover of its brochure: gleaming smile, shoulder-length dark hair, big blue eyes, no-nonsense style, and the cutest little perky nose. She and Tyler shared the same level of attractiveness. They matched, the way movie-star couples looked good together. If Tyler took me out, people would probably say that I must be really sweet, or, worse, that I must
do
something really sweet.
Hannah handed me a towering fluff ball of pink cotton candy. I pinched off an airy chunk and let it melt in my mouth to take away the salty taste of the tears I'd choked back.
"You're so cute!" Hannah swiped at a strand of cotton candy stuck on my cheek.
Cute!
That's all anyone says about my looks. I'm cute the way those creepy Cabbage Patch dolls are cute, the way those little hairy trolls are cute. The way scruffy old dogs are cute, the way a newborn babyâall smooshed-looking and redâis cute. Even a kid who has just smeared grape jelly all over his face gets called cute. I don't want to be cute. I want to be beautiful. Or
gorgeous, ravishing, exquisite, captivating, alluring, resplendent, radiant,
or
pulchritudinous.
Oh, God, Jory. How sad is it that you've looked up synonyms for
beautiful
in a thesaurus? And
that's
what you're thinking about at the Rodeo Carnival.
I scanned the crowd for gorgeous cowboys but saw only whiny kids yanking on their parents' arms, begging for stuff.
"Oh, I love that ride!" Hannah pointed to a swaying pirate ship. "And look." She nodded to a group of guys wearing shorts and matching red Wooster High football shirts.
"They're not exactly cowboys, Han."
"They're the Wooster Colts." Hannah walked ahead of me. "Cowboys ride horses. Close enough."
"I don't know." The smell of hamburgers, gasoline fumes, cigarette smoke, and greasy fries mixed with all the loud music, bells, whistles, and screaming made my head ache. I wanted to go home, hide under my covers, and
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