you a strong swimmer?” The Dick asks her.
“I can swim. Why?”
“In case I need rescuing. I’m drowning in your eyes.”
I groan.
Shay’s smile grows even bigger.
I summon up a half ounce of courage and point out, in a tone that’s hopefully reasonable enough not to earn a punch from The Dick, “Shay, I thought you wanted us to help you at lunchtime today.”
“Tomorrow, ’kay?” she says before going off with The Dick. For a tour of the school, and God knows what else.
Only two things are infinite—the universe and human stupidity. Albert Einstein.
Rick’s at least six feet tall, with thick blond hair, intense blue eyes, and a build like a bank vault. The way he touches my arm, so sure, so manly, makes up for his half- unbuttoned shirt displaying a mass of c orn-c olored chest hairs.
“You dig?”
Gawd, I must have been staring.
He d oesn’t wait for an answer. He undoes another button on his shirt like a male stripper. I try hard not to shout Stop!
As we walk through the cafeteria, a lot of people say hi to him. He gives all of them s hout-o uts in return, not just the jockish guys and pretty girls, but a fat boy and a pimply girl too. Is that a 70’s thing or a Rick thing? Whatever it is, it’s nice.
“So what’s a gorgeous chick like you doing here?” he asks me.
I give him my shrug that shows off my chest.
We pass by the bungalows. T wenty-e ight years later, our school still has them. Then we walk through the vacant baseball field. I d on’t see Professional Tour Guide as Rick’s future career, given that he h asn’t said a word about the school since we started the “tour.” Not that I expected one.
He stops at the bleachers, takes my hand, and leads me to a top row seat.
I smile at him. “Hey.”
He stares into my eyes. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”
I look away. “Just, um, Reseda.”
“Why did you transfer to our school?”
“To find a cute guy like you.”
He laughs. “No, really. Why?”
What is he, a private eye? To shut him up, I put my hands on his cheeks and move my face close to his. He has a toughg uy jaw, short, golden stubble, and rugged but unblemished skin.
“What school were you at before?”
I kiss him, hard, and he stops asking questions.
11
Shay Saunders is (1) gorgeous, (2) sexy, and (3) a whiner. She’s sitting next to me on the school bus, rolling her eyes and/or sighing and/or muttering “I hate this” every time there’s a stop. “I can’t believe you don’t have your own car,” she says. “How are you going to get any girls?”
“As if that’s all that’s stopping me.”
“I wouldn’t be so shallow as to choose a boyfriend based on his mode of transportation,” Evie says from across the aisle.
Since when is Evie interested in boyfriends? The only guys she’s ever seemed excited about are Jonas Salk and J. D. Salinger.
Shay turns toward Evie. “You’re in L.A., where cars are king and people are shallow.”
“You’re a good example of that,” Evie says. “Blowing us off the minute a foxy guy comes by.”
Evie thinks The Dick is foxy? I thought she was too busy calculating people’s IQs to notice what they looked like.
“Shay, if you want our help, try treating us with respect,” Evie tells her.
“And maybe you can find a way to help us too,” I add.
“I got it.” Shay snaps her fingers. Her nails are painted gray-blue. Very strange. Maybe weird nails are in style in the future. “We’ll do, like, Extreme Makeover, ” she says. “Not that extreme though. More like a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy kind of thing.”
“What?” Evie and I both ask.
“I’ll give you makeovers.”
“I don’t want a makeover,” Evie says. “I’m fine with my low social status. I don’t need to talk to ditzy cheerleaders and brutes like Rick The Dick. Actually, I enjoy just being around Tyler and having intelligent conversations.”
I raise my hand. “Actually, I would like to
“I can swim. Why?”
“In case I need rescuing. I’m drowning in your eyes.”
I groan.
Shay’s smile grows even bigger.
I summon up a half ounce of courage and point out, in a tone that’s hopefully reasonable enough not to earn a punch from The Dick, “Shay, I thought you wanted us to help you at lunchtime today.”
“Tomorrow, ’kay?” she says before going off with The Dick. For a tour of the school, and God knows what else.
Only two things are infinite—the universe and human stupidity. Albert Einstein.
Rick’s at least six feet tall, with thick blond hair, intense blue eyes, and a build like a bank vault. The way he touches my arm, so sure, so manly, makes up for his half- unbuttoned shirt displaying a mass of c orn-c olored chest hairs.
“You dig?”
Gawd, I must have been staring.
He d oesn’t wait for an answer. He undoes another button on his shirt like a male stripper. I try hard not to shout Stop!
As we walk through the cafeteria, a lot of people say hi to him. He gives all of them s hout-o uts in return, not just the jockish guys and pretty girls, but a fat boy and a pimply girl too. Is that a 70’s thing or a Rick thing? Whatever it is, it’s nice.
“So what’s a gorgeous chick like you doing here?” he asks me.
I give him my shrug that shows off my chest.
We pass by the bungalows. T wenty-e ight years later, our school still has them. Then we walk through the vacant baseball field. I d on’t see Professional Tour Guide as Rick’s future career, given that he h asn’t said a word about the school since we started the “tour.” Not that I expected one.
He stops at the bleachers, takes my hand, and leads me to a top row seat.
I smile at him. “Hey.”
He stares into my eyes. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”
I look away. “Just, um, Reseda.”
“Why did you transfer to our school?”
“To find a cute guy like you.”
He laughs. “No, really. Why?”
What is he, a private eye? To shut him up, I put my hands on his cheeks and move my face close to his. He has a toughg uy jaw, short, golden stubble, and rugged but unblemished skin.
“What school were you at before?”
I kiss him, hard, and he stops asking questions.
11
Shay Saunders is (1) gorgeous, (2) sexy, and (3) a whiner. She’s sitting next to me on the school bus, rolling her eyes and/or sighing and/or muttering “I hate this” every time there’s a stop. “I can’t believe you don’t have your own car,” she says. “How are you going to get any girls?”
“As if that’s all that’s stopping me.”
“I wouldn’t be so shallow as to choose a boyfriend based on his mode of transportation,” Evie says from across the aisle.
Since when is Evie interested in boyfriends? The only guys she’s ever seemed excited about are Jonas Salk and J. D. Salinger.
Shay turns toward Evie. “You’re in L.A., where cars are king and people are shallow.”
“You’re a good example of that,” Evie says. “Blowing us off the minute a foxy guy comes by.”
Evie thinks The Dick is foxy? I thought she was too busy calculating people’s IQs to notice what they looked like.
“Shay, if you want our help, try treating us with respect,” Evie tells her.
“And maybe you can find a way to help us too,” I add.
“I got it.” Shay snaps her fingers. Her nails are painted gray-blue. Very strange. Maybe weird nails are in style in the future. “We’ll do, like, Extreme Makeover, ” she says. “Not that extreme though. More like a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy kind of thing.”
“What?” Evie and I both ask.
“I’ll give you makeovers.”
“I don’t want a makeover,” Evie says. “I’m fine with my low social status. I don’t need to talk to ditzy cheerleaders and brutes like Rick The Dick. Actually, I enjoy just being around Tyler and having intelligent conversations.”
I raise my hand. “Actually, I would like to
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