The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys by Barbara Dee Page A

wrapping it in orange and hot pink paper, tacking rainbow-colored ribbons around the edges, taping up a collage of her favorite things—New York City, puppies, ice creamcones, the Olympic rings, fireworks. When girls decorated their best friend’s lockers at our school, usually it stayed like that for a week or so. But Maya had kept my decorations, even though by now they were smashed and scraggly.
    â€œTwo news items,” I informed her. “ Numero uno , we’re invited to Chloe’s party.”
    She folded her arms across her chest. “We are ? How do you know that?”
    â€œOlivia called yesterday.”
    â€œReally? And she said we’re both invited?”
    â€œOfficially.”
    â€œHuh,” Maya said. “So in other words, Chloe didn’t invite us. Olivia did.”
    See? I knew she’d pick up on this.
    â€œBut it still counts, right?” I argued. “You said you wanted to go. And now we don’t even have to crash.”
    â€œI don’t know, Fin. I was kind of psyched to crash. I kept imagining Chloe throwing one of her tantrums. While I stayed perfectly calm, of course.” She squinted at me. “What’s wrong with your tooth? It looks weird.”
    I ran my tongue over my teeth. Right away it hit something slimy: a tiny shred of blueberry skin. Eww, attractive.
    I watched Maya take off a red wool scarf and fold it carefully, tucking it into a corner of her locker. “Okay,” she said, “so what’s numero dos ?”
    â€œZachary called.”
    â€œWHAT?”
    â€œDon’t yell. Like fifteen minutes after Olivia.”
    â€œYou’re joking, Finley, right?”
    â€œWhy would I joke about that?”
    â€œWhy would he call ?” She wrinkled her nose, like his call would smell bad.
    â€œI don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He’s coming back to school today. He sounded pretty nervous.”
    â€œYeah, well, he should be nervous. Considering what people think about him.” She shook her shiny ponytail. “And anyway, Finley, why would he call you ?”
    That was a question I couldn’t answer, even though I’d been thinking about it more or less nonstop since yesterday. But there was something about the fact that my best friend was asking it that made me feel, I don’t know, a bit funny. Especially after that comment yesterday about me not comprehending boys.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he call me?” I asked her.
    â€œLet me think. Because he was never your friend?”
    â€œMaya, I don’t think he was friends with anyone.”
    â€œExactly my point. The boy was too Tadpole for the Tadpoles.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, who cares about Zachary. You brought your camera today, right?”
    I nodded.
    She did the say cheese grin. “Maybe at lunch we could try one more photo. I was thinking with the red scarf this time.”
    â€œThe yearbook isn’t in color,” I reminded her.
    â€œI’m perfectly aware. But red always makes me feel fabutastic.” She batted her eyelashes at me like a demented Disney princess.
    I started laughing but stopped when I saw Olivia rushing toward us, followed slowly by Sabrina Leftwich.
    â€œYou guys,” Olivia cried, as soon as she was in front of Maya’s locker. “Finley, I know we’re supposed to shoot the photo today, but I woke up totally deformed —”
    â€œYou look fine,” Maya insisted, squinting at Olivia’s face.
    â€œCheck under my bangs.” Olivia pulled back her hair. Sure enough, smack in the middle of her forehead there was a zit the size of a Lifesaver hole. Not hideous, but still.
    â€œThat’s okay,” I told her. “We have the rest of the week, don’t we? That’s plenty of time to outwit the Zit Gods.”
    Sabrina laughed through her nose. “The who?”
    â€œZit Gods,” I said. “You know, the evil spirits