Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK Read Online Free PDF

embarrassed myself further—”your friend will be back shortly.” If I were with Wes, I sure wouldn’t leave him alone for long. But there I went again, mixing fiction with reality.
    Like an actor taking her cue, Poodle Girl sauntered up, stage left. “Did you find the powdered doughnuts, baby?”
    So much for my favorite breakfast.
    She wrapped her arm around Wes’s, her hot-pink fingernails neon against his black leather sleeve. She smiled, but her eyes quickly narrowed to overly mascara-ed slits as she flitted her gaze over me. I snorted at the thought that she actually considered me competition.
    But as the spider led her willing prey off to find doughnuts, Wes sent me a wink over his shoulder—and for a brief moment, I wondered if maybe I was.

    I slammed the door of my house then opened it and slammed it again. Immature, but Dad wasn’t home, and because of Wes and my stupid inability to think logically around him, I’d forgotten to actually pay for all the candy for my cell presentation Monday. I got halfway home before realizing I still clutched a bag of sour lemon drops in my hand that I didn’t even like—all because I was too stubborn to accept the gummi bears Wes presented and move on. Too sweet? Ha. Wes obviously hadn’t seen me PMS-y yet. I could go toe-to-toe with Poodle Girl and still come out swinging.
    Too bad that Addison only existed once a month. The rest of the time I was more gummi bear than I wanted to admit. And, if I was honest, way too gummi bear for Wes. Of course he preferred sour. Poodle Girl was as lemon drop as they got.
    I threw the bags of redeemed candies on the couch and glared at them. After going back to the store, paying, and apologizing for my sudden bout of kleptomania, I now had about thirty minutes to get started on the assignment before needing to cook dinner for Dad. Thank goodness Marta had shown up with her genius idea this afternoon, or I’d be staring down a big fat zero on our project Monday—well, make that
my
project. I was done covering for Claire. If she couldn’t even return my text messages with an explanation about where she’d been today, forget it. I’d tell Mr. Black the truth and let Claire handle the consequences on her own—for once. Let her learn that designer brands and makeup couldn’t get her out of this one.
    I grabbed the index cards from my backpack, my favorite ballpoint pen, and the candy, then sat at the table and began tearing apart pieces of licorice and lemon drops like my lifedepended on it. My grade did, at least. Probably not my friendship with Claire. Who knew where that would end up going—assuming I had the guts to actually bail on her as she had me. Though in this case, I wasn’t bailing, just being honest. She stood me up—I was simply going to take credit where credit was due.
    So why did the thought make me feel like a rat?
    Thirty minutes passed with not nearly enough progress—my cell looked more like a cow—and while I threw together a chicken and rice casserole, I lamented the fact I’d be working on this all day Saturday. Somehow that seemed even more pitiful than doing homework on a Friday night.
    I could guarantee you Poodle Girl and Wes weren’t doing homework. My stomach churned at the thought of what they might be doing instead, and I drew a deep breath.
You don’t care. You don’t care
. I tried to think about Luke instead and the attention he’d shown me at school, but it was like comparing the attention of Taylor Lautner with that of a nerdy third cousin. Not quite the same.
    The front door opened and closed, and Dad’s heavy footsteps shrugged across the carpet as he made his way to the kitchen. “Hey, honey. What are you making?” He drew a deep breath. “Needs more salt.” He dropped his briefcase on the table and made a beeline for the stove.
    “You can tell by the smell? Dad, that’s pathetic. I’d prefer you to live past fifty.” I intercepted the saltshaker from his threat against my