Biggest Flirts Read Online Free PDF

careful about boys.
    Besides, I’d never been one to lament what happened the night before. I had a great day ahead of me.
    All summer I’d been looking forward to band camp. I’d spent two and a half months closed up in Bob and Roger’s antiques shop. They’d given me a raise last month. They were talking about promoting me to assistant manager, so I’d have to boss around Marvin of the too-small T-shirts printed with cat designs and Edwina of the constant smoke breaks.
    I’d have to quit soon if Bob and Roger went through with their threat of giving me more responsibility. Just in case, I’d taken a second job at night, waiting tables at the Crab Lab. That hadn’t been ideal either. Sawyer’s brother kept coming on to me, which was going to work if he gave me any more beer, and it was getting hard for Sawyer to keep him off me.
    Just as something bad was about to happen, I was saved by band. Because there were only four days until school started and two and a half weeks until our first game, we would practice on the football field a lot : eight a.m. to noon, then six to ten p.m., splitting the day to avoid the ridiculous heat of a Florida August. There went half my shift at the shop, and going in to the grill wasn’t even worth it.
    I looked forward to seeing my friends, and beating the hell out of my drum. The only reason I dreaded band this year was that I was drum captain, by virtue of the fact that the three guys and one girl ahead of me last year had graduated. I should have been more careful to place lower during tryouts last spring, but thinking ahead was not my forte. Since then, the other snare drummers had refused to challenge me for drum captain, no matter how nicely I begged them.
    So I was saddled with the responsibility of rehearsing all the drums and keeping them in line, which was going to require a constant vigilance of which I wasn’t capable. If I didn’t convince someone to take over my position, we would make a bad score at a band contest in the fall, I knew it. I didn’t mind personal failure so much, but I did not want to cause anybody else to crash and burn.
    I was holding out for a miracle.
    I wandered into the kitchen, where my dad, in grease-stained jeans and a polo shirt with the logo of the boat factory where he worked, stared into the open refrigerator. Good luck finding anything in there. It was packed to the brim, and most of the contents were no longer edible. I was pretty sure the meat drawer contained ham that my sister Violet had bought before she moved out last March.
    I kissed my dad on the cheek. “Morning.”
    “Hey there, lucita .” He hugged me with one arm while drawing a questionable bag of bagels out of the fridge with his other hand. In Spanish he said, “I thought band camp started today.”
    “Not until eight,” I answered in English. My Spanish was rusty now that my sisters were gone.
    “I’m late getting home because we had a safety meeting.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-oh-five.”
    “Shit!” I squealed. “I don’t have time for a shower! Do I smell?”
    He sniffed the top of my head. “On a scale of one to ten? Six point five.”
    “I’ll take it.” I didn’t ask whether six point five was closer to the stinky or the odorless end of the scale. I dashed for the bathroom, scrubbed my face and brushed my teeth in thirty seconds flat, and grabbed sunscreen and a beach towel. I spent considerably more time in my bedroom looking for my drumsticks and my flip-flops and a big hat and a bag to stuff everything into. I didn’t have time to stuff it then. It was just another part of the panicked bundle. I ran back to the kitchen for a sports drink, which was safe to drink because it was sealed, and a pack of Pop-Tarts from the box on the counter. I didn’t feel too hungover, but something told me that might change in the heat of ten a.m. if I didn’t put something in my stomach. “Love you,” I called to my dad, who’d given up on the