Crash Test Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

hand. “It’s a good thing we found you when we did. We’ve been watching you, you know.”
    “You have?”
    “I don’t know what the girls were like at your last school, or if you had, like, a lot of friends”—London glances at my shoes, and I wonder if she can tel how many friends I had by the kind of shoes I wear—“but at East Shore we’re, like, way important.” can tel how many friends I had by the kind of shoes I wear—“but at East Shore we’re, like, way important.” I’m not sure what the proper response is, so I say, “You guys seem real y sweet.” They laugh. “We’re de nitely not sweet,” says Jessica. “But we take care of each other. We’ve al been through what you’re going through with Ben.”
    “Which is exactly why we don’t date high school guys,” London says. “Ever. It’s a rule.” This explains why I haven’t seen anyone of the male persuasion at ached to their (slim) hips. “A rule?”
    “It’s like this, Garret : high school guys are boys. They are total y sel sh and immature. They wil break your heart into a mil ion pieces and then pick up al of the pieces and cut you with them. Col ege guys, on the other hand”—London widens her eyes—“are men. You know?” I don’t know. I’ve never dated anyone in col ege, nor do I have the desire to. “Wel , it’s real y cool of you to invite me to have lunch with you.”
    “We know,” says London, twisting open a bot le of water. I’m too self-conscious to eat my sandwich in front of these girls; instead, I try convincing myself I’m not hungry. It works, but barely.
    “Don’t get used to it,” Jessica says.
    Oh.
    “That’s not a threat or anything,” London says calmly. “Wel , okay, it is, but it’s not a physical threat.”
    “Yeah, we’re not going to, like, break your kneecaps with a basebal bat or anything!” Jyl ian says, laughing a crazy hyena kind of laugh.
    “Should I be scared?” I ask.
    London raises her eyebrows. “Of us?”
    “Um, yeah.”
    “Here’s the deal, Garret ,” Jessica says. “We’ve been friends since seventh grade.”
    “We used to be friends with another girl named Jennifer,” says Jyl ian, “but … we’re not anymore.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say, because I’m uncomfortable.
    “Don’t be,” says London, waving her hand dismissively. “She was mad trashy. Anyway, you seem like you’d t in wel with us. Public school can be rough, especial y because we’re going to graduate this year. Hanging out with us would do wonders for your social life, which, we’re guessing, is pret y nonexistent.”
    Truthful y, these girls don’t seem like the kind of people I would be friends with if I had my choice. I think about my best friend back in Chicago, Amy, who would literal y have convulsions if she ever saw me with girls who had a group nickname. But Amy isn’t here now. I am. And so far, the J Squad are the only ones who seem remotely interested in having me around.
    Now, I’m not total y naïve—I’ve seen enough movies to know that:
    High School + Pret y Girls = Bad News
    The popular clique never makes for the best friends. That’s just not how it works. But let’s face it: I moved halfway across the country for senior year. What’s the likelihood I’l make any real friends?
    “That sounds great,” I say.
    London smirks. “Oh, sweetie. It’s not that easy.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You can’t just become one of us right away,” Jyl ian sco s. “I mean, that’s not how friendship works.”
    “It’s not?”
    “It’s not,” Jessica says knowingly. “You have to earn it. For now, you can be our friend on a trial basis.”
    “What that means,” London says, “is that you can hang out with us before, during, and after school, and on the weekends until the end of October.”
    “What happens at the end of October?” I ask.
    “Destiny Monroe’s Sweet Sixteen,” Jyl ian says. “It’s being lmed for an episode of MTV’s My Super Sweet