Famous Last Words Read Online Free PDF Page B

huh?”
    “Are you kidding? This is my fourth cup.”
    Rob puts up his hands up in surrender. “I stand corrected. I’m surprised. You don’t seem the type.”
    How would Rob know what type I am? For the rest of us, high school is like a sadistic game of musical chairs where everyone competes for a few chances at fitting in. When the music stops, most of us are left standing. But Rob, he doesn’t even have to play the game. And yet he’s nice, which somehow makes it worse. A girl like me could never date a guy like him—things like that only happen in movies, where the plain girl is actually some gorgeous actress without makeup. About an hour and fifteen minutes into the film, the girl buys a new outfit and applies some mascara, and suddenly the prom king is doinking himself in the head for not realizing sooner how hot she is.
    “I saw your name in the newspaper,” Rob says out of nowhere.
    This gets my attention. “You read the obit page?”
    Forget the obit page. I’m just shocked someone our age reads the newspaper.
    “My mom spotted it. That’s pretty cool, though. You were always good at writing.”
    Wow. Rob noticed my name and remembers I like writing. His compliment is just sinking in when Rob’s girlfriend, Liza, and her friends arrive. Men aren’t dogs, girls are. That’s why they travel in packs. Liza wraps her arm around one of Rob’s biceps. My stomach twists.
    “Who’s your friend?” she asks, looking me up and down.
    “Uh, this is Sam D’Angelo,” Rob says.
    “Oh, right ,” she says, and giggles, making it clear she knows what Shelby said to Rob at the last party.
    Is fuchsia lipstick toxic? I hope so.
    Not wanting to stick around and cause any trouble, I offer an explanation as to why I’m talking to her boyfriend and plan my escape. “Someone pushed me into Rob,” I explain. “Sorry!”
    “S’okay,” Rob says.
    He looks like he wants to say something more, but I don’t give him a chance. After a quick wave and an apologetic smile, I make a beeline for an open space in the yard. I scan for a location near the fence, where I can observe without additional human interaction. My skin is hot with the embarrassment of bumping into Rob, literally, and having his girlfriend laugh at me.
    I admit it, I’m jealous of girls like Liza who always have boyfriends. She and Rob have been together since freshman year, and it seems like no one goes out of their way to insult couples. It’s like they’re living in some U.N.-sanctioned territory—the shaded area of a Venn diagram, where all the circles overlap.
    I find an empty lawn chair and wait for Shelby to finish doing whatever with Mark, her latest Y chromosome. I’m far enough away from the crowd and music to hear the chirping crickets and cicadas in the trees behind me. I wonder; do all bugs get to sing? Or is it only the best and most beautiful who hit the suburban sound waves on summer nights? Is there a bug version of me out there, longing to be the lead singer but always ending up in the chorus or, worse yet, silent and unable to find her voice?
    I take out my phone so I look busy. I tab to the Herald Tribune ’s website. It’s not the best, but at least we have one. I think about Rob noticing my byline on the obit page, and my mood lifts. I fantasize about helping Michael prove his mayor’s up to no good. My name could end up on the front page. What if I scored an interview with the elusive Sy Goldberg? It wouldn’t make me a shoe-in for prom queen, but it would be something, wouldn’t it? Perhaps the quiet recognition of a byline suits me.
    An hour later, when my phone’s entertainment abilities are waning, I spot Shelby. She stumbles across the backyard, her serpentine path moving in my general direction. When she finally reaches me, she puts two hands on one hip and tries to steady herself.
    “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”
    Not that hard, apparently.
    “Is your shirt on inside out?” I ask, frowning.