French kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

said.
    "Don't talk to me," Holly replied, her voice still shaky.
    They drove the rest of the way in silence and arrived at the airport with twenty minutes to spare. Holly's stomach was in knots. Her coach and teammates were going to kill her if she didn't show. And what would she tell her parents? Before she could leap out of the car, Tyler grabbed her elbow. When she glanced at him, his handsome face was sorrowful.
    "Please don't get on that plane all mad at me," Tyler said, his voice choked with emotion. "There's so much stuff we still need to talk about, and just -- know that " He paused, studying her solemnly. "I love you, Holly."
    Holly felt her chest seize up. She and Tyler had crossed the overhyped "I love you" hurdle back on even Holly had rolled her eyes at the predictability -- Valentine's Day. Still, hearing Tyler speak
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    that phrase and speaking it herself -- always gave her shivers.
    But now the words made no sense to Holly's ears. How could Tyler love her and not be into her that way? Holly's head spun in confusion.
    Since she was deathly afraid of flying, Holly didn't like getting on a plane angry at someone. So she leaned close, whispered a quick "I love you, too," and kissed Tyler on the lips. He cupped her face in his hands, trying to hold her there, but she pulled back, opened the door, and jumped out into the night.
    "Don't go hooking up with David Beckham, okay?" Tyler called through the window as she raced around to the trunk to get her bag. His voice was half-teasing, half-worried.
    "I'll try my very best not to," Holly called back with a wave, letting Tyler know, in her way, that she wasn't all-out furious at him.
    But maybe she was.
    There was no time left to ponder the sticky situation. Her thoughts whirling, Holly sprinted into the airport, waited on pins and needles in a long, snaky ticket line (where she squeezed in a phone call home), flashed her passport, raced through security with her carry-on -- but got held up when the house keys in her back pocket set off the metal detector and finally tore toward her gate, thanking her lucky stars
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    she'd worn her Adidas and could run like nobody's business. Panting and sweaty, she stumbled onto the airplane at seven minutes to midnight, avoiding the glares of the flight attendants and collapsing into the empty seat between Meghan and Jess.
    "Oh, my God! Where the hell were you?" Jess cried
    "We were so worried!" Meghan added, poking Holly in the ribs.
    "I'll tell you guys later," was all that Holly could get out between gasps.
    Instantly, Ms. Graham, the usually cheerful track coach, turned in her seat ~ which was right in front of Holly's -- and shot daggers at her.
    "Holly Jacobson," Ms. Graham intoned, her curly, ash-blonde bob shaking with anger. "Showing up so grossly late is not a good indication of team spirit -- or leadership. This had better not become a habit on the trip."
    Holly stared back at Ms. Graham in silence. She knew the coach was married (to Mr. Sweeney, the balding golf coach), but Holly was certain that Ms. Graham didn't know what it was like to be caught in the swirling currents of desire and frustration, to gaze into a boy's golden-flecked eyes and wonder what secrets lay there. After what Holly had just been
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    through with Tyler, how was she supposed to care about freaking team spirit?
    "Of course not," she replied, folding her shaking hands in her lap. "I'm one-hundred-percent committed, Ms. Graham."
    She'd do this. She'd get through the week in Wimbledon, throw herself into running, be there for her friends ... and try her darndest not to obsess over her love life.
    A clipped, British-accented voice came over the loudspeaker. "We welcome you aboard this Virgin Atlantic flight, nonstop to Heathrow."
    Virgin Atlantic? A wry smile spread across Holly's face as the plane began to taxi. Here she was, crossing the Atlantic, and still a virgin. She wasn't sure if she should burst into tears or burst out laughing. That's