Girls We Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

drunk by now. Mickey was always pulling these dangerous, crazy stunts—when they had first started going out it seemed exciting, but then it felt scary, and then after that just sort of old. Now, watching him slip through all those loud, buzzed people to lift this other girl up onto a horse, Philippa was struck by how fun it looked.
    â€œSorry,” Stella said. Philippa turned to see that her girlfriend had returned and was standing right behind her. “I had to make that,” Stella said as she slipped her cell phone into her trousers pocket.
    â€œNo problem,” Philippa said. She could never help but be impressed by Stella, who was always thinking of things that had to be said out loud and getting calls that she had to take.
    â€œWhere’d Mickey and Sonya go?”
    â€œUm, they—” Before Philippa could say anything else, a collective gasp reverberated through the crowd. She turned and saw Mickey and Sonya on the back of the big white horse. Which was charging through the Boat House.
    â€œOh my God,” Philippa whispered gleefully. She heard Mickey yell “Adios, suckers” just before the horse made it to the front door and disappeared in a flash of white. She turned to her girlfriend, expecting to see an expression of awed disbelief.
    Stella smiled a deeply sarcastic smile. “Are we having fun yet?” she said in a tone that seemed designed to kill any possibility of fun.

liesel reid on the meaning of fate
    â€œLook, you let them steal my hawsie!” Liesel Reid shouted at Georges Langley, the manager of the Boat House, who was supposed to be making sure her sweet sixteen party was fabulous. Thus far, she didn’t think he was doing an especially good job. “Are you trying to ruin my party?”
    â€œMiss Reid,” Georges stammered. “You don’t seem to understand—”
    â€œI mean, do you know who my family is? Or who I wuhk for? I may be in high school, but I’ve been in PR for two semesters now, so if you think… ” Liesel might have gone on, except that she noticed that Georges’s bow tie was pathetically askew. And anyway, yelling at a short, paunchy, middle-aged restaurant manager was beneath her, and so she huffed, and turned on her Louboutin heels. “Nevah mind, Georges,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom to fix herself up.
    Liesel was tall and pale, with the boyishly skinny body of an Eastern European runway model, and the kind of bone structure that screamed old money. Her parents were famous art collectors, and she was used to being stared at. But she also knew a thing or two about grace, which was why she was striding through a crowd of her enthusiastic friends and admirers and past the long bathroom line to splash some water on her face, wash off every bit of that unpleasant encounter, and put her charm back on.
    When she reached the head of the line she smiled sadly at a girl in a sweater set and headband, who was pressing her knees together and gritting her teeth, and said, “You understand.”
    â€œOf course, Liesel,” the girl said sweetly.
    â€œYou’ll make sure nobody comes in?”
    The girl nodded, and then Liesel pushed through the door.
    She was carefully reapplying the mascara that brought out the cornflower blue of her especially round, especially wide eyes, when the door swung open.
    â€œHey, wait,” Liesel said, swiveling around from the mirror. When she saw who it was, her face brightened. “Oh, Awno!”
    â€œHey, Liesel,” he said softly. That was weird. Arno Wildenburger was not known for his soft voice. He was six feet tall—exactly as tall as Liesel, which wasonly one of several reasons that they had always seemed like the perfect couple that hadn’t quite happened yet. He had the kind of just-exotic-enough features that made it hard for a girl to stop picturing his face when she was kissing other guys. He was