How to Be Popular Read Online Free PDF Page A

sounding noticeably irritated, floated up to us. “What—ew! What’s in my hair?”
    We all three ducked beneath our table so Lauren couldn’t see us if she realized what was happening and looked up. I could see her between the slits of the fencing around the balcony, but I knew she couldn’t see me. She was shaking out her hair. Becca, crouching across from me, had to put her hands across her mouth to keep from giggling. Jason looked like he was about to pee in his pants, he was trying so hard not to laugh.
    “What’s the matter, babe?” Mark came out from beneath the balcony, putting his wallet into his back pocket.
    “There’s something—sand or something—in my hair,” Lauren said, still fluffing out her hair—which you could tell she didn’t want to do, since she’d flat-ironed it so straight.
    Mark leaned closer to examine Lauren’s hair. “Looks okay to me,” he said. Which just made us laugh harder,until tears were streaming out of the corners of our eyes.
    “Well,” Lauren said with one last shake of her perfectly straight locks, “I guess you’re right. Come on. Let’s go.”
    It was only when they’d rounded the corner toward the Penguin that we finally sat up, laughing semi-hysterically.
    “Oh my God, did you see her face?” Becca asked between guffaws. “‘There’s something in my hair!’”
    “That was fantastic, Crazytop,” Jason said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Best master plan yet.”
    Except that it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He didn’t have the slightest idea.
    “Can I get you guys the usual?” That’s what Kirsten, our waitress, wanted to know, coming up to wipe down our table—she’d apparently noticed all the sugar I’d spilled on it.
    Usually when Kirsten is our waitress, Jason drops his napkin or something and has to crawl around looking for it. Because he feels about Kirsten the same way I feel about Mark: He thinks she’s perfection. And maybe she is. Who am I to judge? Kirsten, who is from Sweden, is working her way through college on the tips she earns at the Coffee Pot. And yet she still manages to maintain her blond highlights, which is just one of the many reasons Jason has spent night after night lying on The Hill, composing haikus in her honor. He gets especially poetic about her when Kirsten wears a men’s white button-down shirt with the ends tied just under her ribs, and no bra.
    Personally, I think Kirsten is nice, and all, but I don’tthink she’s good enough for Jason. I would never admit this to HIM, of course. But I’ve noticed she has really dry skin around her elbows. She should totally invest in some lotion.
    But tonight, for some reason, Jason didn’t appear to notice Kirsten. He was too busy asking how Monday morning was going to work (not the part about how I was going to change the social structure at Bloomville High with the help of his grandmother’s book—Jason and Becca don’t know about that. Obviously). We were discussing what time we’d actually have to leave the house for school now that Jason has a car—a glorious eight A . M ., to get us there by first bell, at eight ten, as opposed to the hideous seven thirty, which is when the bus shows up in our neighborhood.
    “Can you imagine their faces when we pull up?” Becca was saying as Kirsten came over with our order. “I mean, in the student parking lot?”
    “Especially if we’re listening to Andy Gibb,” I pointed out.
    “The A-crowd,” Jason said, “can eat me.”
    “What is the A-crowd?” Kirsten asked.
    “You know,” Becca explained as she stirred more Equal into her decaf. Becca’s got weight issues on account of how when she lived on the farm, her parents had to drive her everywhere because there was nothing within walking distance of their house. Now that she lives in town, her parents still drive her everywhere, because they want to show off their new Cadillac, which they alsobought with the I-69 money. “The popular