How to Ruin My Teenage Life Read Online Free PDF

ideas,” Jess says. “Your head is getting bigger than your boobs.”
    â€œShut up. Haven’t you ever needed something you didn’t want?”
    â€œYeah, a flu shot. And it hurt me way more than it hurt my mom who made me get one.”
    Jessica doesn’t understand. “You don’t expect me to sit around as my mom makes babies with Marc while my dad stays alone for the rest of his life, do you?” It makes me sad thinking he’s pining for my mom.
    â€œYour dad doesn’t seem to mind,” Jess says.
    I turn in my chair and face her. I admit my dad doesn’t outwardly show his unhappiness, but it’s in there. Deep down. And he’s starting to age. “He’s got a few gray hairs already.”
    â€œYour parents are way younger than mine, Amy. My dad is totally bald and my mom’s almost fifty and is totally white . . . well, underneath all of the hair dye she’s as white as a snowball.”
    â€œGreat. In a few years my mom’ll turn gray and people will think my little sister or brother is my own kid. They’ll think my mom is the grandma.”
    â€œPeople in their late thirties have babies all the time. Don’t stress about it.”
    I put my hands over my heart. “Me, stress? I never stress about anything.”
    Jess raises her eyebrows at me and chuckles. Because we both know it’s not true.
    My cell phone is ringing. I click the little green button. It’s my dad. “Hey, Aba .”
    â€œAmy, I just took my clients out for dinner. I’m about to pay the bill.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo,” he says in a distressed voice. “Do you by any chance know where my credit card is?”
    Oh, no. I forgot to put it back in his wallet after my run-in with Geek Boy. “Umm … Aba … you’re not gonna believe this—

5
    To make a sin offering to God:
a) sacrifice an animal to the Lord (Leviticus 6:18) or
b) wait until Yom Kippur and fast a whole day.
(Leviticus 16:29)
So good to know I can erase my sins.
(Erasing guilt is outlined in Leviticus 5.
If God can forgive, surely humans should, too.)
    I’m grounded for the rest of my life.
    My dad laid down that law a few minutes ago, and he sounded dead serious. Now I hear his little outbursts of anger coming from the kitchen.
    The phone rings. It’s probably Jessica.
    â€œDon’t you dare pick dat phone up!” he yells from the other end of the condo, his thick Hebrew accent getting thicker by the minute. I swear, the neighbors are going to start calling the police soon if he doesn’t calm down.
    I hear him stomping closer to my room. He opens the door and scowls at me while running a hand through his hair, his signature and patented I-am-frustrated-and-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-teenage-daughter move. “Do you not understand what you did was wrong on so many levels, Amy? You stole my credit card—”
    â€œBorrowed it,” I correct him.
    â€œYou made me look like a fool in front of clients. You sign me up for a dating service … what’s next?”
    Before I can open my mouth to defend myself, he says, “How much did it cost me?”
    â€œThe dating service?”
    He nods.
    â€œUm … less than sixty dollars a month,” I answer.
    â€œHow much less?”
    â€œOne penny.”
    â€œGo on the computer now and cancel it before I have to pay for two months.”
    â€œUm, Aba ?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI got you a six-month subscription. It was cheaper to pay it all up front. I got a deal. Think of me as your Yente from Fiddler on the Roof . Your personal matchmaker.”
    This time he laughs, and I think he’s broken way past the anger barrier and is quickly gliding toward delirium. A delirious Israeli ex-commando is not a good thing.
    â€œWhat’s the problem with a dating service? It’s for Jews ,” I interject, hoping to lessen the blow. “You