Jailbait Read Online Free PDF Page A

don't hear the Beetle's engine because my sneakers are crunching through all these dead leaves and they make more noise than you'd think, and then there's the wind besides. I wave, asusual, and he waves, as usual … and then he stops the car by the side of the road a little ways up ahead.
    Oh my God, I can't believe it. I know this is it, the big
it
, the it I've been waiting for my entire life. I knew he'd stop for me, I just knew it. I feel like leaping in the air and kicking my heels together or turning a cartwheel like Donna Rizzo and all the other stupid cheerleaders—like I ever could.
    I don't walk any faster or any slower and it seems like it takes forever, you know, like one of those stupid sanitary napkin TV commercials where a woman is running in slow motion on the beach, but finally I get to the car. He's pulled over to the right side of the road, so I have to walk past the driver's side. He's got the window rolled down even though it's freezing, and his elbow is sticking out of the car like a big broken wing. I get up to the car and before I even say hi, a big grin bursts across his face like he just cleaned up on
The Price Is Right
or something. He looks me up and down and says, “Get in, gorgeous,” so I do, even though he can't possibly be talking to me. I mean, gorgeous? Who is he kidding? But there's no one else around except Bessie, and I'm sure he's not issuing an invitation to a cow.
    I get in the car even though I can practically hear Shirley screaming,
What are you, crazy? How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers, let alone get in a car with one?
But I don't care. And besides, I'm not some two-year-old who can be lured into a kidnapper's car by a lollipop. I'm practically a grown-up; I can take care of myself.
    As soon as I plop down into the seat and close the car door, my chauffeur starts to drive. He doesn't bother asking me where I live and I don't bother telling him.
    I look out the window and see Bessie watching from the middle of the field. She looks back over her shoulder, her big brown eyes wide with surprise, and then she swats at her face with the tip of her tail. I feel bad for her because I think she looks forward to our talks every day as much as I do, but what can I do? I can't exactly say,
Hey, pal, could you just wait a minute while I say good-bye to my cow?
How stupid would that look? She isn't even my cow.
    The Volkswagen's really small, unlike Shirley's Oldsmobile or Fred's Caddie. I mean, there's barely any room in here. And you should see the glove compartment. It looks so small, I bet all you could fit in there is a pair of gloves. My new buddy and I are sitting so close together, we're practically touching. Except the seats are bucket seats and the stick shift is sticking up between us.
    I've never been alone in a car with a guy before, and I'm not sure what to do. First of all there's the problem of my knapsack. Right now it's on my lap and it's kind of heavy with all my books in it, but I don't know if I should put it in the backseat or just keep it where it is. I could put it on top of my feet, I guess. The next problem is the seat belt. I probably should buckle up, but I don't want him to think I'm a big baby. If I were driving with the Rents, there would be no question about it: Shirley won't even back out of the driveway unless everyone inthe car is all strapped in. Well, I guess I can take a chance and not wear my seat belt for once in my life. What the heck, he's not wearing his.
    I settle back in my seat and turn my head a little so I can look over at Mr. Wonderful while he drives. He's kind of good-looking, though not like your typical movie star. He has the most incredible brown eyes I've ever seen, dark as Bessie's, with long lashes, and his hair is dark too, parted on the side and falling over his forehead in front and long in the back, though not as long as Mike's. He doesn't have the greatest skin in the world, but hey, that isn't his fault. It