Kiss And Blog Read Online Free PDF

just a teensy bit too far.
    “I’m totally serious,” she says. “You so don’t get it. If you want to be in with these people then you have to like what they like. And I don’t mean to be a bitch, Winter, but no one is going to appreciate your little sarcastic comments. So you need to decide, right now, what it is you want to do.
Because I’m getting in, no matter what!
I’ve worked way too hard, and this is way too important to just give it all up because you’ve suddenly decided that everything is just some big, phony joke. So tell me, what’s it gonna be? Are you in, or are you out?”
    She’s standing there, arms still folded, and I know that she’s totally serious. Which, I admit, kind of makes me feel a little sick. I mean, Sloane has been my best friend forever, so not only is this ultimatum more than a little surprising, but it’s also knocked me totally off-guard. And, the worst part is I’m starting to wonder if maybe she’s right. I mean, maybe my sarcasm really is holding me (us) back. Maybe I am just this awful person who’s always looking for the punch line, and who gets her jollies by mocking this wonderful group of optimistic, well-meaning girls who truly do love this school and every single person in it, and who are just naturally happy and high on nothing more than unmitigated school spirit and goodwill toward all.
    Not to mention that Sloane is right. If I’m sick of being a nobody, if I truly want to move forward with our plan, then I need to learn to relax and just go with
their
flow.
    So I look at her, feeling a little shaky and nauseous inside, but grateful that there’s still enough time to save my sorry self (from myself). “I’m in,” I say, in a small, tight voice, nodding so she’ll know just how serious I am. “Totally, completely in.”
    “Good,” she says, just as her mom pulls up in her silver Lexus SUV. “Now, let’s go practice at my house.”
     
    “Where were you?” my mom asks, as I toss my backpack onto the kitchen table, and head for the fridge.
    “Sloane’s,” I say, ducking my head inside, trying to locate something to eat that’s not good for my heart, won’t aid my digestion, and will do absolutely nothing to stop the onset of osteoporosis.
    “Dinner will be ready soon, so don’t fill up on junk,” she warns.
    I roll my eyes and close the fridge. As if filling up on junk was even an option in this place. I mean getting crazy around here means biting into a conventionally grown apple.
    “So how’s school going?” she asks, turning away from the stove so she can look at me.
    “Day two, and nothing to report.” I shrug, watching as she stirs something thick and red that I vote “most likely to end up on a heaping plate of gluten-free, soy pasta.” Then I unzip my backpack and sort through my papers, until finding the one that I need. The one that requests her signed consent so I can dash her dreams, break her heart, and totally let her down by trying out for cheerleader.
    But now that I’m holding it in my hand, I just stand there, staring at it, thinking that maybe I should just bypass her completely, smuggle it into my room, and attempt to forge her signature or something since I know damn well that there’s no way I’ll ever get her to agree to this. I mean, the only organized activities she ever approves of are either political or environmental.And let’s face it, making the squad certainly won’t benefit anyone other than me.
    And just as I’m about to shove it back in my bag, she looks at me and goes, “What’s that?” And then she squints at it from across the room, like she can actually read the small print from all the way over there.
    “Um, well, I just need you to sign this. Just right on that line there. It’s no big deal, so you don’t even have to bother with reading it or anything,” I say, knowing I’m completely blowing it by acting all nervous, and overexplaining, because, let’s face it, that’s pretty much