Leslie's Journal Read Online Free PDF

he amazing or what?) Then he brings them to the table, passing by my so-called friends like they don’t exist.
    After a little small talk, Jason asks if I’m doing anything Saturday night. I tell him I’ll have to check my calendar. He laughs, like he knows there’s nothing to check, and says great, he’ll pick me up at my place around six. We can grab a quick bite and an early flick, then go to a couple of clubs he likes. I tell him I’ll need fake ID , but he says not to worry, he knows the guys at the door. Or if it bothers me, we can go to an all-ages club a few blocks over.
    Terrific. Only I suddenly remember he can’t pick me up at my place because I’m supposed to be at Katie’s, so I tell him I’ll be hanging out at the Southside Mall all Saturday afternoon. We arrange to meet at Starbucks. Then he knocks back the rest of his Coke, says, “Catch ya later” and heads out the door.
    I get up slow, stretch and glide over to the loser booth. “Guess who’s going clubbing with Jason McCready Saturday night?” I gloat.
    “But what about my party?” Katie asks.
    “Sorry,” I say. “Divine intervention.”
    Katie looks like somebody let the air out of her bicycle tires.
    “That’s okay,” sniffs Ashley. “I guess we know who your real friends are, don’t we, Katie?”
    I glare at her, but before I can say anything Katie whines, “But my mom’s expecting you. What’ll I tell her?”
    “Say I got sick.”
    “You want me to lie?”
    “Not lie exactly, just help me out.”
    “I can’t lie to my mother.”
    This calls for heavy artillery. “Look, Katie, if you don’t tell your mother I’m sick, I’ll tell her about you-know-what.”
    Katie goes white. You’d think she’d killed somebody or something instead of what she really did, which was have a quickie puff on this joint I scored. (She couldn’t even hold it down, just coughed her guts out.) “You promised you’d never tell!”
    “Be good and I won’t,” I smile, and I blow them all a kiss, pirouette and sail away.
    Outside, I can’t believe what I’ve done. I’ve blackmailed my best friend. And I almost don’t feel guilty!

Eight
    T wo days till Saturday. This is worse than waiting for Christmas. Why does time go by so slowly?
    Ms. Graham isn’t looking too good today. Nicky Wicks has been organizing book drops, and it’s getting to her. It all started when Ms. Graham made him sit front-row center where she could “keep an eye on him” because he was always talking. But now everyone can see him, and when her back is turned he gives a signal and the class drop their books on the floor—boom—and watch her jump. She could be in the Olympics. I mean, she jumps so high I’m surprised her head doesn’t go through the ceiling. I can just picture it: Ms. Graham trapped up there with her head stuck in the acoustic tiles, kicking her legs while Nicky looks up her dress.
    I don’t do the book drop thing. Maybe I’m turning into a suck. It’s just that even if Ms. Graham is boring, she’s basically okay. At least she’s not mean, and if we aren’t careful she’ll get sick again and who knows who we’ll get for a supply.
    It’s still two days till Saturday. I’m going crazy sitting here.
    I wish I had a cell phone so Jason and I could text each other. It’s not like Ms. Graham would notice. But I don’t. I’m, like, the only person in the whole world without a cell. I had one before my parents split up, but Mom says we can’t afford it anymore. Dad offered to pay, but she said no. She gave some stupid reason, but the real reason is: If Dad pays, she won’t see the bill, or know how often I’m calling and texting him. And she thinks I’m selfish and immature.
    At least she lets Dad pay for Internet. That’s because she wants it too. I’m only allowed on for half an hour a day, unless I’m doing something for school. “That’s not enough time to check Facebook and e-mails,” I say, which gets me her sermon about