M or F? Read Online Free PDF Page B

keyboard. “I don’t know. . . .”
    â€œFrancesca Falconer, as my grandmother would say, it’s time to poop or get off the pot.” Marcus’s usual faint Southern accent stretched into his grandmother’s drawl. To tell the truth, Marcus’s imitation of Patricia is frighteningly dead-on.
    I bit my lip, thinking. He was right. This was my golden opportunity, and if I didn’t take it, then I didn’t have any right to gripe about not having a boyfriend. “What should I say again?”
    â€œSay, ‘Hey, what’s the deal with Green Up Day?’”
    â€œI don’t know. . . .”
    â€œYou can’t let Astrid win!” Marcus cried.
    â€œOkay, okay. Jeez. Take a Xanax.” My fingers flew across the keyboard as I typed in the question.
    I held my breath, waiting for the response. The cursor blinked, and I realized I was counting silently. I had reached eleven when Jeffrey’s screen name appeared again.
    <>
    â€œOhmigosh!” I said. “Ohmigosh! It worked!”
    Marcus chuckled. “See?” he said eagerly. “You’re talking to him!”
    â€œNow what?” I asked.
    â€œPlay hard-to-get,” Marcus commanded. “Tell him you’ll have to check your busy schedule.”
    I typed it in. It seemed like we had to wait forever until the response scrolled upward.
    <>
    I squealed. “He’s funny!”
    Just then, Astrid piped in with <>
    Marcus narrowed his eyes. “That wily little Wiener schnitzel,” he snarled. “Okay, we’re taking it up a notch. Tell him to meet you in one of the private chat rooms.” I obeyed.
    <> was the reply.
    A few moments later, Jeffrey and I were all alone in cyberspace, and Astrid was smoked sausage. My heart was starting to pound.
    â€œOkay, go for it!” Marcus said.
    Like it was just that simple. “What do I say?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? Say anything!”
    â€œYou know I’m no good at writing,” I told Marcus. This is true. English is my worst subject. My teacher, Ms. Fleiss, is always telling me to “write the way I speak.” But whenever I do that, she writes frag and run-on all over my papers. So, whatever, I’ve just given up on the whole thing. “You’re the writer. I have to rely on my in-person charm.”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake,” Marcus griped. “Gimme the chair. Okay, so what do we know about him? Classes? Interests? Aside from Canadian politics.”
    â€œI don’t know—he’s a junior, so he must take health.”
    I hopped out of the desk chair and flopped on my bed as Marcus took over the keyboard. I propped myself up against the pillows as Marcus’s fingers pounded the keys. “‘How do you like health class?’” Marcus read aloud.
    â€œNo, no,” I said. “Then he’ll know that I know he’s a junior.”
    â€œIntrigue without commitment,” Marcus suggested.
    I sighed. “Send.”
    <>
    â€œOkay, now I’m going to ask him how he likes Ms. Hay— if you approve .” Marcus was laying on the sarcasm.
    â€œJust do it.”
    Marcus paused for a moment, reading, then laughed out loud.
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” I asked.
    â€œHe said that only Ms. Hay could make sex into something boring.”
    I sat up straighter. “That’s what I said the minute I saw her—that they must have picked the most unattractive person on earth to teach sex ed as some kind of pro-teen abstinence thing!”
    â€œI know,” Marcus said, typing away. “This is perfect—you two were made for each other. Okay, now you’re going to sign up for Green Up