Not Anything Read Online Free PDF Page B

guy,” I whisper.
    “Is this supposed to be funny?” Danny reenacts the hit in slow motion. I can’t help but laugh.
    “I guess so.” His dimples appear. I want to rub my finger in the indent.
    “You’re lucky. I actually considered using the Encyclopedia Britannica. ” I pause. “Letters A–G.”
    He runs his hand protectively over his skull. “That would have hurt.”
    “What did you tell your sister?” I am curious. I’ve never had my name pass between the lips of the socially elite.
    “I told her about what happened. What you said, and what I said, and well”—Danny looks down at his hands before speaking—“I don’t know. I just told her some stuff.”
    “Oh.”
    “So why did you throw the book at me?”
    Good question. Too bad I didn’t have one good, rational answer to give to him.
    “I don’t know. You really smelled, and you were mimicking me, and you were there with this I don’t care that I’m late attitude. I just wanted to…” I trail off. It’s obvious from the knot on his head what I wanted to do.
    “Well, I couldn’t help stinking. The showers really weren’t working. And being late…sometimes the coach keeps us late. And, I was a jerk mimicking you like that, but I was just playing.”
    At this point, he could tell me that he likes green eggs and ham. I don’t care. I’m stuck somewhere between understanding that our knees are touching and that he, too, washes his face with Neutrogena. I can smell it on him.
    “So…” he says.
    “So…”
    “I’m sorry.” He looks me straight in the eye. “I’m going to try to do better. I’m going to try to be prepared and not stink.”
    “I’m sorry, too,” I mutter, looking away.
    “What?” He leans in closer.
    “I’m sorry,” I repeat in a clearer yet equally low tone.
    “Hey, no problem. Just, if you don’t mind, stand over there,” he points at the wall and grabs a book off the coffee table, “while I throw this at you.”
    I smile and he smiles back—penny eyes, dimple indents, bright white teeth and all. He smiles back, and I feel ridiculous because never, in my entire life, has it felt so good to see someone smile.
    Which might explain why I suddenly blurt out, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
    He tilts his head to the side and considers me. Even though I am holding my breath, I tell myself that I really am asking this question for Tamara.
    “No. Why?” His eyes seem to challenge me to admit that I like him.
    “Um…” Tell the truth, something deep inside whispers. “Um, because Tamara wants to know.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Why did I just point out that Tamara likes him? Who wouldn’t like thousand-watt Tamara over ten-watt me?
    “Tamara?” He doesn’t seem surprised. “So, we’re cool?”
    “We’re cool,” I reply, watching him walk to the door.
    “So, I’ll see you in school tomorrow?” His hand pauses on the doorknob.
    “Yeah.”
    “Cool.”
    “Cool,” I repeat.
    After he leaves, I flick off the living room light and sit in the dark. I watch the shadows dance as random car lights flood the room. In the dark, everything changes. Just like me.

NINE
lots and lots of candy
    “how do i look?”
    Marisol’s mom, Leslie, is a psychologist, and she’s usually 100 percent confident, except for tonight. Tonight, she keeps asking how she looks. It’s really annoying because the whole conversation sound like listening to a CD for the millionth time. It’s like this:
     
    M ARISOL: Mom, you look great.
    Time passes.
    M ARISOL: Seriously, Mom, you look perfect.
    Time passes.
    M ARISOL (with a really bad French accent): Mom, you are tres fabulous.
     
    And it’s true, Marisol’s mom does look fabulous.
    Tonight is Halloween. The night that Marisol and I rent all the Halloween movies from the video store, curl up on the family room sofa, and eat all the candy that we’re supposed to be passing out to the neighborhood kids.
    Even without all the candy (okay,