Only Girls Allowed Read Online Free PDF Page B

note of where Forrest was in the cafeteria—sitting with the other football players and Taylor, as usual. I would have to pass right by them on my way to take back my tray. I allowed myself a quick glance—long enough to notice that Taylor was not only sitting at his table, she was sharing his chair!
    As if she knew I was watching, Taylor threw back her head and laughed like Forrest had said the funniest thingshe’d ever heard. I tried to look away but just couldn’t. Then, for a flash, Forrest saw me. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t
not
smile, either. His in-between expression was even harder to figure out than the
hey
from the bus.
Watch your step, Taylor,
I thought. Yeah, right. You know who should watch her step? Me.

 

    Later that day, at study hall time, I confidently opened my locker and waited until everyone else had drifted away. When I was alone, I thrust my hand in to open the pink locker and grabbed the combination dial. I was prepared for the lighting issues this time with my key chain that has a little green flashlight on the end. With one hand, I sent a bolt of green light toward the combination dial. With my other hand, I spelled out R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I was in. I even closed the door quietly and stepped
ever so carefully
down the too-tall step and placed both feet securely on the thick rose rug.
    In fact, I was the first girl in the office and was able to look around without any distractions for about thirty seconds. What I saw made me feel once again like I was dreaming.The old-lady furnishings and the dusty tarps were gone. It was spotlessly clean and completely renovated. It looked like a ritzy hotel suite. The place could have been on TV or in the movies, like if someone was running a modeling agency.
    On one side of the room, there was now a U-shaped pink couch with a glass table in the center. Floral arrangements had been added to the now-dust-free conference table. The old pink phone had been replaced by a sleek black model. Silver appliances gleamed from the kitchen. Lifting my head toward the loft (aided this time by my glasses), I could see a row of computers giving off a green glow.
    The only trace of the old office was a pile of machines at the foot of the stairs. Turns out they weren’t sewing machines after all. They were typewriters: super-old black ones with no power cords and newer (but still old) electric ones that were aqua and must have weighed fifty pounds each.
    Kate was next to arrive, and she just stood in one spot, taking in all the changes. Piper arrived next. “No way!” she said of the sparkling new faucets, stone countertops, and monogrammed hand towels. Not PLS, as you might expect, but P, J, K, and B—one for each of us.
    â€œWho is paying for this?” Piper wanted to know.
    â€œThe Pinkies, apparently,” Kate said as she picked up a note that had been left next to the snacks on the table.
    We watched her scan the note. As she held it up, I couldsee through the back side of the rose-colored stationery. The writer had the formal, forward-leaning handwriting of a teacher or grandmother.
    â€œIt says that we’re the new generation of the Pink Locker Society, and they wanted to give us a ‘well-appointed, comfortable place to work,’ ” Kate said.
    â€œMay I?” Piper said, pinching a corner of the note and taking it.
    â€œHmmm . . . ‘For reasons you can understand, those who have endowed the new PLS shall remain anonymous.’ And it’s signed ‘Edith.’ ”
    â€œShe must be the one who called us the first day,” I said, “She never gave her name.”
    â€œSo the retired Pinkies have some dough. That’s good news,” Piper said.
    â€œHey, where’s Bet?” Kate asked. “She’s missing all the fun.”
    Long after the golden minute had passed, Bet was still nowhere to be found. We went to her locker and opened it from the office side. It was