Project 17 Read Online Free PDF Page B

isn't the right thing for her."
    "No," she says. "This sounds perfect."
    "Yeah, I think you'd be great," Tony says, sucking up. "You have a great face." He makes a box with his fingers as though filming her face, and then pulls his pocket organizer from inside his coat pocket--Mr. Ever Reliable--to retrieve Derik's phone number. He jots it down on a slip of paper for her.
    "Thanks so much," she says. "You saved my life." At that, she turns on her heels and leaves, stage right.
    "What's with the look?" Tony says, just now noticing my scowl.
    "Drool much?" I ask him.
    "Only drool for you, babealicious." He pulls me close and plants a big fat juicy one on my cheek. "She's got nothing over you."
    More like eight sexy inches in all the right places, not to mention shampoo-model hair, flawless skin, and movie star looks. "I want to be alone," I say in my best Greta Garbo accent, pronouncing the word want like vont. (Note: Greta Garbo is my hero--the most beautiful, most
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    talented, and most powerful actress of the twentieth century. It's true--and sad, if you ask me--that most people my age don't even know who she is. But that doesn't stop me from trying to clone myself into her.)
    "Well, I vont YOU," Tony says, Greta-Garboing back, trying to make his voice all raspy and deep. He snuggles into my neck, tugs slightly at my curly (Garboesque) brown tresses, and then wraps his arms around my slightly larger-than-size-ten middle. "Nobody's as sexy as you," he whispers.
    I'll have to admit, it does help to lift some of my stupid insecurities. After all, I'm the talented one, right? I'm the one who's been acting since she was a toddler, who got a part in a toilet paper commercial when she was only twenty-four months, who studied with Claude LeBoeuf in Woodstalk this past summer. Plus, let's face it, not all A-list actresses are supermodel gorgeous, right? Right?
    Yeah, Greta, right.
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    DERIK
    WE'RE GETTING TOGETHER tonight to plan things out. I told my parents that I'm meeting some people from school for a class project, so they really can't give me any crap-- especially since I arranged to meet the crew here, at the diner, where I'd be taking my dinner break anyway.
    At about five past seven everybody starts showing up--first Greta and Tony, these two drama rats from school, and then Mimi. At about 7:20, I really start to sweat it, checking myself in the door's glass reflection, making sure my pants aren't too baggy, that my shirt hangs just right, that my hair doesn't stick up too much.
    Because I'm still expecting one more person.
    Liza Miller.
    The most incredible girl in school.
    I first noticed her during our freshman year--standing on the curb, waiting for the bus, this long and twisty reddish-blond hair hanging down past her shoulders,
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    reminding me of ribbon candy. I think she caught me gawking at her because she paused from her book to look up--right at me, standing barely five feet away.
    I tried to smile, to think up something cool to say, but then I noticed the title of the book she was reading-- something written in German or Dutch or I don't know what. But it was way over my head. And so I just stood there, sort of dumbstruck--literally--watching her watch me.
    "Is there something wrong?" she asked, wiping her cheek like she had food on her face.
    I shook my head, noticing how her sweater matched the color of her eyes--an electric shade of green. I tried to think up something smart to say about it, but then she moved away, back toward the bus circle, probably skeeved out.
    But that wasn't the end of it.
    The very next day I got the lowdown on her--how she's a complete and total brainiac, only interested in books; how she doesn't give anyone, save the ball-busting teachers, the time of day; and how she doesn't date. Period.
    Normally I accept a challenge when I heat of one. But every time I got close to the girl--to try and talk to her-- I totally froze up. I mean, what do you say to a girl who's got her face in a