Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch Read Online Free PDF Page A

it’ll be too late for me.
    What a waste of a festive bobby pin.
    PS—He was too embarrassed to say the words violin recital, so he whispered them instead. Why does he have to torture me with his cuteness?
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4:47 PM, EST
    Have you guys started having bar mitzvahs yet? We have. Roger Morris is having his next week. I must say, I’m a little caught off guard by it all. For one thing, seventh grader or not, at seventeen, Roger’s way too old to be having a bar mitzvah now. And for another, it just feels so grown-up. I remember back in Berkeley Middle School when the older kids started going to bar mitzvahs. They seemed so mature. Like they were one step away from going to cocktail parties, business lunches, gallery openings, and other events that call for a black pencil skirt and a smart pair of slingbacks.
    I’ve got to say, everyone here seems in such a tizzy about it all. How they’re going to look, what they’re going to wear, what present to bring. Even Fiona seems nervous about it. I overheard her telling Hailey she booked three tanning sessions between now and then. And Jeremy told me he was buying a new suit for it. And even Lynn asked me if I thought it’d be hypocritical for her to go in a pink dress.
    I’m curious to see how she looks dressed up. I’ve never seen her in anything but head-to-toe black—from her lipstick right down to the platforms of her boots. But frankly, if I were her, I wouldn’t be as concerned about hypocrisy as I would be about footwear.
    I wish I knew what the big fuss was. Something really huge must be happening. Maybe bar mitzvah is Hebrew for “sex party.”
    I better find out. That’s the kind of thing you want to be prepared for. Especially if there’s someone you’re in love with and you’ve never even kissed anyone before.
    When I get home tonight, I’ll have to ask Samantha. I’d ask Lynn, but since that hand-kissing incident, I’m trying to be more careful with my questions. Who knows what she’ll try and do if I ask her about a sex party. . . .
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5:36 PM, EST
    I found Samantha sitting on the edge of the tub with her jeans rolled up, shaving her legs. I’d wanted to ask her about the sex party, but the shaving sidetracked me.
    â€œWhy are you shaving?” I asked her.
    â€œBecause I’m going out with Sid later.”
    â€œSo, boys don’t like when girls have hair on their legs?” I asked her.
    â€œWell, they like it better when our legs are smooth,” Sam said.
    â€œBut they have hair on their legs. Why don’t they shave?”
    â€œBecause body hair is considered masculine,” she said.
    I’m not sure I get why it’s okay for guys to be hairy and not for girls. But when I took a look at the fur growing on my legs, I realized that they could easily be the problem. I mean, nobody, girl or boy, should have legs that look like they could be growing out of the body of a wildebeest.
    â€œCan I shave my legs?” I asked her.
    â€œSure,” she said, shaking the can of shaving cream. “But just be sure it’s something you really want to do, because once you start, it grows back thicker, and there’s no turning back.”
    I thought about it for a minute and decided I was ready to make the commitment. If things worked out with CJ, I’d have to start keeping my legs smooth anyway. And if they didn’t, I’d probably end up joining a nunnery, where the newly thickened fur would be hidden under a habit.
    Sam handed me a can of raspberry-scented shaving cream and a fancy-looking teal razor. I started with the left leg. It was kind of fun. And it didn’t hurt at all. Not even when I cut myself and the bleeding wouldn’t stop for fifteen minutes.
    When I was done with the first leg, I showed Samantha how smooth it was. She pointed to my toes and said, “You need to do those too.” And she was absolutely right. I