Thirteen Plus One Read Online Free PDF Page A

SOMETHING SCARY
    ADMIT IT WHEN I’M WRONG
    MAKE A PREDICTION, AND ...
    HAVE IT COME TRUE!
    DON’T DIE
    PEACE OUT!
     
    My list wasn’t perfect. So? I wasn’t perfect. But I was fourteen, and I had a plan.

Have a Deep Moment with Sandra
    A COUPLE OF WEEKS AFTER MY BIRTHDAY, my English teacher and Cinnamon’s English teacher brought both our classes together and had us watch an old movie called Black Widow . I didn’t know why. Nobody knew why. But every so often, Ms. Kozinski and Ms. Adler did this sort of thing, and the two of them would whisper and giggle in the back of the room while we watched the film.
    They were good friends, Ms. Kozinski and Ms. Adler. They went shopping together and had margaritas together and gossiped about guys together. How did we know? Because they told us. Cinnamon and I especially loved it when Ms. K and Ms. Adler went on double dates. They always came back with ridiculous, horrible things to say about the guys in question, like that Ms. Adler’s date smelled like cheese or Ms. K’s date brought up NPR every third sentence.
    “Well, I heard on NPR ...” Ms. Adler might say in a pompous voice, and the students clustered around her desk would giggle and egg her on.
    Ms. Adler wasn’t the greatest teacher in terms of actually teaching us academic, English-y stuff, but I liked the fact that she was a grown-up and still had fun. I liked the fact that she still had a BFF, and that they tried on shoes together instead of playing bridge or doing frozen meal swaps.
    I expected Cinnamon and Dinah and me to stay BFFs forever. I imagined the three of us having crazy weekends and then sharing the details with each other during Sunday brunch at some swanky restaurant. Or maybe not a swanky restaurant. Ms. Adler and Ms. K were swanky-restaurant types, but maybe Cinnamon, Dinah, and I would have brunch at a pub, or a truck stop.
    Anyway, the tagline for Black Widow was “She Mates and She Kills. No Man Can Resist Her.” It was about a woman who married one rich man after another, murdering them all and inheriting their money. When class ended, Cinnamon leaned over and said in my ear, “Dude, that black widow lady is my role model.”
    “Cinnamon,” I scolded. “She is not your role model. She killed people.”
    “Not ‘people.’ Just guys.”
    I gathered my books and stood up. “Ha ha.”
    “The lady in the movie used guys the way guys use us,” Cinnamon argued. “And that’s what I’m going to do from now on.”
    I headed into the hall. “Cinn, you are going to end up a dried-out, wrinkled pill if you don’t get over this I-hate-guys kick.”
    “But I do hate guys,” she said.
    “No, you hate Bryce.”
    “Same diff.”
    I twisted sideways to avoid being rammed by a seventh grader. “I think you need to go out with someone else,” I told her. “Someone who’s not a player.”
    “Okay, great idea,” Cinnamon said with over-the-top chirpiness. “Make him for me, will ya? Snap your fingers and make him materialize?”
    I shot her a look and considered pulling out my hair ... or hers. Today she was wearing it in a topknot, held in place with a fork.
    “I can’t ‘make’ you a boy,” I said. “There’s no such thing as the Boy Factory.”
    “There should be,” Cinnamon said.
    “You just have to ... be nicer. Lose your attitude.” My gaze traveled up. “And maybe not jab weapons of mass destruction in your hair.”
    “A fork isn’t a weapon of mass destruction,” Cinnamon informed me. “A fork is a weapon of minor destruction. Like for stabbing the hearts of cheating, lying exes.”
    “Uh-huh, doing great,” I told her. “You’ll have a new boyfriend in no time.”
    I spotted Dinah by her locker, deep in conversation with a girl named Mary. Mary was doing most of the talking, while Dinah listened intently and gnawed on her bottom lip. I frowned, because what could Mary be saying to make Dinah look so ... involved?
    I didn’t mean that in a weird possessive