Wrangler Read Online Free PDF Page B

have.
    “Are you done with these?”  I ask, reaching for the loaded cheese fries on Tabitha’s plate.
    “Yeah, help yourself.  I already ate what I want.”
    I’m holding the first fry to my lips when I hear Lacy’s voice from behind me.
    “A moment on the lips, girls.”  Her sing song sarcasm rakes on my nerves.  “And your hips don’t lie.”  She laughs with a shake of her ass.
    Lacy looks like a tattooed Barbie gone Goth.  It’s not that I don’t like tattoos, it’s just that on Lacy everything seems ugly.  We’ve worked together for four months and she’s not warmed up to me one bit.
    “Shut up,” Tabitha barks. 
    Tabitha is not only more personable than me, but tougher too.  We both grew up in a trailer park a good hour and a half east of here, but we are so different.  She’s got this strawberry blond hair in cute, little ringlets.  And that alone is a constant source of amusement when people first meet her.
    She looks like a little kewpie doll but she’s got talons behind that innocent exterior.  She’s a few inches shorter than me but makes up for it with sass.  I like being around her, she’s good with people, chats with anyone like they are an old friend.  Me?  I have trouble figuring out how to put a noun and a verb together in most social situations.
    After all these years as friends I would have thought some of her personality would rub off on me, but no.  I’m still that shy, plump girl who thinks nothing she has to say would be of any interest to anyone.
    I reach into my skirt pocket for my ChapStick, and Tabitha watches me as I pop the cap and rub the waxy goodness over my lips. Then I rub them together and pop them playfully in her direction.
    “You and your ChapStick.”  She leans back in her chair, fiddling with one earring.  “It’s an addiction.  For real. ” 
    “What.  Ev.  Er .”  I turn my nose up and exaggerate an air kiss at her, then stuff the black and white tube back in my pocket.
    “I mean it.  I looked it up. There are websites and support groups.  You, my friend, have a problem.” She points at me and I set down her empty glass on the service end of the bar then come back around to the small high top table where she’s planted herself for the evening.
    I giggle, half because of the absurdity and half because it’s true.  I’ve looked it up myself.  Me and ChapStick go way back.  And I am particular as well.  Only original will do.  Not mint.  Not cherry.  Original.
    “So, did the jeans you ordered fit?”  She asks as she gets up to retrieve the drink Leonard had set down for her.  She grabs it and slips back into the stool at the table.
    “Not really.”  I have an ongoing battle trying to find jeans that fit.  I ordered some online from a specialty shop with hope in my fingertips as I placed the order.
    When someone says you have a beautiful ‘hourglass’ figure.  Sure, great.  Try finding jeans that fit those proportions.  It ain’t easy.  Usually Aunt Jessie alters the ones I do buy but someday I wish a company would figure out how to fit a girl like me straight off the rack.
    We’re hunkered down at the corner table tucked away at the end of the bar, which is where the waitresses take breaks throughout the evening. Well, that’s what it’s here for anyway. A lot of them go outside instead to smoke cigarettes or do other things.  Most of the time I’m the only one that takes their break here.
    Tabitha doesn’t work here, so she’s not supposed to be in this part of the bar, but she’s not much for rule following and besides, the owner has known us both since he’d found us around midnight one night when we were seven years old dragging a suitcase and a lunch bag with two peanut butter sandwiches inside like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer.
    There we were, making our way across his back lawn on our way god knows where, and Crutch took pity, took us in and then drove us home. Said that running away would never