Josie, Nicolette, and Aviva all get mixed up with a senior boy–a cool, slick, sexy boy who can talk them into doing almost anything he wants. In a blur of high school hormones and personal doubt, each girl struggles with how much to give up and what ultimately to keep for herself. How do girls handle themselves? How much can a boy get away with? And in the end, who comes out on top? A bad boy may always be a bad boy. But this bad boy is about to meet three girls who won’t back down.
Release date:
December 18, 2007
Publisher:
Wendy Lamb Books
Print pages:
240
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I'm not stuck up. I'm confident. There's a big difference. If I was stuck up I'd be one of those "Oh look at me, I'm so pretty" girls instead of just appreciating the fact that my cinnamon skin looks good year-round and I can hop in the shower after soccer or lacrosse, throw on a clean sweatshirt, sweep on some mascara, let my hair loose from its pony, and give any girl a serious run for her money. And while I totally deserve my spot in Honors English I'm happy to take my proper place in Algebra I, suffering alongside the rest of the mediocre math heads. So, as far as high school boys go, I'm not so floundering in self-esteem issues that I need someone's arm to hang on or someone's jersey number to cheer for to be a legitimate person, like some people I know. Man, to listen to Kim and Caroline chatter away all summer you'd think we've been waiting our whole pathetic lives just to graduate middle school and get to Point Beach High so we could date high school boys. As if high school boys hold some kind of magical key to who we all really are.
The Whole Truth
All that stuff I just said is absolutely swear-to-God true, but the rest of the truth the whole truth is lately I don't have as tight a grip on my confidence as usual. I mean, this is high school. Sure, I was pretty popular in middle school, but you never know how these things are going to turn out. What if what Kim and Caroline call my natural look is considered totally lame in high school? What if wanting to read during lunch makes me a total geek? What if I don't fit in at all?
Jigsaw
It's funny how one night can change the way you look at certain things. I mean, I believe 100 percent that high school boys don't hold any magical key or anything but that's not the same as saying they're all bad. Some of them aren't so bad. Like, maybe, this one. I saw him across the gym before he saw me. He was scoping things out at the Fall Fling, looking for that one lucky freshman to win the prize of dancing with the studly senior. I think he picked me because I looked right at him as if I couldn't care less. I couldn't care more. My heart was pounding, palms sweaty. Hit me like a surprise party you cross-your-heart had no idea anyone was throwing you. Now, I have never understood all that he's-my-other-half soul mate stuff or when people sometimes talk about having an empty space inside or that they're missing pieces or something. But then he walked over and fit himself right into my puzzle.
First (Real) Date: Part One
I think Mom is a little bit worried the first guy I'm dating is a senior. She should know me better than that. I never do anything I don't want to do. That's not going to change. I mean, when everyone thought it was so cool to sit on the seawall and puff through a pack of Marlboro Lights, I had a blast sitting there laughing, telling them how truly stupid and uncool they really were, actually, coughing and sputtering and wanting to puke, yeah, real sexy, dopes. Give me some credit. I never do anything I don't want to do. Period. He picks me up in his brand-new Mazda Miata. I hate to admit it, but he kind of cracked my cool-as-a-cucumber exterior I tried to pull off at the dance (even though I'm hoping he didn't notice I talked way too fast) but now all he's talking about is how many horsepowers his stupid car has and the torque and how he almost picked cherry red but he's so stoked that they had this sweet ocean color come in at the last minute and I'm starting to think maybe I made a big mistake, but I just smile and nod, like the idiotic bobblehead planted in the middle of his dashboard, pretending this is the most interesting conversation ever. Man, I hope he doesn't keep this up too long. We pull in to Smiles. The parking lot is alive, too many radio stations blaring kids making out in cars sitting on hoods eating hot dogs high-fiving smoking various things drinking various things talking too loud about nothing. Real fun. Inside the scene isn't all that different, except it's another kind of dark punctuated by the bright lights of too many pulsing video games jammed up against each other. We walk over to a big bunch of seniors by the batting cages he drapes his arm around me real possessive, which should have immediately brought out my I-can-take-care-of-myself attitude, but instead stirs this way-foreign tingly "Oh my God, he really likes me" rush. (Lame! Did I just actually think that?) "Dude!" "Who's the babe? Freshmeat?" one of the jocks says, right in front of my face. "Get it? Freshmen, freshmeat?" He's laughing hysterically, like this is the most hilarious thing anyone has ever heard. "Yeah, got it. Guys, this is Josie." A round of Hi's, How's It Goin's, and What's Up's are tossed in my general direction. "Hi." I never thought this scene would interest me but actually, I feel really, I don't know, included, I guess, with his arm wrapped around me pulling me into a group-- and not just any group: the coolest, most popular group of seniors, even though the guys are fairly juvenile. "Hey, we're all heading over to Lindsey's in a while," one of the boys says. "Time to party!" "Okay. We'll hit that, too. All right, Jos?" "Okay. Sure." Although I'm not at all sure because my Mom would freak if she knew I was going to a senior party.
First (Real) Date: Part Two
We hang out at Smiles for a while, eat some truly nasty pizza, then head over to Lindsey's. On the drive over he rests his hand on my thigh, "Are you having a good time?" "Yes." "Good, I'm glad. I want you to have fun." His hand is still on my thigh. He's going on and on about something, his car again, I think, but I can't concentrate with his fingers moving back and forth like that and even though he's acting real innocent, like he's got no goal or anything, the heat from his fingers is searing through to my skin like one of those iron-on transfers. I could almost bet when I look later his handprint will have been permanently imprinted on my leg. Then he raises the stakes. He moves his hand onto mine picks it up and puts it on his thigh. He takes his eyes off the road for a second looks at me and smiles. Like the big bad wolf. If I was in a comic strip, there'd be a bubble coming out of my head with the word "Gulp" in it.
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