Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [71]
Most important, I know Len likes me in an uncomplicated, straightforward way. I’m tired of playing with (and being played by) Marcus. Game over.
Forfeitingly yours,
J.
december
the fifth
I finally understand why the whole Marcus thing happened last year. I needed Marcus to lead me to my true love, Len Levy. My elementary-school crush wasn’t just a crush, it was the first chapter of our complicated courtship. Now I just have to Love Him. Right now I’m stuck somewhere between Liking Him Enough and Liking Him a Lot. I didn’t go into this thinking I’d come out as Len’s girlfriend, which is why it is just so meant to be. Really.
Then, the day after the Anti-Homecoming, Len launched into a list of reasons why he’s happy I’m his girlfriend.
I’m smart.
I’m focused.
I’m driven to go somewhere and do something with my life.
I see life beyond Pineville High, unlike most girls.
I have a very attractive figure.
(Yes, this bears a vague resemblance to the list I gave Hope. So I cribbed it. Sue me.)
Never in my life has a member of the opposite sex so thoughtfully and so thoroughly expressed his appreciation for my virtues. I was touched. So much so that I told him to come right over. He said he’d be there in ten minutes. Len does what he says he’ll do—he was on-the-dot punctual. Precisely ten minutes and thirty seconds after I had hung up, we were hooking up.
I’ve realized that all that stuff about seeing Fourth of July fireworks is bullshit, propaganda promoted by the people responsible for Meg Ryan movies and the Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus books. I haven’t seen so much as a lit match.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t like kissing Len, because I do. I’d say on the scale of guys I’ve kissed, he comes way ahead of Scotty, and pulls a squeaker against Cal (though Cal got points taken off by assuming our one and only kiss meant that he could jump my bones right there on the golf course during my sister’s wedding reception). Len’s lips are soft and pleasant. He pays attention to what my mouth, lips, and tongue are doing to him, and responds in kind with an almost technical precision. I’ll bet Len takes the same approach to fooling around as he does to academics. He studies hard, applies himself, and eventually masters the material. It’s a good thing he’s a quick learner. And when it comes down to it, kissing him is more enjoyable than not kissing anyone.
It’s also a good way to get my mind off my Columbia dilemma.
Ever since I saw Paul Parlipiano at the Anti-Homecoming, I can’t get Columbia off my mind. I see a future for me there. Whenever I’ve tried to superimpose Amherst, Piedmont, Swarthmore, or Williams in the visual, it never works. Then again, when I try to picture myself as Len’s girlfriend—which I am—I have trouble doing that, too. My mind’s imaginings obviously have little do to with reality.
the eleventh
This is how Bridget greeted me this morning:
“AAAIIIEEEEEE!!!”
I didn’t even have to look at the magazine to know what had inspired this kamikaze outburst, but I did anyway. Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace was in Harper’s Bazaar, clicked at some fashion designer’s thirtieth birthday party, wearing what appeared to be a red leather Band-Aid.
Wild-child turned writer/actress Cinthia Wallace flaunts her less cerebral assets in Gucci. Filming is about to begin on the celluloid adaptation of her soon-to-be-released novel, Bubblegum Bimbos. Both the book and the movie are inspired by the six months the Princess of the Park Avenue Posse went undercover at a New Jersey high school.
“AAAIIIEEE!” Bridget shrieked again. “I am, like, so sick of seeing that fat, ugly moonface!”
With the release of Bubblegum Bimbos just days away, Hy had been popping up all over newspapers and magazines in full-on promo mode. Bridget’s sanity was tested with each additional photo and caption. She’s pre-ordered a copy of the book,