Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [7]
Later, in the locker room, Carrie P. brought me back to reality in the straight-talking way that only she can.
"Jess, if you keep torturing yourself, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass."
I think maybe she should. Kick my fucking ass, that is. I am hopelessly in love with a guy I barely know. If this doesn’t qualify me for an ass-kicking, nothing does. As a senior, Carrie P. has seen this kind of lame behavior a bizillion times before. I suspect that she’s figured out how I feel about him even though I’ve never said a word about it to anyone but Hope. In accordance with alphabetical destiny, Paul Parlipiano and Carrie P. have sat by each other in nearly every class since seventh grade, so I can’t ever confirm her suspicions.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about," I said.
the eighteenth
I got in trouble today (technically, yesterday—but until I fall asleep, my day isn’t done). This was a big deal. I can remember every time I’ve been so much as reprimanded by a teacher.
1. First grade. I’m running back to Miss Moore’s class from my accelerated reading group. I’m in a hurry because it’s Thanksgiving and we’re making mini-turkeys out of apples, toothpicks, marshmallows, and gumdrops. I’m about halfway there when I’m stopped by Mr. Buxton, whose villainous handlebar mustache automatically makes him the meanest teacher in school. He tells me that running isn’t allowed and asks for my name. I can barely say it because the snickering sixth-graders are so grown-up and intimidating. He writes my name down on his calendar and tells me that if he stops me again before he turns the page, I will have to take the late bus home. (The late bus is a pretty hefty threat because it’s for bad kids.)
I cry all the way back to my classroom, where all the kids are making mini-turkeys and singing songs about Pilgrims and Indians. Miss Moore asks me what’s wrong and I tell her that I don’t like books anymore. For a while after that, I pretend to forget how to read so I won’t have to walk all the way to Mrs. Steinbeck’s third-grade class and miss out on all the fun my first-grade friends have with Miss Moore.
2. Fifth grade. Someone has written Jess D. Is A Bitch in pencil on the door to the middle stall in the girls’ bathroom. This really upsets me. Bridget—who at this point in time is still my best friend and a very reliable source—tells me that it was written by Lisa Caputo. Lisa has been holding a grudge against me ever since I said that I don’t like sleeping over at her house because her father doesn’t wear any underwear underneath his bathrobe and sits with his legs spread wide apart at breakfast.
So it’s recess and my friends and I are hanging out by the backstop, playing the fortune-telling game MASH like we always do. I’ve just found out that I’m destined to marry Screech from Saved by the Bell, have six kids, drive an olive-green golf cart, and live in a shack when Bridget suddenly grabs Lisa by the arms and says, Here’s your chance to get back at her! Kick her! I kick her. Lisa screams and then cries, which catches the attention of our teacher, Mrs. Cahill, who tries to get Lisa to tell her who kicked her. She tells her. Then I explain it was because she wrote the "B" word about me in the bathroom. Mrs. Cahill makes us both take the late bus. (The threat finally put into effect.)
My dad is still reconfiguring a network, or whatever he does with computers when he isn’t riding his bike. My mom is showing a newly minted Wall Street millionaire a wildly overpriced beachfront property that will bring her a sweet commission. I know I’ll get home before either one of them, so I don’t worry about their reaction. They never find out about it.
3. Eighth grade. Although I was pissed that we got caught, I never felt bad about anything