Perfect Girl - Weebly

yummy.” The closest I’ve ever come to eating salmon before
was StarKist tuna. “Appetizer size for me, too.”
“Us, too,” Frankie and Celeste chime in.
Our Cosmopolitans arrive, and Aunt Marty tells the
handsome waiter what we want. He says, “Excellent
choice.”
We beam and settle into the cushy leather seats. The
spindly stemmed glasses of our Cosmos stand like four
sparkling rose-hued sentries, guarding Wonderland.
“Vodka, triple sec, lime juice, and cranberry juice,” says
Aunt Marty.
My eyes get wide. “In mine,” she adds. “Yours are probably
jazzed-up ginger ales.”
I take a sip. It’s the best ginger ale ever.
“To us.” Aunt Marty raises her glass.
“To us,” we repeat. How amazing is it that Aunt Marty
considers us an us? I feel so high my ginger ale could have
been champagne. In fact, I feel wild—empowered with
Goddesslike potential.
“Now that you have our undivided attention,” I say to
my beautiful aunt, “will you teach us how to turn men into
quivering masses of adoring goo?”
Aunt Marty bursts out laughing. “Men? You’re fourteen.”
“Okay, boys,” I say. “After tonight, we want to become
Delaware’s Goddesses of Love.”
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