Perfect Girl - Weebly
Perfect Girl - Weebly Perfect Girl - Weebly
time, but it just makes my face look greasy and freckly. And my white skin blushes fast. All a teacher has to do is say my name in class and I instantly blush and sweat. Mom says the blushing will stop eventually. But, she sighs, “Sweating is forever.” God, I hope she’s wrong. The truth is, ever since I met New York’s Goddess of Love, I decided to view myself as a Goddess in the making—with the unfortunate exception of being clueless when it comes to enticing boys. Admittedly a stumbling block on my way to Goddesshood. Still, I’m definitely pretty enough to be Perry Gould’s girlfriend. If I could get him to stop treating me as his childhood pal! I sigh. Like I do every time I think of how far I am from Perfect Girl. “How could this happen?” I ask Aunt Marty in our living room. “Perfect Girl appears the moment I fall in love?” She asks, “You’re sure Perry is interested in her?” My shoulders sag. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.” I flash on my food court fantasy. In it, Perfect Boy is definitely not Perry Gould. My Perfect Boy would saunter over to my table. I’d dip a french fry into barbecue sauce, and he’d lean down close to my ear and say, “There’s this party in Dover.” I’d say, “Oh yeah?” He’d ask, “Wanna go?” 64
I’d say, “Sure,” without worrying about my mom going all mental or wondering how I’d get there, or how I’d get home. Then he’d ask, “Where can I pick you up?” and I’d know he was not only a gentleman, but sixteen, too. Just looking at him would turn my insides into Cream of Wheat. Of course, my vision is so far from reality it might as well be on Mars. Mom won’t even let me go to Dover Mall without her. So, a party? With a boy? In a car? Yeah right, I’d have better luck convincing my mother to pierce her own navel. (“It’ll look cool! All the mothers are doing it!”) Then again, I’m living proof that the weirdest stuff can happen. Like the fact that I’m now feeling all Cream of Wheat over Perry Gould. “I need major help,” I tell my aunt. “And I don’t have much time.” She hugs me tight and says, “Don’t worry. I’m here. Perry Gould will soon be crawling at your feet.” She looks down at my bare toes. “First stop,” she says, “a pedicure.” 65
- Page 21 and 22: you see all four of them? They’re
- Page 23 and 24: MOM HAS HER FEET PROPPED UP ON OUR
- Page 25 and 26: Mom—her kinky reddish-gray curls
- Page 27 and 28: ping powerhouse, Odessa, Delaware,
- Page 29 and 30: when I’m in love with a boy who h
- Page 31 and 32: four, but it felt like forty. We le
- Page 33 and 34: a giant looping ramp. Suddenly, I s
- Page 35 and 36: and Destruction” lectures. “Eve
- Page 37 and 38: Before I could figure out what to s
- Page 39 and 40: I laughed, too. Tried to look as ca
- Page 41 and 42: “Do you have these in red?” she
- Page 43 and 44: what everyone else did. “These cr
- Page 45 and 46: sure they’d been ironed. Everythi
- Page 47 and 48: in front of other males, about not
- Page 49 and 50: “WE CAME ALL THIS WAY FOR A DAY ?
- Page 51 and 52: “Who told you?” my mother asked
- Page 53 and 54: The last thing I saw were Aunt Mart
- Page 55 and 56: Far back in the corner of my closet
- Page 57 and 58: emember it. Like the soft, warm com
- Page 59 and 60: asking Aunt Marty for advice about
- Page 61 and 62: un both hands down the front of her
- Page 63 and 64: Mom is speechless. Her hair is a kn
- Page 65 and 66: She slams the freezer door shut in
- Page 67 and 68: WE’RE TOO LATE. BY THE TIME I BRI
- Page 69 and 70: “We have company!” he exclaims.
- Page 71: ack). He’d round a corner, wearin
- Page 75 and 76: I wiggle my freshly painted toenail
- Page 77 and 78: “Thanks,” I say, calling after
- Page 79 and 80: But—and this is a humongous but
- Page 81 and 82: Arthur turned into a puppy. I kept
- Page 83 and 84: IF AUNT MARTY WEREN’T SMACK IN TH
- Page 85 and 86: the wall that separates the living
- Page 87 and 88: about your birth.” “What have y
- Page 89 and 90: “She was the only member of my fa
- Page 91 and 92: Quietly, she repeats, “There is o
- Page 93 and 94: Swiveling, she turns her back on me
- Page 95 and 96: corn. I want to bury my face in it
- Page 97 and 98: “Check this out,” Perry says, s
- Page 99 and 100: We sit. On the white couch. Like tw
- Page 101 and 102: Aunt Marty steps back and watches o
- Page 103 and 104: “I want my daughter to be prepare
- Page 105 and 106: AUNT MARTY’S CAR SMELLS LIKE HER
- Page 107 and 108: loop of their relationship going. I
- Page 109 and 110: “I know.” Truth be told, it’s
- Page 111 and 112: sunscreen, and something I can’t
- Page 113 and 114: Only, when I see Frankie, she hands
- Page 115 and 116: IT’S THE SMELL OF CINNAMON AND BU
- Page 117 and 118: Aunt Marty beams. She races ahead,
- Page 119 and 120: Lilah impatiently asks, “What siz
- Page 121 and 122: “Nothing,” I say. “Good. Now
time, but it just makes my face look greasy and freckly. And<br />
my white skin blushes fast. All a teacher has to do is say my<br />
name in class and I instantly blush and sweat. Mom says the<br />
blushing will stop eventually. But, she sighs, “Sweating is<br />
forever.”<br />
God, I hope she’s wrong.<br />
The truth is, ever since I met New York’s Goddess of<br />
Love, I decided to view myself as a Goddess in the<br />
making—with the unfortunate exception of being clueless<br />
when it comes to enticing boys. Admittedly a stumbling<br />
block on my way to Goddesshood. Still, I’m definitely<br />
pretty enough to be Perry Gould’s girlfriend. If I could get<br />
him to stop treating me as his childhood pal!<br />
I sigh. Like I do every time I think of how far I am from<br />
<strong>Perfect</strong> <strong>Girl</strong>.<br />
“How could this happen?” I ask Aunt Marty in our<br />
living room. “<strong>Perfect</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> appears the moment I fall in<br />
love?”<br />
She asks, “You’re sure Perry is interested in her?”<br />
My shoulders sag. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”<br />
I flash on my food court fantasy. In it, <strong>Perfect</strong> Boy is<br />
definitely not Perry Gould. My <strong>Perfect</strong> Boy would saunter<br />
over to my table. I’d dip a french fry into barbecue sauce,<br />
and he’d lean down close to my ear and say, “There’s this<br />
party in Dover.”<br />
I’d say, “Oh yeah?”<br />
He’d ask, “Wanna go?”<br />
64
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