Perfect Girl - Weebly

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.”
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