Read Online Any Red-Blooded Girl by Maggie Bloom - Free Book Online Page B

glorious, sparkling boyfriend
pulled me to him and unleashed an avalanche of hungry kisses that
consumed us so completely I could’ve sworn we were the last two
people on earth.
    Now things were happening pretty fast, so I’m
not sure he actually meant to do it— if he even did it at
all—but in the middle of our passionate grope-fest, I swear I felt
Mick’s fingers slip inside his shirt and caress my boob. Of course,
it also could’ve been a baby fish swimming in through the oversized
arm holes, so there was still some reasonable doubt.
    “I love you, Flora,” Mick whispered, pulling
back to look me in the eyes. “You’re it, you know. You’re
the one for me.”
    At his warm, perfectly-crooked smile, a spike
of pure happiness shot through me. And for some strange reason,
just then I thought of Jessie in Europe. But this time, instead of
feeling bad, all I could do was thank God for idiots like Jimmy
Bickford. Because I didn’t know if it was fate, or luck, or sheer
coincidence that I’d met the man of my dreams on a trip I was never
supposed to take. But I didn’t really care. All I cared about was
sucking up every last scintilla of bliss with my sweet, sweet
boyfriend before our romance came to its inevitably sad, tragic
end.
    “I love you, Mick Donovan,” I said, fighting
back tears. “Remember that. Forever. Remember me.”
    I stayed with Mick longer than I should have,
first in the water and then on a moonlit stroll around Wild Acres.
Because once I’d started thinking about our imminent separation, it
was all I could think about. And I didn’t want to let him
go. The two-year-old inside me wanted to throw a gigantic temper
tantrum. Yet somehow my almost grown-up self knew things would
never work out for Mick and me—at least not right now. Our lives
were just too far apart. I was Punxsutawney, PA—like it or not—and
Mick was a mysterious nomadic adventurer. There wasn’t much
crossover in our universes.
    “Goodnight,” I said, tiptoeing up to peck him
on the cheek in front of Tupelo-9. But on a night like this, a peck
just wouldn’t do. So like he was going off to war and I might never
see him again, I threw my arms around his waist and squeezed with a
vengeance.
    “Night,” he said, hugging me back just as
tight. “And happy sixteenth, by the way. It’s past midnight, you
know.”
    I’d figured it was pretty late, but honestly,
I’d forgotten about my birthday altogether. “Thanks,” I said with a
weak smile.
    “And don’t forget, we’re going to do
something special tomorrow,” he promised. “It’ll be a surprise.” He
loosened his grip on me. “And think about Michoacán. We could do it
this year. There’s still time.”
    I didn’t have the heart to ruin his hopeful,
joyous dream; I mean, it would’ve been too much like telling a
little kid there’s no Santa Claus. “Okay. I’ll think about it,” I
agreed, even though I knew it was impossible. “See you
tomorrow.”
     

Nine
    TO my surprise (and slight dismay) everyone
at Tupelo-9 was asleep when I crept into my alien pod in the wee
hours of my birthday morning. There was no late night vigil. No
worried hand wringing. No outward sign my presence had been missed
or my absence even noticed. Was this what adulthood was like? You
got your freedom but nobody gave a damn about you anymore? What a
rip-off.
    One thing that wasn’t a rip-off, however, was
the yummiest smell on earth that woke me on my sweet sixteen:
Belgian waffles. I guess my parents were pulling out all the stops
in their quest to control me. And this time they’d sunk to a new
low: bribery. Gee, if I’d known psycho meltdowns led to absolute
freedom and personal chef service, I swear I would have lost my
marbles a whole lot sooner.
    “Mornin’ Flowbee,” my dad said, as I
staggered toward the picnic table. “Waffles?”
    “What time is it?” I muttered.
    Mr.Tightwad checked his wrist. “Precisely ten
forty-one. Brunch time,” he said with a