Read Online Art Geeks and Prom Queens by Alyson Noël - Free Book Online
Authors: Alyson Noël
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lifeguard tower, and as our laughter subsides, I can hear the sound of the waves crashing before us.
“That was the worst!” Jas says, shaking his head.
I nod and pull my jacket tighter around me.
“Cold?” he asks.
“A little,” I say.
“Here have some of this. It will warm you up.” He offers me a tiny flask he pulled from his jacket pocket.
I take a sip and immediately recognize the smooth taste of the cabernet we had earlier in the kitchen, so then I take another. And I’m so not used to drinking that it immediately goes to my head. “Thanks,” I say, smiling and leaning into him just a bit.
He puts his arm around my shoulder and rubs up and down, like he’s trying to make me warm. Then he takes his other hand and gently tucks my hair behind my ear.
His face is close to mine, and he’s looking right at me, and I can’t help thinking:
This is it! This is the exact moment when he kisses me!
And it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never really kissed a guy before and I’m almost seventeen.
I told you I was a geek.
I mean, a long time ago Paige and I practiced on Hud, so if the opportunity ever arose we wouldn’t look completely retarded. But I’ve never kissed someone that I really wanted to kiss—like Jas.
So I look into his eyes.
Then I close mine.
And I don’t know if it’s the wine or just extreme nervousness, but I hear myself say, “Oh, Jas, I’ve been waiting for this
all night
”
Then I open my mouth ever so slightly, and wait.
But nothing happens.
Then Jas says, “Hey.” And he sounds a little surprised.
And when I open my eyes this completely gorgeous creature, clad in an outfit very similar to the one I was lip-synching in earlier, goes, “I just got off work, and stopped by the restaurant. They said you might be here.”
Then she leans in and kisses the lips that just seconds ago I thought I was going to be kissing.
And then she looks at me and says, “Hi. You must be Rio. I’m Monique, Jas’s girlfriend.”
Eleven
Can you imagine anything more humiliating than being in the backseat of a politically correct car watching your almost-boyfriend get touchy-feely with someone who’s so gorgeous and so exotic it’s like she’s from another planet?
And all of this in hot, eager anticipation of the moment when they get to drop
you
off?
Can you?
Well, I can’t.
And believe me, I should know. ‘Cause I was the sole ticket-holder to the “Monique gets to touch Jas wherever she wants” show.
And it was awful.
So when he pulls into my driveway I leap (yes, I
leap)
out of the car, and mumbling something sounding vaguely like, “Thanksgoodnight,” I run through the front door with barely a shred of dignity, only to be confronted with a Breathalyzer.
Well, kind of.
My mom is standing there in the silky robe she wears when my dad’s home and she goes, “Rio? How was your evening?”
“Okay,” I say, heading for the stairs, not really wanting to play show-and-tell right now.
But she misreads that as my wanting to hide something. After all,according to her I was out with a notorious Newport Beach gang member. “Come here,” she says. “Into the light where I can see you.”
Into the light?
She’s watching too many “Law and Order” reruns when my dad’s away.
But I step into the light. And my eyes are all red, and my makeup is smeared, and I know this because after my leap from the car I burst into silent tears, and then I wiped my face as I came through the door. And even though I can’t actually see myself, I only have to look at her to know what she sees. But she’s reading it all wrong.
“Where did you go tonight?” she asks.
“I told you, Jas’s dad’s restaurant.” I look at the ground, which I know makes me look even more guilty, but if I look directly at her I’ll cry. And I don’t want her to see me do that and know the real truth. Because the real truth is much worse than what she’s thinking. The real truth is that
“That was the worst!” Jas says, shaking his head.
I nod and pull my jacket tighter around me.
“Cold?” he asks.
“A little,” I say.
“Here have some of this. It will warm you up.” He offers me a tiny flask he pulled from his jacket pocket.
I take a sip and immediately recognize the smooth taste of the cabernet we had earlier in the kitchen, so then I take another. And I’m so not used to drinking that it immediately goes to my head. “Thanks,” I say, smiling and leaning into him just a bit.
He puts his arm around my shoulder and rubs up and down, like he’s trying to make me warm. Then he takes his other hand and gently tucks my hair behind my ear.
His face is close to mine, and he’s looking right at me, and I can’t help thinking:
This is it! This is the exact moment when he kisses me!
And it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I’ve never really kissed a guy before and I’m almost seventeen.
I told you I was a geek.
I mean, a long time ago Paige and I practiced on Hud, so if the opportunity ever arose we wouldn’t look completely retarded. But I’ve never kissed someone that I really wanted to kiss—like Jas.
So I look into his eyes.
Then I close mine.
And I don’t know if it’s the wine or just extreme nervousness, but I hear myself say, “Oh, Jas, I’ve been waiting for this
all night
”
Then I open my mouth ever so slightly, and wait.
But nothing happens.
Then Jas says, “Hey.” And he sounds a little surprised.
And when I open my eyes this completely gorgeous creature, clad in an outfit very similar to the one I was lip-synching in earlier, goes, “I just got off work, and stopped by the restaurant. They said you might be here.”
Then she leans in and kisses the lips that just seconds ago I thought I was going to be kissing.
And then she looks at me and says, “Hi. You must be Rio. I’m Monique, Jas’s girlfriend.”
Eleven
Can you imagine anything more humiliating than being in the backseat of a politically correct car watching your almost-boyfriend get touchy-feely with someone who’s so gorgeous and so exotic it’s like she’s from another planet?
And all of this in hot, eager anticipation of the moment when they get to drop
you
off?
Can you?
Well, I can’t.
And believe me, I should know. ‘Cause I was the sole ticket-holder to the “Monique gets to touch Jas wherever she wants” show.
And it was awful.
So when he pulls into my driveway I leap (yes, I
leap)
out of the car, and mumbling something sounding vaguely like, “Thanksgoodnight,” I run through the front door with barely a shred of dignity, only to be confronted with a Breathalyzer.
Well, kind of.
My mom is standing there in the silky robe she wears when my dad’s home and she goes, “Rio? How was your evening?”
“Okay,” I say, heading for the stairs, not really wanting to play show-and-tell right now.
But she misreads that as my wanting to hide something. After all,according to her I was out with a notorious Newport Beach gang member. “Come here,” she says. “Into the light where I can see you.”
Into the light?
She’s watching too many “Law and Order” reruns when my dad’s away.
But I step into the light. And my eyes are all red, and my makeup is smeared, and I know this because after my leap from the car I burst into silent tears, and then I wiped my face as I came through the door. And even though I can’t actually see myself, I only have to look at her to know what she sees. But she’s reading it all wrong.
“Where did you go tonight?” she asks.
“I told you, Jas’s dad’s restaurant.” I look at the ground, which I know makes me look even more guilty, but if I look directly at her I’ll cry. And I don’t want her to see me do that and know the real truth. Because the real truth is much worse than what she’s thinking. The real truth is that
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