the way with him. Because once you do, he'll think you're a slut and drop you like a hot curling iron.
The bell rings and before I can make my great escape, the door bangs open and a horde of girls comes pouring in. I don't feel like dealing with anybody so I stay where I am, wishing they would all go away. But of course they don't.
“God, I wish I'd get my period,” I hear someone say. It's Cheryl Healy; I recognize her whiny, high-pitched voice. And we all know she doesn't mean she wishes she'd get her period the way Hillary Jacoby wishes she'd get hers—she's the only girl in our class who hasn't gotten her friend yet. Cheryl Healy with her see-through blouses and her so-short-half-her-butt-sticks-out miniskirts is the biggest tramp in the whole school and she has a pregnancy scare just about every month. Plus she's really mean, too. Rumor has it that years ago she cut off her own sister's eyelashes just because she felt like it. And her sister didn't do anything; she was just minding her own business in her crib, fast asleep.
“I'm late too,” another voice says, bragging a little. That's got to be Diane Carlson, Cheryl's best friend.
“Oh, girls,” says a voice full of pity that belongs to none other than Donna Rizzo. “If you just had a little bit of common sense, you wouldn't be having these problems.” Clearly Donna feels like she's better than the rest of the world because she won't let her boyfriend lay a hand on her until they're actually married, or at least officially engaged. Which is probably why Donald Caruso is so obnoxious. I mean, if the poor guy could just get some action besides kissing, he'd probably calm down a little. I don't know why he doesn't just give her an ultimatum—screw me or screw you—but hey, what do I know about love?
I hear the strike of a match and then Cheryl says, “Care for a smoke, Donna?” Which is a joke, since Donna Rizzo would probably put Donald Caruso's you-know-what in her mouth before she ever let a cigarette touch her lips.
“Gross! Cheryl Healy and Diane Carlson, you put those cigarettes out right now,” Donna says, and then starts coughing like she's about to lose a lung.
“What's the matter, Donna, got a frog in your throat?” Cheryl says, which makes me laugh out loud. Oops. Big mistake.
“Hey, who's in there?” Cheryl Healy asks. Since the jig is up, I flush the toilet I didn't use and slink out of the stall.
“Well, if it isn't Mondo Busto,” Cheryl says with a chuckle. She and Diane rest their cigarettes on the win-dowsill and then, as if on cue, they raise their fists in front of their chests with their elbows pointing out,pull back their arms in a steady pumping rhythm, and start chanting:
“We must! We must!
We must increase our bust!
The bigger the better, the tighter the sweater!
We must! We must!”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I say, going over to the sink to wash my hands even though I don't really need to.
“Oh, never mind,” Cheryl says as she and Diane quit with the calisthenics and pick up their smokes. “Anything over a mouthful is just a waste anyway.”
“That's what you think,” I say, reaching for a paper towel.
“Is that so, Miss My Cups Runneth Over?” Cheryl blows a puff of smoke at my back. “Tell us all about it.”
“This I've got to hear,” Diane Carlson says as she and Cheryl close in on me. But before I can open my big fat mouth again, the door bangs open, Donna Rizzo marches out, and two seconds later someone else marches in clearing her throat.
“Are there students smoking in here?” It's Mrs. Mark-son, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “All right, you three. To the principal's office. March.”
“But”—I shut off the water and try to protest—“I wasn't—”
“No, ifs, ands, or cigarette
butts
,” Mrs. Markson says, fanning her hand in front of her face. “Let's go.”
“You're dead, Kermit,” Cheryl hisses to Donna Rizzo,who smirks as we pass her in the
The bell rings and before I can make my great escape, the door bangs open and a horde of girls comes pouring in. I don't feel like dealing with anybody so I stay where I am, wishing they would all go away. But of course they don't.
“God, I wish I'd get my period,” I hear someone say. It's Cheryl Healy; I recognize her whiny, high-pitched voice. And we all know she doesn't mean she wishes she'd get her period the way Hillary Jacoby wishes she'd get hers—she's the only girl in our class who hasn't gotten her friend yet. Cheryl Healy with her see-through blouses and her so-short-half-her-butt-sticks-out miniskirts is the biggest tramp in the whole school and she has a pregnancy scare just about every month. Plus she's really mean, too. Rumor has it that years ago she cut off her own sister's eyelashes just because she felt like it. And her sister didn't do anything; she was just minding her own business in her crib, fast asleep.
“I'm late too,” another voice says, bragging a little. That's got to be Diane Carlson, Cheryl's best friend.
“Oh, girls,” says a voice full of pity that belongs to none other than Donna Rizzo. “If you just had a little bit of common sense, you wouldn't be having these problems.” Clearly Donna feels like she's better than the rest of the world because she won't let her boyfriend lay a hand on her until they're actually married, or at least officially engaged. Which is probably why Donald Caruso is so obnoxious. I mean, if the poor guy could just get some action besides kissing, he'd probably calm down a little. I don't know why he doesn't just give her an ultimatum—screw me or screw you—but hey, what do I know about love?
I hear the strike of a match and then Cheryl says, “Care for a smoke, Donna?” Which is a joke, since Donna Rizzo would probably put Donald Caruso's you-know-what in her mouth before she ever let a cigarette touch her lips.
“Gross! Cheryl Healy and Diane Carlson, you put those cigarettes out right now,” Donna says, and then starts coughing like she's about to lose a lung.
“What's the matter, Donna, got a frog in your throat?” Cheryl says, which makes me laugh out loud. Oops. Big mistake.
“Hey, who's in there?” Cheryl Healy asks. Since the jig is up, I flush the toilet I didn't use and slink out of the stall.
“Well, if it isn't Mondo Busto,” Cheryl says with a chuckle. She and Diane rest their cigarettes on the win-dowsill and then, as if on cue, they raise their fists in front of their chests with their elbows pointing out,pull back their arms in a steady pumping rhythm, and start chanting:
“We must! We must!
We must increase our bust!
The bigger the better, the tighter the sweater!
We must! We must!”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I say, going over to the sink to wash my hands even though I don't really need to.
“Oh, never mind,” Cheryl says as she and Diane quit with the calisthenics and pick up their smokes. “Anything over a mouthful is just a waste anyway.”
“That's what you think,” I say, reaching for a paper towel.
“Is that so, Miss My Cups Runneth Over?” Cheryl blows a puff of smoke at my back. “Tell us all about it.”
“This I've got to hear,” Diane Carlson says as she and Cheryl close in on me. But before I can open my big fat mouth again, the door bangs open, Donna Rizzo marches out, and two seconds later someone else marches in clearing her throat.
“Are there students smoking in here?” It's Mrs. Mark-son, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “All right, you three. To the principal's office. March.”
“But”—I shut off the water and try to protest—“I wasn't—”
“No, ifs, ands, or cigarette
butts
,” Mrs. Markson says, fanning her hand in front of her face. “Let's go.”
“You're dead, Kermit,” Cheryl hisses to Donna Rizzo,who smirks as we pass her in the
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