Read Online Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) by Melody Carlson - Free Book Online

maybe some, but she was more that loudmouthed, tough, bossy type—the kind who could easily hold her own in a bar full of men or down at the chemical plant. But I liked her. In some ways I trusted her more than I trusted Bryn. And I think she actually liked me, too. Ironically, I think she even thought I was a good influence on her daughter. And maybe, in some ways, I was. You just never quite know about these things.
     

Six
     
    I remember my grandma saying , “You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip,” and since that sounded fairly obvious, I had to ask her what she meant. “Well,” she’d said, “it means that you can’t expect something from somebody when they just plain don’t have it to give to you.” And I suppose that pretty much describes my friend Bryn.
    By Christmas vacation of ninth grade, we’d become fairly good friends, relatively speaking, that is. It bothered me that she wasn’t a bit like my old friend Joey Divers. Of course who was I to be picky? Still, the truth is, I never felt completely close to or even very comfortable with her. I’m sure this was partially due to her habitually deceitful ways and partially because she was so hopelessly boy-crazy. Her obsession over boys made it hard to really know who she was—or what worried me even more was that maybe that was simply who she was, that that was all there was to her. And I suppose it didn’t help that I knew she used me some. But then, of course my original plan had been to use her, too. And since that’s how I’d started this odd friendship in the first place, who was I to point fingers at anyone? Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, as my grandma used to say, which is just another way of saying, “Don’t judge.” She’d explained that to me one day when I told her how Aunt Myrtle had been gossiping and putting down one of her coworkers at the bank.
    Anyway, my goal with Bryn had been to find a place where I might crash in the event my daddy’s drinking habits got out of hand, which they were rapidly starting to do. And it came in real handy that Mrs. Tuttle worked graveyard, too. I always knew I could sneak out of my house whenever I needed, and then just wait until eleven to go knocking on Bryn’s door. I had a system all worked out where I’d bolt my bedroom door, then grab my bag and slip out the window. Naturally I only did this when my daddy came home yelling and cussing and knocking stuff around.
    Bryn always welcomed my unexpected visits, for they afforded her the opportunity to sneak out too, and then she could stay out as late as she liked, knowing that I was there to cover the phone for those unexpected nights (mostly on Fridays or Saturdays) when her mom might call after midnight to check up on her. I usually made up an excuse like she was in the bathroom or already asleep. And Bryn didn’t hesitate to tell her mother she was spending the night at my house when she was really out partying with her latest wild and crazy boyfriend.
    I suppose if the truth were told, it was Bryn who really managed to nail down my reputation as a “fast girl,” even if it was mostly a case of guilt by association. It didn’t matter much to me, though, since I was quickly reaching the place where I no longer cared much about what anyone thought of me. Other than my grades, that is. I still cared about my education.
    Sometimes Bryn would tease me for taking my classes too seriously. Maybe it was Joey’s early influence on me, or just my own personal pride, but I still wanted to get good grades. I suspect the reason it irked her so was because even if she’d really tried I don’t believe she had the brains to cut it. Her memory was appalling. So she put her energies into other things—primarily her appearance, which grew increasingly colorful, and then boys, of course.
    And when it came to boys, Bryn just took for granted that I was doing the same as her. It never even occurred to her that I was still a virgin, and I