Read Online Pop Princess by Rachel Cohn - Free Book Online Page A

at school was Jen Burke. If she had disliked me before, now that Doug and I were hanging out, she hated me. She bumped into me in the cafeteria, saying, “If you think just because you’re in Doug’s Band that he likes you now, I know for a fact that you’re wrong.”
    I had my Trina moment, and I said, “I know for a fact that I don’t care what you think.” That shut her up for the time being. Though she did purposely knock over my chocolate milk.
    Doug was into me, I was pretty sure. How many times did I catch him smiling at me or scamming on me when I was belting out the tunes? By our tenth rehearsal, I had counted eighteen real times, though I was open to the possibility that five of those times were imagined.
    But I knew I wasn’t going crazy fantasizing his interest when I arrived early to rehearsal one evening and, as I approached the garage, heard the drummer say to Doug, “Man, she’s got it going on. Don’t fool around with her. You know that’ll ruin everything. Do you realize how many gigs we could get next summer if she’s with us? Dougie boy, don’t do it.”
    â€œI won’t!” he said, sounding defensive.
    Way to eavesdrop, Wonder. Now I just had to figure out how to get him to go back on his promise to his bandmates.
    I knew this much by now about Doug: His parents were divorced and he lived with his dad, who was a car mechanic; Doug’s dream was that the band would buy a van after graduation and move to L.A. and become rock stars; if he graduated from Devonport High, it would be just barely; his favorite band was Guns ’n’ Roses (whatever) and his favorite artist was Bob Marley (much better); and the shorter my skirts got at rehearsal, the better his guitar played along with me.
    Opportunity knocked one night soon after Thanksgiving. He was walking me home around nine in the evening after rehearsal, and we’d taken the route along the beach. It was one of those sickeningly beautiful Cape nights before winter hit hard: brisk, windy, moody. A half-moon hung over the water and if we’d cared enough to look, we probably could have seen all the way to Nantucket.
    Doug lit a joint as we walked. He passed it to me. I’d never had one before. Square much?
    We were about two blocks from my house; I could see it lit up in the distance. The nearby summers’ houses were all dark. I plopped down on the beach and placed the joint between my index finger and thumb. I said, “Show me how. I’ve never . . . you know.” What I really wanted to say was, Feel free to pounce on me at any time, Dougie.
    â€œReally?” he asked. He took the joint back from my fingers. “Let me show you a better way to learn.” He inhaled on the joint, and before I knew what he was doing, he had leaned right into my face and placed his lips on mine. I opened my mouth and he blew the smoke inside. When he pulled away, I coughed hard.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” I sputtered.
    â€œShotgun,” he said. “Wanna try it again?”
    I said, “Let’s try it without the joint.” The air was cold and the breeze whipping hard, the night sky dark and starry, but his lips managed to find mine, and mine managed not to fumble the experience too terribly worrying about nose positioning and breathing. I wouldn’t say the earth moved or anything, but after a minute or two of awkward lip fumbling that was about as sexy as making out with Screech from Saved by the Bell, I got the hang of it. After five straight minutes of kissing, in fact, my lips were feeling quite competent. Hands, necks, hair, on to stomachs—I guess you could say we safely rounded second base, with an attempt at third. At last, I thought, Wonder Blake has her moment. It was the kind of moment so perfect that only a kid brother could ruin it.
    â€œWonder!” Charles yelled out in his loud Boston accent: Won-DAH! I could hear