the seat, clutching my hands over my midsection to keep my pants up. “I’d better get to homeroom,” I say, but my mouth feels thick and numb, so it comes out like “hummer rum.” Kill me now.
“Wait, when can we compare schedules? Do we have any classes together?” He springs up next to me, and I realize how tall he’s gotten. He could probably rest his chin on the top of my head. This is a good thing; I can look at his chest instead of into his face, since that’s what’s at eye level. But how did his chest get to be so big? Beyond the shirt that used to hang lifelessly over his bony limbs are … muscles?
Okay, yeah. I was expecting him to be hot. I knew he’d be out of my league. But I don’t think anything could have prepared me for this. Even if I were still my skinny old self, I’d be self-conscious. Wish isn’t just hot. He’s beautiful.
And even stranger, he hasn’t yet run away screaming from me. He wants to compare schedules with me. As in see me again.
Which, for some reason, makes me want to run away screaming from him.
“Um. After homeroom?” I enunciate the word slowly, like I’m learning to pronounce it for the first time.
He nods. “Yeah. I’ll meet you outside the girls’ locker room.”
I expect him to finish that off with a “Not!” but he doesn’t. He just stands there, and as I’m beginning to believe that this is an imposter, not my best friend, he begins to fidget. I’d know the Wish Fidget anywhere; it’s goofy and awkward and always used to make me laugh, but somehow, on this version of Wish, it’s ultra-adorable. I try to look up to his eyes, but only make it as far as the brown sugar stubble on his chin before I chicken out. Wish has stubble. Wish has become a full-grown god, while I’ve become a logo for snack cakes.
We stand there for a moment longer, both kind of fidgeting now, and then I realize something. What was the first thing he wanted to do when he saw me? The thing he’s been waiting for all these years?
Oh, hell.
I start to hyperventilate. My breath is sweet with maple syrup, from the Eggo I had earlier today. Guess it could be worse. But since yesterday, I’ve gnawed my lips to sandpaper.
“Um, yeah,” I mutter. It must be the most awkward parting line in history. Then I just turn and waddle away, dragging my pants and packed bag of books with me.
14
M Y PINK SWEAT SHORTS are only slightly better than my popped-open jeans with a window to my undies. They’re hopelessly tight, clinging to the folds around my hips like plastic wrap over Silly Putty. My legs poke out of them like two buffet lines filled with nothing but cottage cheese. I’m not sure what Wish was thinking earlier when he met me outside, but maybe there was sun glare or his sense of reason was thrown off by the six-hour plane ride. Of course, when he sees me looking like an aerobics instructor who accidentally Botoxed her butt, he will probably come to his senses.
I step outside, yanking the shorts down as far as I possibly can manage without allowing my stomach to spring free of the waistband. These shorts give me a major crotch wedgie. Yes, this will make Wish wake up. There is no man alive who can be turned on by a crotch wedgie.
I see him down the hallway. Actually, I don’t see him; I just see the burnt orange shock of hair that belongs to him peeking out from the middle of a crowd of girls. Well, not exactly a crowd, but three. As I get closer, I realize that two of them are Erica and Terra. There’s also a girl named Destiny, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Barbie, right down to the skinny waist that cannot possibly hold all the required internal organs. Terra whinnies loudly, her horse nostrils flaring. Erica stares up at Wish with sultry, “take me now” eyes. Wish isn’t really looking at them; he’s telling them about his eventful plane ride and is completely into his story, gesturing with both hands in classic Wish fashion. He could always spin a
“Wait, when can we compare schedules? Do we have any classes together?” He springs up next to me, and I realize how tall he’s gotten. He could probably rest his chin on the top of my head. This is a good thing; I can look at his chest instead of into his face, since that’s what’s at eye level. But how did his chest get to be so big? Beyond the shirt that used to hang lifelessly over his bony limbs are … muscles?
Okay, yeah. I was expecting him to be hot. I knew he’d be out of my league. But I don’t think anything could have prepared me for this. Even if I were still my skinny old self, I’d be self-conscious. Wish isn’t just hot. He’s beautiful.
And even stranger, he hasn’t yet run away screaming from me. He wants to compare schedules with me. As in see me again.
Which, for some reason, makes me want to run away screaming from him.
“Um. After homeroom?” I enunciate the word slowly, like I’m learning to pronounce it for the first time.
He nods. “Yeah. I’ll meet you outside the girls’ locker room.”
I expect him to finish that off with a “Not!” but he doesn’t. He just stands there, and as I’m beginning to believe that this is an imposter, not my best friend, he begins to fidget. I’d know the Wish Fidget anywhere; it’s goofy and awkward and always used to make me laugh, but somehow, on this version of Wish, it’s ultra-adorable. I try to look up to his eyes, but only make it as far as the brown sugar stubble on his chin before I chicken out. Wish has stubble. Wish has become a full-grown god, while I’ve become a logo for snack cakes.
We stand there for a moment longer, both kind of fidgeting now, and then I realize something. What was the first thing he wanted to do when he saw me? The thing he’s been waiting for all these years?
Oh, hell.
I start to hyperventilate. My breath is sweet with maple syrup, from the Eggo I had earlier today. Guess it could be worse. But since yesterday, I’ve gnawed my lips to sandpaper.
“Um, yeah,” I mutter. It must be the most awkward parting line in history. Then I just turn and waddle away, dragging my pants and packed bag of books with me.
14
M Y PINK SWEAT SHORTS are only slightly better than my popped-open jeans with a window to my undies. They’re hopelessly tight, clinging to the folds around my hips like plastic wrap over Silly Putty. My legs poke out of them like two buffet lines filled with nothing but cottage cheese. I’m not sure what Wish was thinking earlier when he met me outside, but maybe there was sun glare or his sense of reason was thrown off by the six-hour plane ride. Of course, when he sees me looking like an aerobics instructor who accidentally Botoxed her butt, he will probably come to his senses.
I step outside, yanking the shorts down as far as I possibly can manage without allowing my stomach to spring free of the waistband. These shorts give me a major crotch wedgie. Yes, this will make Wish wake up. There is no man alive who can be turned on by a crotch wedgie.
I see him down the hallway. Actually, I don’t see him; I just see the burnt orange shock of hair that belongs to him peeking out from the middle of a crowd of girls. Well, not exactly a crowd, but three. As I get closer, I realize that two of them are Erica and Terra. There’s also a girl named Destiny, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Barbie, right down to the skinny waist that cannot possibly hold all the required internal organs. Terra whinnies loudly, her horse nostrils flaring. Erica stares up at Wish with sultry, “take me now” eyes. Wish isn’t really looking at them; he’s telling them about his eventful plane ride and is completely into his story, gesturing with both hands in classic Wish fashion. He could always spin a
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