Read Online The Girlfriend Project by Robin Friedman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Friedman
Tags: Ages 12 & Up
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okay."
"Woof! Woof!" Lonnie yelps.
"Come on, Lonnie, you don't mean that," I say.
He gives me a sheepish look. "Yeah, okay. But, hey, if this gets too big for you, you mind sharing some of the action?"
This is something new—Lonnie coming to me for dates. "Um, sure."
"So, what do you think, Reed?" Ronnie asks.
I can't help smiling. "It's pretty interesting," I say.
Most of the posts are tongue-in-cheek, but some are kind of insightful. They're not earth shattering, but they're not completely
worthless either. And frankly, I'm shocked that flowering garlic, DirtyGirl, and all star—whoever they are—want to go out
with me.
"You're going to be the most popular guy in school!" Ronnie gushes. She scrolls through the posts again. "I wonder who's who.
. . ."
. . .
Things get pretty weird that week.
People I don't know say hello to me in school. A pack of sophomore girls in identical tight jeans giggle as I walk by. And
someone has scrawled "Pick Me!" on my locker in bright red lipstick. Trying to smear it off with the back of my hand only
makes it worse. I finally have to ask the janitor for help, and it takes three foul-smelling detergents to make it go away.
I'm flabbergasted. By third period of the fourth day, my nerves are shot. Now I know why celebrities punch out paparazzi.
Rhonda Wharton lingers at my locker between first and second periods on the fifth day as I'm getting ready to make a run for
AP Biology.
"I checked out your Web site, Reed," she says shyly, batting her eyelashes at me. Batting her eyelashes at me! She starts
to say something four times as I absently pull textbooks out of my locker. But she stops each time. I wait for her to finish,
but if I don't leave in the next two seconds, I'll be late. As it is, I've got to sprint clear over to the other side of the
building.
"I'm sorry, Rhonda, I gotta go," I finally mutter. "Catch ya later?"
She looks so disappointed I want to rub my eyes in disbelief. Rhonda Wharton, a girl I've secretly admired from afar since
we were twelve years old, doesn't want me to leave? I turn to go, but she puts a hand on my arm, which has the effect of instantly
stopping me in my tracks.
"You . . . Me . . . We . . . ," she murmurs.
I like the sound of this a lot, but it also makes me nervous. Still, I don't move a muscle. There's no way I'm shrugging off
Rhonda Wharton—not even if I get a detention for being late.
But Rhonda lets me go and doesn't say anything more, so I rush off, making it to class by a hair.
I don't get it.
Rhonda Wharton's never given me the time of day. Now she's practically stalking me.
What's happening?
Celebrity? Fame? Hype? Image?
Whatever it is, there's something not right about it.
I know I sound like a broken record, but I have to say it again.
I'm the same guy.
I'm shaking my head when I meet Ronnie and Lonnie for lunch at our usual table in the school cafeteria. I take one bite of
my soggy round pizza-for-one and decide my stomach can't handle any more. Besides, the cheese tastes fake, the sauce is soupy,
and the pizza's still frozen in the middle. There's a Law of the Universe out there, I know, that demands school cafeterias
serve inedible food. Luckier districts may have Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, and McDonald's in their school cafeterias, but our menu
is still trapped in a lunchtime Ice Age.
I tell Ronnie and Lonnie everything about my day. Ronnie's eyes grow rounder and rounder.
"I knew it!" she cries excitedly "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it."
"But this is no different than Floyd Flavin getting arrested last year," I say. "It's hype—all hype." I think this is a mature
attitude, but Lonnie's not impressed.
"Go with it, dude," he says, ripping a chunk out of my pizza, shoving it into his mouth, and grimacing. "Milk it."
"But it's not real, Lonnie, it's hype."
"So what?" There's an annoyance in his voice—an annoyance I'm coming to know well since we started this Girlfriend Project.
"Woof! Woof!" Lonnie yelps.
"Come on, Lonnie, you don't mean that," I say.
He gives me a sheepish look. "Yeah, okay. But, hey, if this gets too big for you, you mind sharing some of the action?"
This is something new—Lonnie coming to me for dates. "Um, sure."
"So, what do you think, Reed?" Ronnie asks.
I can't help smiling. "It's pretty interesting," I say.
Most of the posts are tongue-in-cheek, but some are kind of insightful. They're not earth shattering, but they're not completely
worthless either. And frankly, I'm shocked that flowering garlic, DirtyGirl, and all star—whoever they are—want to go out
with me.
"You're going to be the most popular guy in school!" Ronnie gushes. She scrolls through the posts again. "I wonder who's who.
. . ."
. . .
Things get pretty weird that week.
People I don't know say hello to me in school. A pack of sophomore girls in identical tight jeans giggle as I walk by. And
someone has scrawled "Pick Me!" on my locker in bright red lipstick. Trying to smear it off with the back of my hand only
makes it worse. I finally have to ask the janitor for help, and it takes three foul-smelling detergents to make it go away.
I'm flabbergasted. By third period of the fourth day, my nerves are shot. Now I know why celebrities punch out paparazzi.
Rhonda Wharton lingers at my locker between first and second periods on the fifth day as I'm getting ready to make a run for
AP Biology.
"I checked out your Web site, Reed," she says shyly, batting her eyelashes at me. Batting her eyelashes at me! She starts
to say something four times as I absently pull textbooks out of my locker. But she stops each time. I wait for her to finish,
but if I don't leave in the next two seconds, I'll be late. As it is, I've got to sprint clear over to the other side of the
building.
"I'm sorry, Rhonda, I gotta go," I finally mutter. "Catch ya later?"
She looks so disappointed I want to rub my eyes in disbelief. Rhonda Wharton, a girl I've secretly admired from afar since
we were twelve years old, doesn't want me to leave? I turn to go, but she puts a hand on my arm, which has the effect of instantly
stopping me in my tracks.
"You . . . Me . . . We . . . ," she murmurs.
I like the sound of this a lot, but it also makes me nervous. Still, I don't move a muscle. There's no way I'm shrugging off
Rhonda Wharton—not even if I get a detention for being late.
But Rhonda lets me go and doesn't say anything more, so I rush off, making it to class by a hair.
I don't get it.
Rhonda Wharton's never given me the time of day. Now she's practically stalking me.
What's happening?
Celebrity? Fame? Hype? Image?
Whatever it is, there's something not right about it.
I know I sound like a broken record, but I have to say it again.
I'm the same guy.
I'm shaking my head when I meet Ronnie and Lonnie for lunch at our usual table in the school cafeteria. I take one bite of
my soggy round pizza-for-one and decide my stomach can't handle any more. Besides, the cheese tastes fake, the sauce is soupy,
and the pizza's still frozen in the middle. There's a Law of the Universe out there, I know, that demands school cafeterias
serve inedible food. Luckier districts may have Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, and McDonald's in their school cafeterias, but our menu
is still trapped in a lunchtime Ice Age.
I tell Ronnie and Lonnie everything about my day. Ronnie's eyes grow rounder and rounder.
"I knew it!" she cries excitedly "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it."
"But this is no different than Floyd Flavin getting arrested last year," I say. "It's hype—all hype." I think this is a mature
attitude, but Lonnie's not impressed.
"Go with it, dude," he says, ripping a chunk out of my pizza, shoving it into his mouth, and grimacing. "Milk it."
"But it's not real, Lonnie, it's hype."
"So what?" There's an annoyance in his voice—an annoyance I'm coming to know well since we started this Girlfriend Project.
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