Read Online You’re Invited Too by Jen Malone and Gail Nall - Free Book Online Page B

mother-turtle-laying-the-eggs-in-the-right-spot and not-dying-in-the-egg and then-finding-the-ocean parts. But at least they only have one goal: survive.
    I wonder if I was better off when I had one goal. Maybe I have too many now, and that’s what’s wrong. The logical thing to do would be to pick the most important goal—excellent grades—and forget the rest.
    But I don’t think I can do that anymore. I’m not the same Lauren I was in June. I love RSVP and spending lots of time with my friends, and even just doing stuff that doesn’t really have a point, like playing video games with Zach.
    More baby turtles bump and slide down the sand. Becca practically squeals at each one she sees, Vi has a perma-smile glued to her face, and Sadie keeps trying to take pictures with no flash. There’s no way I could miss something like this.
    I just have to study better, that’s all. Maybe even find more time for it. Time that doesn’t take away from my friends or RSVP or anything else I love.

A FRIENDLY REMINDER!
    Rebecca Elldridge’s smile has a dental
    appointment on October 14 at 3:15 p.m.
    Terrific Teeth
    Dr. Michael Bernstein
    1215 Rosalinde Street
    Sandpiper Beach, NC 28461
    If unable to keep your appointment, please give 24 hours’ notice.

Becca
    Daily Love Horoscope for Scorpio:
    Sometimes it’s only when you’ve given up on your fate that your fate finds you.
    Said No One Ever
    lyrics by Becca Elldridge
    That tarantula is the cutest
    Said no one ever
    This haggis tastes amazing
    Said no one ever
    I have too much money
    Said no one ever
    I love you
    Said me never . . .
    N o. No, no, no. Nope. No.
    I will not write a love song. I will not be the least, teensy-tiniest, microscopically bit inspired by the cute French boy who is currently invading approximately 94.2 percent of my brain space. Get out of my frontal lobe, Philippe! Shoo!
    I toss my pen off the bed, where it hits a pile of dirty laundry and falls between a crumpled pair of skinny jeans and my yellow-and-gray-striped hoodie. I don’t care who says redheads shouldn’t wear yellow—I love that thing. Hey, I wonder if Philippe likes girls in yellow . . .
    AHHHHHH. STOP IT, BRAIN!!!
    â€œRebecca! T-minus one minute until the bus! You’re not missing it again today, young lady!” Daddy’s yell has that My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet and I’m not in the mood this morning tone to it, so I swing my legs onto the floor and hop between patches of visible carpet to my dressing table. I pick out my sparkliest silver clip to match my twinkling ballet flats and hook my backpack over my shoulder. At the door I pause, then double back for the yellow hoodie. (Of course I hold it up first to make sure it passes the wrinkle/smell test. Because eww.)
    What? So I’m curious what the French think of yellow. Sue me.
    As soon as Daddy drops me at school (um, yes, I missed the bus; I might possibly have been so focused on my hoodie that I forgot I hadn’t printed out my English paper yet—whoops, sorry, Daddy), I hunt down Vi in the hallway.
    â€œDid you get it?” I ask, leaning my hip into her locker door and accidentally slamming it shut. Vi gives me an exasperated look as she starts spinning her combo lock.
    â€œUm, get what? Hey,” she says, “before I forget, can you show me that thing with the eyelash curler again? I promise not to scream this time. Or I promise to try really hard not to scream.”
    Okay, so there was this day last winter when Vi discovered a nest of spiders under the front steps of the trailer she lived in before moving to her meemaw’s. A whole entire nest of eight-legged creepy-crawlies. Did she screech? Call the police? Move to the other side of the state? Nope. She did not. She scooped the whole nest full of gazillions and zillions of creepy-crawly BABY SPIDERS up in a newspaper and rode it to school on her bike handles so