All the Way Read Online Free

recently. She and I always said we’d wait. Something must be in the air, and I didn’t think it was senioritis.
    â€œThe skirt doesn’t have pockets,” I said. “I guess I could just stick my cell in my hoodie pocket.”
    â€œPerfect,” Rachel said. “Besides, not carrying a bag makes you look more spontaneous or vulnerable or carefree. Guys like all those things.”
    â€œRight,” I said. I heard a car outside and glanced out the window, but it wasn’t him. Still, I felt nervous. “I’d better go. I’ve got to change my earrings and pee.”
    â€œHave fun!” Rachel sounded genuinely excited for me.
    I was pretty wired, I had to admit. I went into the bathroom and took five deep, cleansing breaths. I’m not into yoga or anything, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try to get my pulse to stop pounding. What is it about not having a date for seven months that makes you feel like an eighth-grader again?
    Joey rang the bell a few minutes later, and I forced myself to hang out upstairs so my mom had to answer it. When I came down the steps, he had those dimples going on. The look on his face actually made me feel like a princess.
    I know. It’s so trite. But it was true.
    â€œHey,” he said, grinning at me. “You ready?”
    I nodded, made the quick introductions to my mom, apologized for the fact that the living room wall had recently been demolished, and we were out of there.
    Joey held the door open for me, and I slid into his Mustang. The seats were deep and tilted, so my skirt rode up even more when I sat down. It barely covered my crotch. I know Joey noticed, but he didn’t act like a jerk or anything.
    â€œYou look nice,” he said, sounding all gentlemanly and giving me an approving smile. “I like the pink.”
    Who knew there was a softer side to Joey Perrone?
    â€œThanks. You do, too.”
    He was wearing a tight brown knit Henley that clung to his chest and made him look like he worked out six days a week. Which I don’t think he did. He was just so athletic and on so many teams, it kept him in great shape.
    â€œSo who’s playing tonight?” I asked. “Besides Hornersham, I mean.”
    â€œOh, it’s going to be a hoot,” he said. “Brenda Masserhof is the center, Rhinegold is on the team, and so is Old Mango. Asses riding asses—you can’t beat that for entertainment.”
    I blinked for a minute, wondering if Mrs. Masserhof, the biology teacher, had a daughter named Brenda. But then I realized no, Joey just liked the shock value of calling teachers by their first names—behind their backs, anyway.
    Old Mango was everyone’s nickname for the puny little Spanish teacher, Mr. Vladibo, because he looked a lot like the character Mango from Saturday Night Live , except much older. Slicked-back hair. Girly hips. Pooched-out potbelly. Way too much sway when he walked.
    Could I picture Mr. Vladibo on a donkey, trying to shoot a basket? Not so much.
    â€œSo why aren’t you playing?” I asked. “I could see you getting off on slam-dunking against Hornersham.”
    â€œToo easy,” Joey said. “Besides, it’s more fun to sit in the stands and totally mock everyone.”
    Yeah, that sounded like him.
    Joey pulled into the parking lot at school, which was already packed, and squeezed into a spot near the back. The lights from inside were blazing, and there was a definite vibe in the air, like this was going to be some kind of extraordinary night. Other kids were threading their way through the parked cars, heading inside, and we followed behind them.
    â€œYou cold?” Joey asked, putting his arm around my waist as we walked inside.
    I hadn’t been cold, but I shivered when he touched me. I guess it had been a long time. I mean, since I’d had a guy’s hand on my body.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said, glancing up at