Confessions of an Ugly Girl Read Online Free

recognized me too.
    “Millie, right?” he said.
    “Yep,” I said. “And you’re Sam. Spelled phonetically.”
    He laughed that sexy laugh. Man, I wish I were a cute girl so I could date cute guys. “Right. Glad you remember me. What’s the problem, Millie?”
    I explained to him about the hieroglyphics, how I had tried turning it on and off in every way possible, and it just wasn’t working. How I even got down on my hands and knees and unplugged it, then plugged it back in.
    “Down on your hands and knees, huh?” Sam said. “Maybe I better come take a look.”
    “Can’t you just tell me what to do on the phone?” I didn’t really want to meet Sam. I had a bad feeling that the second he came down here, our little phone flirtation would come to a disappointing end.
    “No, scary hieroglyphics mean I’ve got to take a look,” Sam said.
    We hung up and I noticed my heart was racing. I felt so stupid for being as nervous as I was. Over a guy . My palms were actually sweaty.
    “What’s wrong?” Donna asked, because I was just standing there hyperventilating.
    “You know that computer guy Sam?” I said, if we hadn’t just been staring at his photo for like half an hour yesterday.
    Donna grinned. “You mean the cute one?”
    “Right,” I mumbled. “Well anyway, he’s coming down here to help me with my computer.”
    And now I was blushing , for God’s sake. I hate the fact that my face turns bright red whenever I’m embarrassed. I don’t like people having a window into my thoughts.
    “You’re blushing!” Donna pointed out gleefully. She cocked her head at me. “Wow. You really like him.”
    “I haven’t even met him,” I pointed out.
    “You haven’t even met him and already you’re totally into him!” Donna squealed. I think in her head, she was already planning out the wedding invitations on cream-colored paper. I was beginning to feel sorry I said anything about Sam in the first place. This definitely wasn’t doing anything to help with my sweaty palms.
    Anyway. Get ready for the punchline.
    After I spent five minutes pacing across my cubicle, Sam showed up. And he looked just like in the photo, except, get this, he was in a wheelchair . I mean, what the hell? And it wasn’t like he was in a wheelchair because he had a sprained ankle or something. That was really obvious. There was something actually wrong with the guy.
    “Millie?” he asked when he saw me.
    “Yeah,” I managed. “You must be Sam.”
    Some of my nervousness had melted away when I saw him, but it was replaced with an awkwardness that wasn’t really that much better. It didn’t make matters better when I held out my hand for him to shake, and I realized that his fingers were all curled up. (In my defense, he had been using his hands to turn the wheels on his chair, so there was no reason to think there was anything wrong with them.) His hand slid against mine, but it didn’t really move. You’d better believe I yanked my hand back as fast as I could. 
    Sam looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he just turned to my computer. It was getting close to five and I assumed he wanted to leave as much as I did. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the hieroglyphics,” he said.
    He tried a few different things, pecking at the keyboard with his claw hands. I wasn’t sure if I should watch him or not. Was it rude to watch? Was that staring? What was wrong with him? Honestly, I’m embarrassed just thinking about it now. The best part was that Donna hung around to see him. I could see her eyes bug out.
    We were there about twenty minutes and I was looking at my watch a lot. Sam kept saying things like “hmm” and “that’s not good” and I was thinking this wasn’t going to wrap up any time soon. Finally, a pager went off on Sam’s belt.
    “Millie,” he said, “I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to come back tomorrow.”
    I was relieved. “Okay,” I said.
    “I can’t make it till