Freshman Year Read Online Free

Let’s do something else. Who wants to torture me with makeup?”
    â€œNice try, Abbey.” Kate kicks my chair, and I’m back where I started. “Open up your flipping computer and answer it.”
    â€œYeah, who’s it gonna be?” Sarah says, blowing some loose strands of blond hair out of her face. She’s hunched over, painting her toenails, her turquoise thong peeking out of the back of her yoga pants. No one says anything, so I guess that’s the style. Then Sarah says, “I picked Madonna because I don’t really like dancing and she’d probably get tired faster being that she’s a hundred years old.” She finishes her toenails and moves on to do her fingernails. She changes the color of her nails so much I am convinced she’s lost some brain cells from the toxic polishes and remover. In fact, she nearly got kicked out of the Geek Pack when she got a B in Science, but Kate let her stay because Sarah has a giant trampoline at her house and a sister who works at Old Navy who gives Sarah and all her friends the employee discount.
    â€œI don’t know why they all have to be gringas .” Marisol usually complains in Spanglish, which Kate hates because she can only half understand her.
    Sarah and I get it, though, because we took Advanced Spanish in junior high seeing as we live in Arizona and all. Kate, on the other hand, took German because she wanted to be different. Sometimes, on very rare and beautiful occasions, Marisol uses her wonderful native language to tell Kate off. I enjoy those moments.
    â€œBesides, brown girls are where it’s at,” Marisol says, as she straightens another lock of her thick black hair. “Prefiero bailar con Shakira que con alguna de esas vacas . ”
    â€œWhat the hell are you saying, Mari? Are you talking about me?” Kate asks then smacks me again. “Just pick one, Abbey.”
    â€œYeah, Marisol, Shakira is a good dancer, but I guess I’ll pick Lady Gaga.” I click on her name. “There. I’m done.”
    â€œThat was my second choice,” Sarah says. “She’s got a nice ass.”
    But Kate gags and says, “Nah. She’s too freaky. She’d probably try to make out on the dance floor.”
    I remind myself this is straight-girl talk; my friends are so very, very not gay and that’s why they can talk like this. But for me, the one who is crushing hard on the Hot Dog on a Stick Chick, this is a tricky situation.
    The website slowly contemplates my condiment.
    â€œRead it to us,” Kate demands.
    â€œI will. Hold on. There’s nothing to read yet.” Then a giant pickle appears on the screen, which I’m predicting is not a good sign.
    â€œWell?” Marisol and Sarah say in unison.
    â€œOkay, it says, ‘Congrats! You are relish: though you are rarely wanted, you are good to have in the back of the fridge and sometimes you can be sweet.’”
    They all bust up laughing.
    In between gasps, Kate manages to say, “Abbey’s smothered all over wieners!” and they all cackle again.
    I stare at the screen in disbelief. Relish? Why not salsa like Kate—fresh and spicy, and good with every meal? Or at least mustard like Sarah—packs a punch and offers many flavors to please everyone. But, no. I get stupid pickled relish. I spin a lock of hair between my fingers for comfort while my friends laugh at me. Unlike the Hot Dog on a Stick Chick’s laughter, theirs makes me feel like crap.
    â€œHey, Weiner Sauce, take notes,” Kate says after finally catching her breath. “It’s time to make our new list of rules for high school.”
    Glad to change the subject, I pull a piece of paper from my printer tray and take on my duties as the official Geek Pack secretary.
    The Geek Pack is our not-so-secret club. It was founded in seventh grade, which was precisely when we discovered that if the four of us stuck