One of the Guys Read Online Free

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    I sigh and retie my ponytail. I shouldn’t be a Winston girl. Yeah, Principal Rogers talked to my mother about the mooning incident, let her know the kind of shenanigans I was up to with the guys, but it didn’t have to lead to this .
    As much as my mother would love to see me wear a skirt or paint my nails or talk about my feelings, she would never sever me from my childhood friends and send me to a new school for my senior year because of one little incident like that. Mom isn’t evil. Brian, her new husband, is. Brian brought home brochures full of smiling uniformed girls and told Mom that an all-girls school would keep me out of trouble, get me away from the bad influences, and turn me into a lady.
    What Brian doesn’t know was that mooning the principal was my idea. I am the bad influence. I don’t get it—butt-revealing is innocent compared to most activities that take place inside the secret nooks of high school. Yet somehow, I am punished.
    For the rest of the day, I concentrate on keeping the basketball shorts underneath my knee-length skirt from riding up my thighs, which proves to be quite the distracting challenge. And they keep peeking out so I roll them up a little, which doesn’t help the comfort factor. But I would feel too naked without them. When the last bell rings, my head throbs, and I long to make Brian’s life as miserable as possible. I receive more homework in the first day than I would in a month at Burlington High.
    Before I’m released back into the wild to tackle the pile of assignments, I stop by the guidance counselor’s office for a check-in.
    â€œDid you meet any cute boys today?” Mrs. Kemper laughs and waves her hand in front of her face like she’s swatting at a fly. “An old joke, forgive me.”
    â€œFunny,” I mumble, shifting my weight to adjust my shorts again.
    â€œTell me about your first day. You fitting in?”
    A quiet snort escapes me, but Mrs. Kemper doesn’t acknowledge it. Her hair cascades in thick curls around her pixie-like face. Several loose brown strands stick to her navy blazer. She picks one off, letting it fall to the floor like a delicate feather as she waits to hear what she wants to hear: that, yes, I am fitting in oh-so-wonderfully with the most privileged and sophisticated female students in the state of Vermont.
    Me. The girl with permanently skinned knees and dirt under her nails.
    â€œI’m fine.” I force a polite smile. I wish Winston offered a Perfecting the Fake Smile class. After all the practice I’d had today, I would ace it. “Everything’s great.”
    Mrs. Kemper nods, obviously not believing my lie. “The first day is the hardest. Hang in there, Tonya.”
    â€œToni.”
    â€œWho’s Toni?”
    â€œI just prefer to be called Toni.”
    Mrs. Kemper turns her chin up. “But Tonya is such a pretty name.”
    I shrug, knowing this is a lost battle. Here, I am Tonya. Everywhere else, I am Toni. This place doesn’t even accept boy names .
    â€œI suppose we’re done here,” she says, clearing her throat. “Oh, don’t forget about your first group session on Friday.”
    I blink a few times. “Group session?”
    Again, she chuckles. “Hard to remember it all, isn’t it? Once a week, you meet in the library with a small group of your peers to discuss whatever may be bothering you. It’s a way to learn how to express yourself eloquently.”
    My jaw hangs open. “You mean we talk about our feelings ?”
    Mrs. Kemper stands and grins. “Yes. That’s not a bad thing. Have a good afternoon, Tonya.”
    Oh my God. She’s not kidding. I stand, my knees shaking. According to my mother, this year is about growth and the future . In other words, no fun . This was supposed to be the year to hang out with the same guys I’ve known since the second grade, avoiding as much