Sloppy Firsts Read Online Free Page A

still my best friend and a very reliable source—tells me that it was written by Lisa Caputo. Lisa has been holding a grudge against me ever since I said that I don’t like sleeping over at her house because her father doesn’t wear any underwear underneath his bathrobe and sits with his legs spread wide apart at breakfast.
     
    So it’s recess and my friends and I are hanging out by the backstop, playing the fortune-telling game MASH like we always do. I’ve just found out that I’m destined to marry Screech fromSaved by the Bell , have six kids, drive an olive-green golf cart, and live in a shack when Bridget suddenly grabs Lisa by the arms and says,Here’s your chance to get back at her! Kick her! I kick her. Lisa screams and then cries, which catches the attention of our teacher, Mrs. Cahill, who tries to get Lisa to tell her who kicked her. She tells her. Then I explain it was because she wrote the "B" word about me in the bathroom. Mrs. Cahill makes us both take the late bus. (The threat finally put into effect.)
     
    My dad is still reconfiguring a network, or whatever he does with computers when he isn’t riding his bike. My mom is showing a newly minted Wall Street millionaire a wildly overpriced beachfront property that will bring her a sweet commission. I know I’ll get home before either one of them, so I don’t worry about their reaction. They never find out about it.
     
    3. Eighth grade.Although I was pissed that we got caught, I never felt bad about anything Hope and I wrote in our Brutal Book. Thank God our English teacher only lectured us about using our hyperobservant brainpower for good, not evil. Whoo-boy! Imagine the shit that would’ve gone down if she’d read our character assassinations to the class.
     
    I tended to exaggerate for effect. On Bridget:Did the orthodontist remove half her brain along with her braces? On Sara:She kisses up to Manda and Bridget so much they’re crapping strawberry LipSmacker . But Hope only spoke the ugly truth. On Manda:If Manda keeps thrusting her ta-tas in Mr. Cole’s face, she just might ace Algebra after all. Observations like that made it clear to me that Bridget ditching me for Burke was the best thing that could have happened to me. Hope was the friend I’d always wanted, but never had.
     
    To add to this list, today’s misdemeanor. When I get bored in class, I write sad song lyrics all over my book covers. I’m currently in an eighties phase—no surprise there. My current favorite is featured inPretty in Pink , the third installment of the Molly Ringwald teen-queen trilogy (all of which I’ve enjoyed over and over again thanks to the programming execs at TNT, who seem to agree with my assertion that any John Hughes flick should be classified as a "new classic"):
     
    Please, please, please … let me, let me, let me …
    Let me get what I want this time.
     
    The Smiths’ ode to yearning didn’t get me in trouble. In a less musical bad mood, I guess I scribbled:Life Sucks, Then You Die on the cover of my Chemistry book. I don’t even remember doing it. But it raised the unibrow of Mr. Scherzer, who quickly informed my guidance counselor, Mrs. Glick, who called me out of Trig to meet Brandi, the school’s pseudo shrink. Her nameplate says "Professional Counselor," which I figure means she’s a few credits short of a legit Ph.D. She probably couldn’t find enough evidence for her doctoral thesis to prove that hugs are indeed better than drugs.
     
    Brandi ismean skinny, the kind that doesn’t come naturally and makes her face look all hollow and scary. She tries to make up for this with a bug-eyed bubble and gush that I know better than to trust. She—like me—is a fan of the eighties, but her devotion has tragic consequences: Kentucky-fried bangs and suntan panty hose.
     
    Every inch of space on the counseling office walls is covered with posters that are supposed to stop us from driving drunk, doing drugs, having sex, and sticking our