Spoiled Read Online Free Page B

would’ve thrown in a picture,” Charmaine complained.
    “I wish she had,” Molly said. “She’d seem a lot less mysterious if I knew what she looked like.”
    “Maybe she has a dark secret,” Charmaine said. “Like a disfiguring scar. Or a man face.”
    “She might turn out to be fun,” Molly offered. “Anyone whose initials spell
bomb
has to be kind of entertaining, right?”
    The girls giggled. Molly was hit by a wave of nostalgic, melancholy fondness for her friend.
Can you miss someone before you’ve even left them?
But Molly knew the answer. She’d started missing Laurel, in a hundred tiny ways, the day of her cancer diagnosis. Her eyes
     moistened.
    “You’d better text me every day,” Charmaine said. “What did people
do
in the Dark Ages before cell phones?”
    “Forget cell phones. We’ll need Skype,” Molly said. “I’ll be crying about whether it’s social suicide to wear this.”
    She held up her favorite shirt, a tee with a hole in the collar that read “J. C. Mellencamp High School Cross-Country Hurts
     So Good.”
    Charmaine frowned, then shrugged. “Just pack it. Be yourself,” she said. “Most of Lindsay Lohan’s closet is way worse, anyway.
     Just try not to turn up on Perez Hilton with your bra showing through your top.”
    “I am not going to end up on Perez Hilton,” Molly said.
    Charmaine cocked an eyebrow.
    “Oh, my God. Am I going to end up on Perez Hilton?” Molly gasped.
    “The real question is whether he writes anything on your face.”
    Molly buried her head in a throw pillow.
    “What am I doing?” She half laughed, half moaned. “My father is more famous than God! I’m going to have to start wearing
makeup
!”
    “Don’t forget tooth-whitening strips,” Charmaine added.
    “Do I have time to wax my forearms?”
    “Yeah, and pick up some Restylane while you’re at it. You’re not truly a celebrity until you look like you’ve been punched
     in the mouth.”
    Still giggling, Molly giddily started dumping entire drawers full of shirts into her luggage. But eventually her attention
     wandered out the bedroom window, where, through the dusk, she saw a beat-up truck pull in across the streetat the two-story clapboard house nearly identical to her own. A lanky boy leapt out, clutching a Big Gulp. He made a beeline
     for Molly’s front door.
    Charmaine joined Molly at the window. “Is it time?”
    “It’s time.”
    “Go,” Charmaine said. “I’ll… just start throwing all your random shit in boxes. You have so much stuff, I’m reporting you
     to
Hoarders
.”
    Molly left Charmaine alone in her garret bedroom and plodded down the narrow, curving stairs, her good mood evaporating. She
     wished
she
could do the packing and delegate this conversation to Charmaine. If only she were already in Hollywood, she could enlist
     a screenwriter’s help to make sure she didn’t botch it. This was so much more than saying good-bye to some boy. This was
Danny.
He’d been her savior during Laurel’s chemo, bringing her mom Slurpees when they were all she could keep down, and hiding
     sunflowers where they’d surprise Molly just when she needed it most. They’d been together since their sandbox days, and the
     relationship was as comforting as the cardigan Laurel hung on the back of the chair in her sewing room. Molly was packing
     that sweater, but she had to find a way to leave Danny behind.
    She wished she could ask Laurel what to do. Laurel always had advice. Sometimes the advice was weird—like the time she’d told
     Molly never to buy yellow underwear—but at least it was always worth pondering.
    “How’s the packing going?” Danny greeted her whenshe opened the door. As always, Molly was struck by what a perfect, stereotypical swimmer he was—tall and lean, with an adorable
     grin, like he’d just leapt off the front of a Wheaties box.
    “Charmaine’s on it,” she said.
    “You know she’s just throwing out all the stuff she thinks is ugly.” He