The Fruit of My Lipstick Read Online Free

and confusion—and a healthy dose of regret.
    Maybe Dad was right. At this rate, I’d do better sticking to chemistry.
    RStapleton       Thanks, man. 80%—best ever.
    Source10         No prob. One large to PayPal.
    RStapleton       Already done.
    I HAD THREE periods before lunch in which to contemplate the sorry state of my love life.
    By the end of first period, I’d cycled through annoyance and had arrived at that glum place where I concluded I was just a dork where guys were concerned. Halfway through Global Studies, I was beginning to wonder if Lucas had really meant it about never talking to him again.
    Because I liked talking to him (today notwithstanding). He was interesting and funny, and, most important, he didn’t feel as though he had to compete with me. The guy’s brain is a force of nature all on its own—the people here who were competing for the Physics Olympiad had taken their scores with a gulp and as much grace as they could muster when he walked off with a near-perfect qualifying score.
    This place is no slouch in the academics department to start with. The competition for openings is fierce, what with all the Silicon Valley moguls wanting their kids to get a leg up, and the old money here in Pacific Heights reserving their children’s places the moment they’re conceived. It’s part of the reason I’m here—that, and because Spencer is as far as you can get from Manhattan without falling off the continent.
    So when I say Lucas can beat the best brains on the left coast, I’m not exaggerating. And even after he aced the entrance exam, he was completely cool about it.
    “It’s something to put on my application to Stanford,” he explained the other day, when I stopped in at the physics lab on my way to class. “Placing in all these state competitions isn’t enough. Even making the Olympiad semifinals in March won’t be enough. It would just be me in a field of two hundred. Big deal. But if I make the top five and get a place on the U.S. team, go to Mexico, and win against competitors from all over the world, that’s going to stand out, both in university and when I take on the job market.”
    Snort.
Like Stanford or any business after he graduated wouldn’t be lucky to have him, with or without a medal.
    And this is the guy I had just alienated by standing up for my friend.
    Headdesk.
Gillian, Gillian. You don’t need another chemistry class; you need to go to charm school
.
    Needless to say, I was feeling pretty droopy by the time I got my salad and joined Lissa and Carly at our table for lunch. I was all ready to tell my tale of woe when both Carly and I got a good look at Lissa’s face. She looked like she’d gotten a mouthful of lemon juice when she’d been expecting a nice Odwalla pomegranate cooler.
    “The weirdest thing just happened,” she said, lowering her voice so we had to lean in to hear. Not that anyone could pick out her words in the noisy dining room. “You know Lucas Hayes? The one who tutored Vanessa?”
    I leaned in a little more.
    “He stopped me in the hall on my way here.”
    “And?” Carly prompted since I’d temporarily lost my power of speech. Yeah, I know. Hard to believe.
    “And he apologized to me.”
    My mouth fell open. “What for?” Like I didn’t know.
    She shook her head and shrugged, picking up her Odwalla. “No idea. He said he’d done something wrong and he wanted to apologize.”
    “What’d you say?” Carly wanted to know.
    “I said okay. I mean, what do you say to a random thing like that?”
    “But what did he do that needed an apology?”
    Another shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t have any classes with the guy. I only see him across the room here and at prayer circle—and he doesn’t really talk there.”
    “He called you Surfing Barbie,” I said.
    Lissa put her drink down, and she and Carly stared at me. Then Lissa started to laugh. “Surfing Barbie? Now I’ve heard everything.”
    “I heard it,