By Meg Cabot
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Extra info for All-American Girl 02 Ready on Not
That was, you know, brave. ” “Just wanted a change,” I said brightly. “Oh,” Terry said, appearing to think about that. “Okay. ” Which isn’t all that reassuring, if you think about it. I mean, seeing as how it was coming from someone who makes a living standing around without any clothes on. ” I nearly choked on the Certs I’d slipped into my mouth. “Um,” I said. ” The laughter disappeared from David’s voice. ” “Not as big as some of the ones I’ve seen,” I said, meaning the guys on Manhattan public access.
And Theresa’s not usually around on weekends. When everyone else is gone—at one of Lucy’s games, or Rebecca’s qigong demonstrations, or whatever—David and I occasionally get a chance to engage in a little tonsil hockey, and sometimes more than that. Last Sunday, as a matter of fact, things between us got so, well, heated that we didn’t even hear the front door slam. It was only because Manet, my dog, scrambled up from my bedroom floor to go greet whoever it was who’d come home early—Rebecca, dropped off from a friend’s slumber party at the Smithsonian—that we didn’t get caught in an extremely compromising position.
Even if that’s just my opinion. It’s also my opinion that David’s a lot better looking than Jack, with his green eyes—no, really. They’re green. Not hazel, either, but pure green, like the grass on the Great Lawn in springtime—and kind of floppy, dark, curly hair. Not that it’s a competition—whose boyfriend is hotter, mine or my sister’s. But the truth is, mine totally is. Even though we’ve been going out for more than a year, my heart still does this funny, zingy thing every time I see him…David, I mean.