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.Reaching into the rear pocket of his white jeans, he pulls out his wallet.From it he takes a small creased picture of a little redheaded boy with a big smile and creamy smooth skin.It's Mallory.I don't say anything.I feel jumpy because I want to make him feel better but there isn't any way.He used to be cute; now he's hideous, and he knows it.I look at the photo again—the sunny smile, the freckles, the scampish glint in his eyes.There's something very familiar about this picture, and I slap my forehead when it hits me."Oh my God! You were the Wheat Puffs kid!""I was the Honey Nut Wheat Puffs kid," he corrects me."You were a child model?""Yeah, for about two years, before—" He doesn't have to continue.I know what happened.Puberty.How many lives must Puberty destroy before it is finally stopped?"People used to stop my mom and me in the street to say how adorable I was.Within two years I became the kid people try not to stare at.I'm like the Elephant Man.""Have you tried going to a dermatologist?""I've tried everything except for this really nasty pill that has God-awful side effects.My mom doesn't want me to do it.""What are the side effects?""It can make your hair fall out.It can hurt your vision, increase your cholesterol, damage your liver, cause depression and, some say, suicide." With one hand he pulls his pony-tail holder out of his hair and shakes his thick long hair loose."My mom has a fear of medications."I want to ask him if his mom has disfiguring acne, because if she doesn't, she should keep her phobias to herself.But it's not my business.I shift my position, and I catch his thoughts noting the way my breasts move.I should start wearing those super-supportive bras that would make a supermodel feel frumpy.At least then I could be friends with guys without them mentally picturing my breasts bobbing in ocean waves, like Mallory is doing right now.Christ, my gazungas are such a curse.If we're going to hang out together, I know I should make things clear, but I don't really know how.It always seemed like Hildie could tell a guy her feelings with a simple turn of her head.This is the first time I've ever had to make my feelings known to a guy, and the only way I know how to do it is to be direct."Anyway, I'm glad you came here.I needed a friend."He's quiet for a while, his smile wan as he digests the information I've given him.Finally he takes a quick, deep breath and holds his fist out to me.I touch my knuckles to his and we smile."Ditto.Friends." For now, I hear him think.We hear the bell ring for next period, and we stroll into the building, both of us quietly thinking.Him: Maybe she'll change her mind.Me: Poor Mallory.GUSTYI'm standing outside the Bistro, hugging my notepad and looking at Gusty through the glass door.He's slumped at the table tapping his fingertips on the edge of his book.He has on a baseball hat today, but the brim is cocked to the side so that I can see only the bottom half of his face.His shoulders are very square, but there's a curve of muscle in his arm.He's wearing unlaced high-tops and jeans that make him look very relaxed and very sexy.Not that I want him or anything.Not that I spent an extra hour today choosing the perfect outfit—my super-tight denim skirt that I hand-painted with stars and galaxies and a sequined tank top that hugs my ginormous boobs in just the right way.It wasn't because of him that I gave myself a headache from standing too close to the mirror applying eyeliner and mascara.And the fact that I went to the drugstore last night to find the absolute perfect shade of raisin red lip-gloss is completely coincidental.I was out.I needed more.Even if I did put a little extra effort into my appearance, it doesn't matter, because I have the sad privilege of hearing his thoughts about me and he always thinks the same thing: that I'm sick.So why do I try?Because deep down in the dark corners of my mind I have to admit that I still have the eensiest-weensiest bit of a crush on him, even if he is a poser moron who is too wrapped up in his looks.I remember the day my mild interest in Gusty morphed into an evil crush with devil horns and a forked tail.I was over at Hildie's house.She and I were lying on the floor reading her mom's Glamour about how to give a guy good oral sex, which we thought was another term for phone sex.So you can imagine our confusion.I heard Gusty's feet on the stairs and whispered to Hildie, "Ugh.Your brother's here." We just had time to flip the magazine over to the horoscopes before Gusty made it to the doorway.He had on a sweaty T-shirt, and he was breathing hard from skateboarding home.He was holding a soda, and I noticed that his hand was big enough to cover almost the whole can.Then I noticed how tan his arms were, and then my eyes traveled up to his, and with a shock I saw that he was looking right at me.His eyes were so intense that the rest of his face, the rest of the room, faded to the background so that all I saw were those green pinpoints.The look he gave me did something to me deep inside, and suddenly I was shivering a little.I still shiver every time I remember it."Hey," he said to me.There was something private in the way he said it, as though he was trying to talk in such a way that only I could hear.I knew that one word contained a memory we shared: the two of us, behind the shed in his backyard."Hey," I said."Get out of here, Lusty," Hildie spat."We're busy."He walked away without once looking at her.His eyes were on me for the longest possible time, until he disappeared behind his bedroom door.For weeks after, I'd replay that one little word over and over in my mind.I imagined him whispering it just before he kissed me.Hey.I imagined him shouting it at me through a rainstorm.I heard him say it just as I was dropping off to sleep, and it would wake me up.Hey, Kristi.Hey [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]