I Don't Want to Lose You Read Free

around.  “Is this a business?” he asked, trying to be facetious.
                  I put my clarinet case down and crossed my arms under my breasts, which made them pop up and draw his immediate attention.  He stared and was no longer speaking to me but to them, Holly and Dolly.  “It depends on what services you're coming to speak to me about.”
                  He had a look of confusion on his face. “What?” One would have thought he was having difficulty in understanding how words could be coming from my boobs.  They must have been the ones talking to him because, at that moment, my head and its features were non-existent. 
                  “What do you want?”
                  “Um, Rasheed wanted to know if you would like to give him your number.”
                  What nerve!  He sent over someone else to get my number.  That turd! So many things went through my mind as a way to respond but then I decided to do it in true Monica fashion.  “I'm sure that it's needed to discuss merger potential.  You have a pen?”  He pulled out paper and a pen from his pocket.  “My number is 777-9311.”
                  “That doesn't sound like a real number.”
                  “Well it is.  That's my parent's phone number but I'll give you my private number, too.   My parents don't like me passing it out to boys but he can call me on it.  It's 867-5309.”
                  He repeated the numbers to make sure he had them right.  Finally he looked at my face and said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”             
                  “The pleasure was all mine,” I said as he walked away.  As I walked towards my family I shook my head.  One would think boys would try to make themselves aware of all the fake numbers a girl could give, but then again that would require boys to think.  That night I found myself grooving to The Time and Tommy Tutone.
     
                                             
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
     
     
                  One of my worst qualities was that I was able to hold a grudge.  In junior high I had four classes with Rasheed.  In almost every class we were put at the same table until the teachers came to their senses and realized that arguments were going to continue to disrupt the class until we were on opposite sides of the room.  I refused to have in my personal space a teenage Casanova who didn't have the guts to speak to me in person. Either you liked me or you didn't and, if you did, then you need to do something about it.  Don’t send a flunky.  With me, there were rules.  Send your friend to see if I like you, not to get my digits.  You ask for that yourself.
                  In the seventh grade I had a math teacher who thought I was selling myself short with my potential and she recommended that I skip General Math II and go straight to Algebra I for eighth grade.  I doubted her brain was working at full capacity that day when she made that decision because I didn't agree.  It did, however, allow me to be in the same class as some of my friends.  We were all honor students and I was finally on the same level, class wise, as they were mathematically.  Then one day the teacher broke us into groups to work on some equations.  And who was in my group?  Teodoro.
                  Four of us put our desks together.  I knew Tracy from seventh grade History class but I didn't know the other girl in the group because she was a new student.
                  “Hi, I'm Monica.  What's your name?”
                  “My name is Liliana.”
                  “It’s nice to meet you.  This is Tracy.”  Tracy waved