Inside Girl Read Free Page B

“The board doesn’t want a bunch of crazy stalker paparazzi lurking outside their building all the time. If they see I’m always in the tabloids, they won’t want me living there. And then I’ll be homeless.” Her lower lip stuck out. “I don’t know where I’d go, or what I’d do. I’ll have to buy a car and park outside your house and just live there forever. Maybe you could bring me out some water from time to time.”
    â€œI can’t believe that.”
    â€œBut it’s true. It can be a mean world out there. You’re lucky you haven’t seen it yet.”
    â€œIs there anything I can do to help?”
    â€œWell, actually, I was meaning to ask you something.”
    â€œSure, go ahead.”
    â€œPlease tell me if you don’t have time, but I was wondering—okay, so the co-op board says that I can submit a peer recommendation along with my application. You know, someone who knows what it’s like tolive with me. I was just thinking that maybe, if it wasn’t too, too, too much trouble—”
    â€œOf course, Sara-Beth! I’d be happy to.”
    â€œOh, thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me. You’re the only one who knows what I’m really like, underneath.” Sara-Beth folded back the cover of her magazine, then looked over at me, suddenly all serious. “That’s what I like about you, Flan. You’re not my friend because I’m beautiful, or famous, or because of what I could do for you. You’re my friend because—because of who I really am.” Sara-Beth sniffled, and all her little bones trembled. She reminded me of a skinny kitten left out in the cold. “I know I can trust you.”
    â€œOf course. I’m glad I can help you get the apartment. And I won’t tell anyone that you’re staying here either. I promise.”
    â€œWonderful. A secret!” She smiled. “Oh, this is going to be
cr-azy
fun!”
    And then—and I’m being totally serious—SBB meowed at me and sort of wriggled around and then threw herself on my bed and kicked up her feet.

Chapter 4

Hello, High School, Here I Come
    The next morning, when my alarm clock went off, I felt like I was still dreaming. Was it possible that the time had really come? My first day at Stuyvesant?
    After twisting and turning in front of the mirror for about twenty minutes, I finally did my hair up in a messy bun, put on some watermelon-flavored lip gloss, and gave myself a final once-over. I looked good, I thought: the heels I’d picked really dressed up my jeans, and my skin, which is normally super pale, actually had some color to it since I’d spent all summer biking and hanging out down by the shore. And at this point, there was nothing else I could do to make myself look cooler or older. So I grabbed my backpack and went downstairs. SBB was still asleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs—I’m not even sure which one.
    When I went down to the kitchen to drink a quickglass of orange juice before school, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: a message on the answering machine. I pushed the button and it played into the room.
    â€œHey, Patch? Flan? It’s Feb. So, it’s Saturday night, and I’m just calling to say I might be gone for a few days. This friend of mine’s shooting a music video in this abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn and I’m going to chill out there for a while. Don’t tell Mom and Dad. Obviously. I hope everything’s cool. Keep the peace while I’m gone.”
    I sighed and walked out the door. I wondered if Feb ever felt nervous or awkward or uncool. Probably not.
    Unlike Miss Mallard’s, which is a long cab ride away, Stuyvesant is actually within walking distance of my house. So I took my time on the walk over. I love my neighborhood in the morning. Everything looks so fresh and pretty. Sometime either late at