My Boyfriends' Dogs Read Free Page A

line on March 19 of my sophomore year in high school. And I didn’t even realize it—not fully anyway—until the end of May, so of course by then it was too late to do much about it.
    The morning began like most school mornings. I woke, showered, and then stood in front of the full-length mirror, my eyes firmly shut while I recited my morning mantra:
    â€œI am sixteen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for.
    â€œI am sixteen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for.
    â€œI am sixteen, with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for.”
    I opened my eyes and studied my reflection. Then I tossed my dog-eared copy of Teen Mind Over Teen Matters: The Art of Positive Thinking into the trash, where it belonged.
    â€œBailey!” my mother hollered up the hall at me. “Hurry, will you?”
    â€œI’m hurrying,” I called back, examining the horribly outdated contents of my closet. What would a sixteen-year-old with extraordinarily large breasts, a fantastic bod, and hair to die for wear on a bright spring day?
    I might have settled for stonewashed jeans and a wrinkly T-shirt, but Amber and I had vowed to hold each other accountable for our last two remaining New Year’s resolutions: 1) Dress better, so that we’d 2) Land our first boyfriends.
    I’d had zero luck with number two, so the least I could do was try to stick with number one. I settled on a denim mini (Amber assured me they were back) and a gray-and-white-striped rugby shirt.
    â€œLook at this,” Mom said as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. She didn’t look up from the classifieds. “Three garage sales between here and school.”
    â€œMom,” I whined. “Not on the way to school. Promise.”
    Now she looked up. My mom could have passed for my sister, which was sometimes fun, like when we went to Florida and they carded her every time she ordered white wine, which was exactly why she ordered it. Or, not so fun, like when the lifeguard hit on her instead of me. She was shorter than me and could still wear jeans she’d worn in high school. Plus, she had great hair, and great hazel eyes that were now aimed at my semi-bare thighs. “Bailey, was your skirt that short when we bought it, or did you grow six inches when I wasn’t looking?”
    I grabbed a bagel. “Isn’t it garbage pickup day in Grove?”
    â€œYou’re right!”
    My mother was so easy to distract it almost took the fun out of it. Rich people in the Grove district threw away furniture that cost more than our house.
    â€œWe have to go there on the way to school, Bailey.”
    â€œGrove isn’t on the way to school.”
    â€œWell, sort of. If Fourth Street were blocked off like it is for parades. And if they were doing construction again on Elm.” Mom gulped her coffee.
    Me and my big mouth. Mention a garage sale or a garbage pick, and my mom salivated. She’d been renting a stall at one of those antique malls, Aunt Teak’s—get it?—for almost a year. I don’t think she’d sold anything yet. Our own garage was so filled with the junk she bought from other people’s garages that she’d had to park outside all winter. Her real job was as a receptionist in a dentist’s office. She got the job because of her great smile. My mom could get any job she interviewed for. Keeping them wasn’t that easy, though. She was always ready to move on to something new.
    â€œIt’ll be great furniture,” she muttered. “Heavy. It’s good you’ll be with me.”
    â€œYeah. Really good.” But I knew there was no use arguing with her. “We better leave right now, because Mrs. Weaver will kill me if I’m late for English again.”
    Mom dashed out of the kitchen, and I cleared the table. When I put away the cereal, I saw that she had cut out