My Soon-To-Be Sex Life Read Free

might have someone more worthy in mind, at some later date, like when you’re married.”
    â€œYou don’t honestly believe that.”
    â€œI might.”
    â€œIs your mom making you go to those prayer breakfasts again?”
    Roach stood and smiled down at her feet. “They’re not so bad.”
    I remembered the one and only Faith Community breakfast Roach had conned me into attending. “Hey, if people yipping in tongues, passing out and twitching on the floor brings you closer to your Maker, who am I to judge? At least the food’s to die for.”
    â€œI might struggle with my faith, but I’m well fed. They had ham and cheese croissants with chocolate cheesecake last week.” Roach gloated.
    â€œHeavenly.” I sighed, envious.
    There was a hard knock on Roach’s bedroom door.
    â€œThe vile marauders are away!” Owen, Roach’s younger brother, bellowed the words that signaled their parents had left the house, leaving the TV unsupervised.
    Watching the Dunmore children rush to flick unfettered through the smut, foul language, and pop culture advertising was a thing of beauty. But I could only handle their naivety for so long. Plus, their TV sucked. The screen was smaller than my laptop’s.
    After a while, I nudged Roach. “Did you finish my diorama for English?”
    She pointed to two shoeboxes on the stairs by the front entrance.
    â€œYours is the size twelve.”
    For Twelfth Night . How fitting.
    â€œThanks,” I grabbed the box and headed for the door. “What do I owe you? A few packs of Winegums?”
    â€œAt least fifty,” Roach shot back. She hadn’t once shifted her eyes from Family Guy . “You still haven’t paid up for our video project. Or the poster assignment in social.”
    â€œI’ll get you thirty packs. But that’s it.”
    â€œTyler Gribbons is on steroids.” Owen’s voice broke over the last few syllables. Thirteen years old, asthmatic, and scary smart, Owen kept the school bullies in top shape.
    â€œSo are you, diaper breath.” I glared at the kid, but he didn’t notice.
    â€œI am not!”
    â€œOh, yeah? What do you think’s in that puffer of yours?” The door slammed shut behind me. I stood on the porch, shoebox between my knees, and pulled on my hat.
    â€œAnd put some salt out here, someone’s gonna kill themselves…”

Chapter Three
    â€œI’m going to kill myself.”
    I stared down at the flattened shoebox. Cut to my awkward descent down Roach’s front steps, a great flailing of limbs as I tried to protect my homework, only to smite the diorama with a full-frontal body slam. Cue mournful music. Tighten shot to focus on a now two-dimensional clay mound that was once Viola – the Shakespearean chick who pretended to be a dude. I’d read the Cliffs notes but still didn’t get most of it. All I knew was Shakespeare wrote some racy stuff back in the day.
    â€œWhat was that, Charlie?” Mom poked her head out from the laundry room.
    â€œI said, ‘I’m going to kill myself ’!”
    â€œOh, I thought you said you were going to build a shelf.”
    â€œWhy would I want to build a shelf?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Loaded basket tucked under her arm, Mom came into the kitchen. “That’s why I asked.”
    Covering my face with still frozen hands, I moaned into my fingers. “I’m doomed! I needed a pass on this to bring up my grade. No, I needed better than a pass. I needed a ninety-five at least. It’s due tomorrow. There’s no way Ro…I can make another one tonight.”
    â€œYou slid down a flight of stairs, you landed on your homework, your teacher will understand. You’re lucky you weren’t hurt.” Mom set the basket on the corner of the table and started folding dishcloths into tidy little squares like they were precious lace doilies.
    â€œI