P.S. I Loathe You Read Free Page B

kicked a rock with her black moccasin.
    “Hey, Claire!” Layne called from an open window in Trailer No. 1. “Look!” She stuck out a red fingerless–gloved hand and pinched Derrington’s butt-shadow. Claire and Dylan cracked up while Massie searched Kristen’s green eyes for an explanation—something that might explain why she was so anti-Dempsey. But Kristen’s lashes fluttered innocently, revealing nothing.
    Massie was the first to break. “Um, are you the OCD Sirens’ goalie?”
    “No! I’m the
captain
,” Kristen snapped.
    “Then why are you trying to block my shot?”
    “I’m nawt.” Kristen side-glanced at Layne, who was now spanking Derrington’s butt-shadow. “It’s just that Dempsey used to be an LBR.”
    “So was Leighton Meester.” Massie shrugged. “She was born in jail.”
    “He’s friends with Layne,” Kristen tried again.
    “So is Kuh-laire.”
    “You called him Humpty Dempsey for an entire year.
Re-mem-ber
?”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Massie waved the argument away like the smell of burnt microwave popcorn. “But he was cured of his LBR-thritis.” Her body purred recalling the day she had first beheld Dempsey 2.0.
    He had just returned from summering in Africa. Rugged safari-colored clothes clung to his new muscles like a hug, each crease on his distressed leather messenger bag probably representing an orphan he had read to. And confidence seeped from his tanned skin like two thousand–dollar Clive Christian cologne. His caramel blond highlights were natural. His army green eyes were supernatural. And she could feel his smile as if it were inside her belly. Dempsey Solomon was the ultimate comeback story. She was his ultimate comeback prize. And if Kristen had a problem with—
    “You always told us LBR-thritis couldn’t be cured, only treated,” Kristen hissed.
    “Um, are you forgetting the J.T. clause?” Massie hissed back.
    Kristen folded her arms across her gray sweater, turned toward Trailer No. 2, and sighed. “Guess so,” she huffed.
    Alicia, Dylan, and Claire were starting to inch toward the boys. A few more seconds and they’d be mingle-flirting without her. This conversation had to end. Now.
    “TheJ.T.clauseistheJustinTimberlakeclauseremember?”
    Kristen shrugged.
    Massie took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, then exhaled slowly. “We never thought Justin was hot until Cameron dated him. And we
never
thought he was a ten until he dumped her. And now he’s an alpha male for life.”
    “So you’re Cameron? Is that what you’re saying?”
Kristen folded her arms across her chest.
    Massie shrugged in a “you said it, I didn’t” sort of way.
    “Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
    And then it hit her. “
He
put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s jealous of Dempsey and scared he’ll never get me back and—”
    “Dylan! Dylan! Dylannn!”
    Massie whip-turned toward the shouting.
    Dylan was standing below the maple, poking Massie’s ex-crush’s butt with a stick, like a marshmallow over a campfire. Everyone was laughing, but no one found it funnier than Derrington. Massie searched for Claire and Alicia, wondering why they didn’t have the good sense to stop Dylan. But they were with Cam and Josh, playing some soccer video game on Trailer No. 2, pretending to care about their scores.
    “Dylan, stop!” Massie shout-ran toward the stick in Dylan’s hand. “We don’t like him anymore.”
    “Ms. Marvil, what are you
doing
?” shouted an angry female voice that wasn’t Massie’s.
    “Getting the stick out of his butt.” Dylan snickered at Derrington’s boxers, ah-bviously not realizing who she was talking to.
    The boys burst out laughing while Derrington yanked up his Volcoms.
    “
Excuse
me?” the voice screeched.
    “Ms. Dunkel?” Dylan’s cheeks turned so purple they clashed with her red hair. The matronly trailer teacher finger-pushed her big round glasses against the bridge of her nose. Tapping one square-toed,