Thirteen Plus One Read Free

shrinking beneath my grip like a melting wicked witch. “While everything I just said is true, I suppose it’s possible, since he’s a boy, that he is C: Drawn to my incredible hotness as well.”
    “Full of yourself much?” Cinnamon said from her scrunched-down position. “Is that what happens when you turn fourteen?”
    I blushed, because while I could talk the talk—boobs, boobage, hotness—I was actually totally faking it. I did hope Lars thought I was hot, but no way would I really prance around saying, “Look at me! Ooo, baby, I am hot!”
    I released her. “And finally, D: If marshmallows are supposed to make your boobs grow, and you think I need bigger boobs to keep Lars around, then why did you give me mini -marshmallows, huh?”
    I thought I had her, when actually I’d walked straight into her trap.
    “Can’t build Rome in a day,” she said.
    I tugged a pink marshmallow off my locker and lobbed it at her. I pulled off five more in assorted colors and did the same thing. She ducked and squealed.
    “You guys,” Dinah said, scanning the hall for teachers. Then a yellow marshmallow bounced off Cinnamon and hit Dinah’s cheek. She swiveled her head my way.
    “Oh, Winnie,” she said, her tone suggesting I’d made a bad decision.
    “Uh-oh,” I said.
    She slipped off her backpack, caught the strap in the crook of her elbow, and unzipped the bottom pocket.
    “Teachers?” I called, adopting her survival strategy. “Oh, friendly tea chers!”
    “Would you grab her, please?” Dinah asked Cinnamon.
    “Certainly,” Cinnamon said. She pinned my arms behind me as Dinah tugged free a half-full bag of mini-marshmallows.
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I cried. “I’ll never marshmallow you again, I promise!”
    By now other girls were staring, but we didn’t care. We liked being spazzy. We liked it even though we were eighth graders who should be above such things—and I personally hoped we’d stay spazzy all the way through high school and beyond. In fact, right then and there I charged myself with a mission: Yes, high school is coming—not that I’m obsessing about it, since I’m living in the now. But stay spazzy anyway!!!
    “Cinnamon?” Dinah said. “Would you join me in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to our dear Winnie?”
    “Absolutely,” Cinnamon said.
    “Not necessary,” I protested. “Seriously.”
    Dinah stepped closer, jiggling the bag of marshmallows. “Happy birthday to you ...”
    Cinnamon joined in. She had me in a death grip, and she drove her knee into my spine to keep me from slithering from her grasp. “Happy birthday to you ...”
    Dinah undid the twisty tie on the bag of mini-marshmallows. “Happy birth day dear W in nie,”—she raised the bag and dumped it over my head—“H ap py birth day to yo-u-u-u-u!!!!”
    Some of the marshmallows got caught in my hair. Some went down my shirt. They smelled sweet and left puffs of powdery sugar on my skin.
    Cinnamon was snort-giggling so hard that her muscles went limp, and together we sank to the floor. People had to step over us. Malena, snark mistress extraordinaire and not my friend, sniffed in disdain.
    “You have a marshmallow in your braid,” she announced.
    “I know, right?” I said. “It’s, like, all the rage in Paris.”
    “Also Topeka,” Cinnamon said, fully spread-eagled on the floor. No one loved taking up space like Cinnamon did. “I mean, don’t quote me on it or anything, but ... yeah.”
    Malena’s gaze traveled up to my locker, to the streamers and the balloons and the poster Dinah and Cinnamon made.
    “Let me guess. Your birthday?” She said it as if it—or I—was a disease.
    I widened my eyes and made an “O” out of my mouth, to mean Omigosh! You are a genius!
    “And I suppose Tweedledum and Tweedledee made you a cake,” she continued. “And they’ll bring it to you at lunch and make you blow out the candles in front of everybody, and it will be soooooo special.”
    “Me sure hope