You Can't Catch Me Read Free Page A

eating and search the room for my BFF. “Did you see Tiff?” I ask him when I can’t spot her bright blue shirt anywhere. Drake holds his finger up as he swallows a huge mouthful of roll and ham.
    “She…” Gulp. “She went upstairs.”
    Probably had to pee. No one goes upstairs during these shindigs unless the main level lavatory is occupied.
    “Be right back,” I tell Drake before stealing his cupcake. He hollers after me, but it’s halfway into my mouth already. I give him a nice show of it on my tongue before turning the corner and pushing my way up the stairs.
    I get to my baby sister’s room… which is just a pink room full of boxes at the moment. Someone must’ve opened the door because it’s always closed. Except that one time Mom left it open, and I caught her silently crying as she held a small white and yellow stuffed lamb, rocking it back and forth and singing. Just seeing the room open like that, showing off one of the most painful memories for our family, makes my heart frown, so I reach forward and ease the door shut. I run a hand over the purple fading letters of my sister’s name, Cayenne, before dropping it and continuing my search for Tiff.
    I knock on the bathroom door, but it’s partly cracked so I bet she’s not peeing. Maybe she went to my room for some peace and quiet in the chaos. What a cheater! I have to endure the bazillion people; the least she could do is keep me company.
    Actually… I might join her for a bit.
    I turn the knob to my room and hip-check the door open and say, “You sneak!”
    A loud, juicy suction popping noise echoes through the room, and my brain registers what I’m seeing.
    “My eyes!” I shout, pushing my hand over my face before I see any more of the vomit-inducing display. But even with my vision cut off, I still see the tangled legs on my bed, Fartbucket’s hand slithering up Tiff’s shirt, and tongues…
    My free hand fumbles for the doorknob, and I try to push back gagging noises as I hurry out of the room. I hear Tiff right before I get the door shut.
    “Sorry!”
    The click sounds in my ears, and I drop my hand from my eyes, giving the hallway a look like I’m about to barf all over it.
    My shoulders shudder in disgust, and when I look up, Drake’s at the end of the hallway, watching me with slight amusement. But then his gaze goes directly to my chest, his mouth popping open. Apparently, my overlarge sweater is caught in the door, stretching itself nearly skin-tight against my torso.
    The Sharpies have made their debut among one of my friends. And by the looks of it, they are getting a standing—and drooling—ovation.
     
     

3
(Cute) Stranger Danger
     
    They’re getting bigger.
    I just know it.
    Aunt Heidi insisted after buying me the Stripper Ginger bra that I also needed sports bras that didn’t want to pop off me like a champagne cork. So now, as I lace up my pink sneakers to go for my morning run, I have to lean a little differently, or I get a Sharpie to the chin.
    I do a couple stretches then jog past Mom and Dad’s chorus of snores coming from their open bedroom door. They were up way late for “old” people. I think Dad fell asleep nose-first in the sweet onion dip Mom set out for dinner.
    “Ah…” I sigh as I step out onto our massive front deck. Finally August. The sweet smell of autumn will be upon me soon—just one more month of this wretched heat.
    September is the best time for running—the crunch of leaves, the perfect amount of wind to dry the sweat, and no patches of snow or ice to completely ruin your ankles.
    I shove my earbuds in and set the track to Disney hits—there’s something relaxing about running to the beat of Kiss the Girl —then I take off down my good ol’ jogging path.
    Oy… my gosh. Yeah, it’s been a long while. I ran during summer vacation, but not for training. Mostly just in chasing situations. Playing on the beach. Yadda Yadda. Now that I’m actually running just to run, I think