By Jody Gehrman
I proposal I knew every little thing approximately Gwen Matson. we have now been top neighbors because sophomore 12 months at Analy excessive. i do know her to be shrewdpermanent and assured with a unfashionable kind that will supply Jackie O a run for her money—albeit a sleek, sweat-free run in kitten heels.
Not as soon as did she ever show a rabid have to checklist each aspect of her life. yet by no means ahead of had she long past on a weekend highway journey together with her notable boyfriend, Coop…and his evil, yoga-toned ally, satan Blonde Dannika. Now she's writing to me like mad.
Not that i am complaining. i am in homosexual Paris (good), assembly my destiny in-laws (bad), so her tireless scribbling is conserving us either sane.
Usually, a well-thought-out What might Jackie Do? is helping Gwen pull it jointly. yet this main issue is past aid. i do know Gwen and Coop are supposed to be, yet can their love face up to Gwen's psycho jealousy and Dannika's twisted sabotage?
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Not to mention stupid. ” I asked coolly. She slammed the trunk shut with more force than was absolutely required and jutted her chin at my final piece of luggage. ” I nodded. “Yeah, but he won’t bring much. ” “Unlike some people,” she said under her breath. ” I did, but not without tweaking a muscle between my shoulder blades as I tried to display how effortlessly I could haul it up off the sidewalk and into the convertible without even bothering to open the door. I don’t recommend it. The pain was unbearable and even now I can feel a dull, throbbing ache near my spine.
Is that just slit-your-wrists depressing or what? Her hair is so shiny-blond, so long and healthy and shampoo-commercial-bouncy, it hardly seems real. I swear the Los Feliz light was caressing every strand, spilling sparkles into the air around her until her whole head was surrounded by a lemon-hued halo. Her skin was dewy-fresh, lightly tanned and radiant. Her eyes were a deep ocean color—Malibu on a good day. She was at least five foot eight and her body was so fit and toned, it’s hard to imagine any inch of her succumbing to sag or cellulite.
She gasped. ” “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “Whatever. ” An hour later, Gwen had found me three versatile, elegant, wrinkle-proof outfits that made my thighs look slimmer, my bones more pronounced and my split ends fashionably intentional. She’s a genius. I tried to force my credit card on her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. As we were hugging goodbye, I got my brilliant idea. “Listen,” I said. “I’ve got something for you. ” I ran out to my car, checked the meter, and grabbed the little journal from my plastic Rite Aid bag.