Ditched by Robin Mellom Read Free Book Online Page A

Wiggly. It was humiliating. I know what you’ve been through.” She pauses as if she’s remembering the details. Her face grows tough, like jerky. “True, I kicked him in the nuts for eyeballing another girl who it turns out was the girl in charge of playing music and he was giving her the eye to start playing our song, which was sweet and all, but still. How was I supposed to know?” She shakes her head, trying to convince herself. “No, he was going to be a scumbag someday . They all are.” Before she goes on, I say a quick silent prayer.
    Please, please don’t let me grow up to be this hard and crusty.
    53

    But then I realize there may be some slivers of truth to what Donna’s saying.
    There’s no excuse for what Ian did. I guess I should’ve known he’d turn into a scumbag someday .
    I just wish that day hadn’t been prom.
    My stomach growls.
    Donna looks over at the hot dogs and corn dogs rotating under the warm glow of fluorescent lights. “You want one?
    My treat.”
    “Don’t you have a meeting?” Gilda starts bagging her box of nicotine patches. These two seem to know each other wel . Maybe Gilda listens to stories from lots of her customers.
    “There wil be others.” Donna winks and says to Gilda,
    “This young dol could use a corn dog. Don’tcha think?” Gilda scuffles over to get me a corn dog, and I turn to Donna. “What kind of meeting?” I immediately realize it’s probably an AA meeting and I should keep my mouth shut.
    “DA meeting.”
    I shrug. “A what?”
    “Debtor’s Anonymous.” She pul s out a credit card and slides it across the counter. “I’m a compulsive spender. And a professional under-earner.”
    Gilda holds her hand up. “Forget it. Put that thing away.
    This one’s on the house.”
    I might be the type of person to end up in DA one day too, but Mom’s monitoring of my credit card keeps me in 54

    check. Most girls in my high school have credit cards, but they don’t have spending limits like me, and they don’t have moms who read their statements, making sure they only spend money at thrift stores, not the mal .
    I have a $400 limit. Per year . That gives me $7.69 to spend on clothes every week. Since Tuesdays are orange-dot half-price at the Huntington thrift store, it’s the only day I shop.
    If I had my credit card with me right now, and it wasn’t lost forever in the back of Brian Sontag’s Prius, I’d use it to pay Gilda for the glistening corn dog. But al I can do is thank her. I smother the corn dog with ketchup, then hold it up and look at it. I haven’t eaten meat in years. And I know how hot dogs are made. And I am disgusted that I’m about to break my pact to divorce myself from meat. But right now I’m so hungry I’d eat a bunny.
    My hand trembles as I pul it closer to my mouth.
    “It’s a tofu dog,” Gilda offers at the last possible moment.
    “I kinda figured you were one of those.” I cram the dog into my mouth. “Fank you!” I say, relieved that convenient stores have now become convenient for my type, too.
    Donna leans over the counter. “So who exactly is this scumbag?”
    “His name is Ian.” Gilda answers for me, explaining where we are in the story since my mouth is ful of tofu dog.
    “He picked her up for prom, he dazzled her mom and trained 55

    her dog and brought her a cookie, and basical y presented himself as a perfect guy.” She looks at me for permission, wondering if this is accurate. I nod and chew and swal ow and she continues. “So they’re on their way to some pre-party at Dan’s house and Justina can’t stop thinking about kissing him.”
    Donna nods, as if this story is familiar. “So you got tongue-tied with the guy in his car.”
    I shake my head and make out a somewhat audible, “No.”
    “Sucked face in the driveway?”
    “No!”
    “At the party?!”
    Gilda sighs. “She never kissed him.”
    “Oh, no.” Donna stands up straight.
    “What?” I swal ow hard and clear my throat so I can