Every Boy's Got One by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Meg Cabot
though….
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To: Julio Chasez
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: The Dude
Hi, Julio! Me, again! Just checking in, since I haven’t heard from you. How’s The Dude doing? Does he like that salmon paté I got him? I figured he’d appreciate a few treats, with me being gone. I hope you found the Pounce. I left it on the counter, with the oven mitts. Really, you should only need the Pounce if he tries to attack. Which he really shouldn’t, I mean, he KNOWS you. You two are buds. Right?
Well, let me know how he’s doing as soon as you get a chance. No biggie. You can just email, if you want. Or call. From my phone in the apartment. That way it won’t cost you anything. Don’t worry about the time difference, you can call at any time. I don’t mind being woken up, if it’s for The Dude.
J
Travel Diary of
Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Oh my God, this place is FABULOUS! When I woke up from my nap, it was two, and I called Holly to see if she was hungry, and she was, but Mark was still asleep, and Modelizer/Armrest Nazi didn’t pick up his phone (much to my relief) when Holly tried him… you know, to be polite, and not exclude him.
So Holly and I met in the hall and the two of us just strolled right out onto tiny Via di Buffalo, which I suppose is named after the mozzarella, which is made from buffalo milk, at least in Italy, and we started walking, and in half an hour, not five blocks from our hotel, we’d seen the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Piazza Navone, and a bunch of other sights I can’t even remember, as they all involved monolisks with bumpy writing on them.
But that’s not all! We saw portrait artists, right on the street—good ones, not like the cheesy ones in New York—and people eating gelati, and groups of senior citizens following around tour guides holding a flag, and I threw money in the Fontana di Trevi—I don’t know how much, because it was Italian—which apparently guarantees you’ll be back there someday. Which I hope is true, because it’s a kick-ass fountain, almost as cool as Ozzy’s pool on The Osbournes .
And we were solicited by a humpbacked dwarf with no shirt on and a tattoo that said Antonio on his shoulder, and I gave him some money, and then I bought a bottle of Diet Coke that cost five euros, which is more than a six-pack back home, and I realized I gave the humpbacked dwarf enough money to buy FIVE Italian Diet Cokes.
I really need to get a grip on this money thing. Although I’m sure Antonio (if that’s his name) needs the money more than I need Diet Coke.
And then Holly wanted her picture taken with a hot guy dressed as a gladiator in front of the Pantheon, so I started to take one, but then this very blowsy older woman dressed in a toga came over and demanded ANOTHER five euros, just for letting me take the picture with her hot gladiator boyfriend! The guy just stood there looking all sheepish while this went on, but Holly was all, “I want it, it’ll be funny,” so I forked over five more euros and took the picture.
Holly said later that right before I took the picture, the gladiator handed her his plastic sword, and when she asked him, “What should I do with this?” he went, in a long-suffering voice, “Keel me. Please.”
Which in and of itself was totally worth five euros.
And everywhere we went, lots of Italian vendors came up to us, another one every five seconds, it seemed, going “Bag, California?” I guess because we look like we’re from California, even though of course we’re not, though we are sort of tan thanks to Holly and Mark’s share in EastHampton.
Only how they knew we were American I can’t tell, though we were talking a lot, I suppose. And I am apparently the only girl in all of Rome who wears
Steve Madden slides.
But then Mark called on Holly’s cell and said he was hungry and Cal wasn’t answering the phone in his room, so we agreed to meet Mark for a
----
To: Julio Chasez
Fr: Jane Harris
Re: The Dude
Hi, Julio! Me, again! Just checking in, since I haven’t heard from you. How’s The Dude doing? Does he like that salmon paté I got him? I figured he’d appreciate a few treats, with me being gone. I hope you found the Pounce. I left it on the counter, with the oven mitts. Really, you should only need the Pounce if he tries to attack. Which he really shouldn’t, I mean, he KNOWS you. You two are buds. Right?
Well, let me know how he’s doing as soon as you get a chance. No biggie. You can just email, if you want. Or call. From my phone in the apartment. That way it won’t cost you anything. Don’t worry about the time difference, you can call at any time. I don’t mind being woken up, if it’s for The Dude.
J
Travel Diary of
Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Oh my God, this place is FABULOUS! When I woke up from my nap, it was two, and I called Holly to see if she was hungry, and she was, but Mark was still asleep, and Modelizer/Armrest Nazi didn’t pick up his phone (much to my relief) when Holly tried him… you know, to be polite, and not exclude him.
So Holly and I met in the hall and the two of us just strolled right out onto tiny Via di Buffalo, which I suppose is named after the mozzarella, which is made from buffalo milk, at least in Italy, and we started walking, and in half an hour, not five blocks from our hotel, we’d seen the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Piazza Navone, and a bunch of other sights I can’t even remember, as they all involved monolisks with bumpy writing on them.
But that’s not all! We saw portrait artists, right on the street—good ones, not like the cheesy ones in New York—and people eating gelati, and groups of senior citizens following around tour guides holding a flag, and I threw money in the Fontana di Trevi—I don’t know how much, because it was Italian—which apparently guarantees you’ll be back there someday. Which I hope is true, because it’s a kick-ass fountain, almost as cool as Ozzy’s pool on The Osbournes .
And we were solicited by a humpbacked dwarf with no shirt on and a tattoo that said Antonio on his shoulder, and I gave him some money, and then I bought a bottle of Diet Coke that cost five euros, which is more than a six-pack back home, and I realized I gave the humpbacked dwarf enough money to buy FIVE Italian Diet Cokes.
I really need to get a grip on this money thing. Although I’m sure Antonio (if that’s his name) needs the money more than I need Diet Coke.
And then Holly wanted her picture taken with a hot guy dressed as a gladiator in front of the Pantheon, so I started to take one, but then this very blowsy older woman dressed in a toga came over and demanded ANOTHER five euros, just for letting me take the picture with her hot gladiator boyfriend! The guy just stood there looking all sheepish while this went on, but Holly was all, “I want it, it’ll be funny,” so I forked over five more euros and took the picture.
Holly said later that right before I took the picture, the gladiator handed her his plastic sword, and when she asked him, “What should I do with this?” he went, in a long-suffering voice, “Keel me. Please.”
Which in and of itself was totally worth five euros.
And everywhere we went, lots of Italian vendors came up to us, another one every five seconds, it seemed, going “Bag, California?” I guess because we look like we’re from California, even though of course we’re not, though we are sort of tan thanks to Holly and Mark’s share in EastHampton.
Only how they knew we were American I can’t tell, though we were talking a lot, I suppose. And I am apparently the only girl in all of Rome who wears
Steve Madden slides.
But then Mark called on Holly’s cell and said he was hungry and Cal wasn’t answering the phone in his room, so we agreed to meet Mark for a
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