Naomi and Ely's No Kiss List by Rachel Cohn Read Free Book Online Page B

pushing it farther still. “And how do you know Cutie Pa-tootie is fucking stupid? Is there some IQ test for Chihua—”
    “It’s Cutie Pie, not Patootie,” Bruce the First interrupts. He bounces up from his chair. The dog barks, tail wagging, eager for a trot outside.
    Bruce the First. First. I’m going to show that boy a good time tonight. And it’s not going to be some superficial good time that’s all about pink cocktails and pretty boys and getting laid. There will be no party tonight, there will be no imbibing or ritual dancing to Madonna and Kylie Minogue songs as if I like them, and there will be no Naomi & Ely adventure. I’m taking Bruce and that dog somewhere instead, don’t know where yet, but somewhere nice and wholesome. Maybe a Bible study group for insomniacs. Maybe roller-skating at the under-18 club. Maybe to girl-Robin’s dorm to play Pictionary. We’re going to act our mean age—not our inflated, sophisticated Manhattan age.
    This city is so fast. Ely is so fast. My heartbeat is so fast. I want to slow down.
    “Just so we both clearly understand the stand you are taking, Naomi, I’m going to ask you this once and only once. Do you really not want to go out with me tonight? Or are you lying?” Ely asks.
    “No.” I’m lying. About what, I’m not sure.
    One thing I’m absolutely sure of. Step aside, Donnie Weis-berg, wherever you are, and make way for a new name on the No Kiss List List TM : Ely.
    The winner, as always.

ELY
    KNOCKDOWN
    Last time I offer her gum—I’ll tell you that.
    Here I was, thinking we had all these pillars of our friendship in a row. Only it ends up that they’re dominoes. And all it takes is a pack of gum to send ’em tipping over.
    She’s lying. I know she’s lying. But if she’s not going to admit that she’s lying, it’s just as bad.
    Domino. Domino. Domino.
    “You’re lying,” I say.
    Domino.
    “So are you,” she says back.
    Domino.
    “Guys?”
    “Yes, Bruce,” Naomi asks, clearly annoyed. I take some consolation that it’s not only me.
    Cutie Pie starts barking up a storm. Maybe all this lying’s made her want to pee.
    “Nothing,” Bruce the First says.
    Cutie Pie’s now acting like King Kong’s blowing a dog whistle.
    “You see,” Naomi says, “even Cutie Patootie knows you’re lying.”
    “Cutie Pie,” Bruce corrects again. And for a millisecond there, I actually like him. He never stands up for himself, but at least he stands up for the dog.
    Naomi lets out this pout-snort that’s like her impersonating Madonna impersonating the Queen of England.
    Cutie Pie’s straining at his leash, pulling for the door. And I swear Naomi’s looking at him like he’s telling her things about me.
    “You’re acting weird, Naomi,” I say.
    “And you’re just plain acting, Ely,” she says back.
    This from the girl who was a drama queen before we were old enough to go to Dairy Queen.
    I have no desire to see the night crash to the ground. I want to go out, have a good time, appease Naomi, and get back to Bruce in my bedroom. I don’t see any reason why I can’t do all of these things.
    “Look,” I say, “is this about Bruce?” I figure we might as well talk about it instead of using all our energy to avoid it.
    “What about me?” Bruce-who’s-downstairs-with-us asks.
    “Not you,” Naomi says. “The other one.”
    Bruce seems a little pleased that he’s the primary Bruce.
    “Is he coming, too?” he asks.
    “Why don’t you ask Ely?” Naomi says, both bitter and brittle. Britter.
    “Can we just go?” I say.
    But Bruce the First is still inspecting the starting block. “Wait—what’s going on?” he asks, dumbwildered. “Isn’t he here with you, Naomi? I saw him go upstairs.”
    Oh Lord. Just my luck he chooses this moment to be Encyclopedia Brown.
    “Is that right, Bruce?” Naomi says. She looks like she’s about to pet him.
    “Naomi—” I start.
    “Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago,” Bruce