Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch by Judy Goldschmidt Read Free Book Online

likeness of a boy dressed in a suit standing at a lectern. He had a book in his hand and a harmonica on his head. His mouth was open as if he were singing or praying. I’m not exactly sure who he was supposed to be. He was too small to be Roger.
    The lady told me to check underneath the statuette for my table number, which was C-8. I prayed that the C was a sign that CJ would be seated at my table. She also told me to hang on to the statuette because there was going to be a surprise later. Then she directed me toward an elevator and told me which floor number to press.
    As I rode the elevator, another guy asked me for my autograph.
    I wished CJ had been around to witness my fabulosity. Then again, I wouldn’t have wanted to make him feel jealous. We’ve all heard stories about how sticky things can get when people’s loved ones rise to the top.
    After I left my crazed fan in the elevator, I turned a corner and ran into the Fiona and Haleys.
    â€œWhere’d you get your outfit?” Fiona asked. Which, loosely translated into regular-person-speak, means, “I like what you’re wearing. But I could never tell you or else I’d have to kill you.”
    Fiona didn’t look too shabby herself. She was wearing a mint-green chiffon dress with an empire waist and butterfly sleeves.
    â€œI like your dress too,” I said back. Amber and Madison exchanged knowing glares and Haley just stared at the floor. I instantly regretted what I had said.
    â€œI meant I like your dress period. Not too. I don’t know why I said too. ‘Too’ doesn’t even make sense. It would only make sense if you told me that you liked my dress and you didn’t.”
    When I found the entrance of the party room, Lynn, Roman, Jeremy, Jacques, and Fippy were all waiting to get inside. I didn’t notice CJ anywhere, though. But seeing the rest of them all dressed up was a welcome distraction. For about a second. Especially Lynn, who was wearing a gorgeous, flowy, pink slip dress.
    I felt like I was the friend in one of those movies on the ABC Family Channel where the star suffers from uglyitis until she takes off her glasses, washes her hair, and wipes off that awful black lipstick and then suddenly she’s the princess of an unknown but very wealthy principality.
    â€œYou look beautiful,” I told her as I grazed my finger along the hem of her garment.
    â€œThanks,” she said, breaking into a smile and then catching herself. Her orthodontist put studs on her teeth, and now she’s self-conscious about smiling.
    â€œI kept the price tag on so I could return it. Don’t want to be giving all that money to The Man.”
    â€œWhat table are you at?” I asked her.
    â€œA-11,” Lynn said, running off to her table before I could tell her where I was seated. I was really surprised Roger hadn’t seated us together.
    â€œHow ’bout you?” I asked Roman. He looked good too. His blue suit really brought out the blue in his hair. And it looked like he’d removed his dog collar for the occasion.
    â€œI’m also at A-11,” he said.
    â€œI theenk we all are at zees table,” Jacques added. Then they all sped off to catch up with Lynn, leaving me behind to find C-8 on my own.
    I didn’t even want to find C-8. It was pretty obvious that everyone besides me was seated at A-11. And since CJ is part of everyone, I assumed he was there too.
    And then it occurred to me: just because the bottom of my statuette said a certain table number didn’t mean I had to sit at that table. I mean, maybe my food would come to that table, but I hadn’t come for the food. I came to have my first kiss with the boy I love.
    On my walk from the entrance to A-11, I noticed that rich people can buy things for their bar mitzvahs that regular people don’t even know about. Like:
    1. Popcorn machines. There was one set up between every two tables. And a soda