Sticky Fingers by Niki Burnham Read Free Book Online Page B

you’ll discover that relationships go through a huge transition between your senior year of high school and your freshman year of college. Not that I’m saying you two will break up after high school—it’s more that, even when those relationships from high school do last, they’re different. Something to keep in mind.
    Let me know about spring break. It’s a serious invitation. And I promise you’ll have some serious fun.
    Mark
    Freaky, freaky horoscope yesterday. All morning with the Everson kids and I’m still thinking about it. I’m totally out of balance, and even though I’m not sureabout the impulsive part, Scott is definitely being aggressive. (I like that about him most of the time.)
    And Mark has to be the “unexpected communication from a loved one.” After all, he did try to offer me some perspective on the Scott situation.
    Of course, the horoscope didn’t say whether the loved one would offer the
correct
perspective, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t believe in horoscopes. The fine print even says that it’s for entertainment purposes only. But still …
    “Wanna run upstairs to The Body Shop?” Courtney asks as we walk through the first floor of the Natick Mall. “I want to get some of that Nut Body Butter. My skin’s totally dry with all the cold weather.”
    It’s crowded, since it’s Saturday and Christmas is almost here, and I’m getting to the limit of my patience with people bumping into me with their bags. But it’s Courtney’s shopping trip, and with everything going on at her house, I figure I’ll just roll with whatever she wants today.
    “My skin’s pretty dry too,” I tell her, but since I always get sucked into buying way too much stuff at The Body Shop, I ask her if we can duck into CVSfirst since it’s right in front of us. If I spend my money in here—on stuff I really need—I won’t be as tempted when we get upstairs.
    Courtney leads the way inside, past a group of teenagers who are hanging out by the huge theft detectors in the doorway, talking about what their plans are for winter break while they suck down their milk shakes from the Friendly’s that’s opposite the CVS. Of course, they stop talking to eye Courtney for a moment, and I can tell by the little smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth as we hit the magazine aisle that she noticed them noticing her too.
    When she bends down to snag a copy of
Teen People
off one of the lower racks, I notice that her jeans are hanging pretty loose. “Courtney, how much weight have you lost? And don’t say you haven’t lost any. I was with you when you bought those jeans a couple months ago.”
    She flips past the pictures of some boy band singer and his girlfriend of the moment (because who really cares?) and looks over her shoulder at me. “Not much—I’m not trying or anything. Why? Do you think it’s noticeable?”
    “Um, yeah!” She’s always been a stick, but this is even skinnier than her usual self, and I know she knows it. “Are you doing South Beach again or something?”
    “No. But Dad told Mom he wants to take the treadmill with him to his new place, so I’ve been using it a ton.” She shrugs. “I figure he might leave it if he thinks I’m using it. And if he ends up taking it anyway, well, I should probably get in as many workouts as I can before he goes. Christmas is going to be horrid enough with them getting divorced. It’d be worse if I gained a pile of weight from all of Mom’s sugar cookies too.”
    Now that she’s saying this, I realize it doesn’t look like she’s had a cookie in a couple months. She’s been doing low-fat or low-carb or low-something-or-other and not telling me, because she hates for anyone—even me—to know she’s trying to lose weight. Mostly because everyone—even me—always tells her she’s being insane, because she doesn’t have to lose weight.
    Since she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, I tell her I’m going over to the aisle with