Ten Things I Hate About Me by Randa Abdel-Fattah Read Free Book Online Page A

not?”
    She shrugs her shoulders. “I wasn’t in the mood. Some family stuff came up for me, too.” We enter our classroom and she takes a seat.
    Peter walks up to me. “You didn’t show on Saturday.”
    “I couldn’t fit it in,” I say in as casual a tone as possible.
    It works. He looks impressed.
    “I had a lot going on this weekend.”
    “Anything fun?”
    “Oh yeah. I had a lot of fun. I’m just so tired now. It was intense.” He doesn’t need to know that I spent all Saturday night on the computer e-mailing John and then watching DVDs. I’m wrapping myself in vagueness and, to my surprise, it’s working to my advantage.
    “Are you always this mysterious?”
    I smile coyly. My insides are somersaulting but I’m trying to keep cool. I am so nervous and uncomfortable with Peter’s attention. “So how was the party?”
    “A couple of my ex-girlfriends were there. Mouthing off as usual. They never shut up. You know what I like about you, Jamie?” He leans close enough for me to see the piece of lettuce lodged in his teeth.
    “All the girls I’ve dated can’t keep their traps shut. They’re always out to prove themselves. You, on the other hand, aren’t obsessed with the sound of your own voice.”
    News bulletin: I am not obsessed with the sound of my own voice because I don’t have a voice. I’m stifling it beneath layers of deceit and shame.
    Mr. Turner arrives for History and assigns a research project about Gandhi. He’s just returned from a vacation in India and is eating curry for lunch, humming Indian songs, and threatening to retire to Mumbai.
    We’re to work in pairs. I’m about to turn to Amy when Mr. Turner announces that he’s already drawn up a list of names.
    “I want to avoid the usual friends pairing up. This class needs to mix more. So listen carefully while I read my list out: Chris and Samira; Tamara and Edward; Timothy and Jamie…”
    I look up in surprise. I lock eyes with Timothy and he nods his head and smiles. I can’t believe my bad luck. Being paired with Timothy is not exactly the way to earn popularity points. In my class, loserdom is generally contagious. As if to reinforce my feelings, Peter throws a piece of scrunched-up paper at me. It hits me in the ear and rebounds onto my desk. I pick it up and unravel it.
You poor thing. You’re stuck with Goldfish.
He’s drawn a picture of a fish in the corner.
    I don’t know what to write back. I don’t want to be nasty just to earn his approval. But I’m too chicken to defend Timothy. I tear a piece of paper from the corner of my book and think about what to scribble back.
    But I’m as blank as a freshly painted wall. I can’t think of anything remotely witty or flirtatious to write. So I do the pathetic thing and ignore the note, turn my head toward the front of the classroom, and avoid the potential for any eye contact with him.
    After class I resolve to say something to Peter face-to-face. I have no idea what, though. I’m relying on my brain to perform under pressure. I turn from my desk but my path is blocked by Timothy. Timothy is tall and handsome. His bag is slung over his shoulder, his head cocked to one side as he looks at me. “So I guess we should exchange numbers.”
    “Why?” I blurt out, distracted by Peter, who is standing behind me, listening. My palms feel sweaty and I tug nervously at my hair. “Oh yes, because of the project.”
    Timothy gives me a weird look and then smiles. “A short memory span, huh?” He raises one eyebrow and murmurs to himself: “Well, it looks like we’re going to ace this assignment.”
    I chuckle uncomfortably, still conscious that Peter is eavesdropping. “Um, yeah.” We exchange numbers and I start packing my books away. Peter walks past and flashes me a sympathetic look.
    “You must be stoked, huh, Goldfish? Mr. Turner organizing the pairs saves you the hassle of begging somebody to be your partner.”
    Timothy looks at Peter as though he were a