The Boyfriend League by Rachel Hawthorne Read Free Book Online

eyes. Even here, at my favorite ice-cream shop, Tiffany was getting the attention. “I’m not sure I’d call Miss Teen Ragland a beauty pageant.”
    Jason had worked his way through his ice cream and took a bite of the sugar cone. “So what is it?”
    Suddenly there wasn’t enough cookie dough in my ice cream to keep me happy. What kind of contest was it? Let’s see…she was judged on poise, talent, and her love of orphans…oh, yeah, and her beauty. I sighed. “I guess it’s a beauty contest.”
    â€œHave you ever entered?”
    I couldn’t help myself. I laughed at that and held up my hair by the end of the ponytail. “Me, Miss Every-Day-Is-a-Bad-Hair-Day? I don’t think so.”
    â€œIt’s more than hair. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who cares as much about orphans as your sister does.”
    If he hadn’t looked so serious, I would haveburst out laughing again. “Well, there you go,” I said. “Orphans aren’t my thing.”
    He popped the tip of his sugar cone into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, the entire time studying me like he thought I was suddenly going to change into a bathing suit for the poise competition. When he was finally finished eating, he leaned across the table until I was able to see the blue of his eyes up close.
    â€œWhat is your thing?” he asked.

Chapter 7
    S taring into his earnest eyes, I almost told him the truth.
    But the way I felt about baseball…it wasn’t something I could share with just anyone.
    â€œMovies,” I offered, trying to get my brain to shift into witty conversation mode. “Movies are my thing.”
    His brow furrowed. “What, like making them?”
    â€œNo, like watching them.”
    â€œSo if a judge asked you—”
    â€œOh, no,” I said, waving my hand to dismiss the direction of his question. “I didn’t realize we were still talking about beauty contestant questions.”
    Geez, for a moment there, I’d thought hehad a real interest in me, and instead, we were playing some sort of what-if game. I was so glad I hadn’t gone into my spiel about my passion for baseball.
    â€œSaving the environment, I guess. If I were a contestant, I’d want to save the environment.”
    â€œBut if you weren’t in a beauty contest, you wouldn’t want to save the environment?”
    â€œNo—yes—I don’t know. The environment is important. I recycle.” How had we gotten on this insane topic?
    â€œWhat’s your major?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
    â€œBiology. I want to go into sports medicine.”
    â€œNot pro ball?”
    â€œI’d love to play in the majors, but realistically it’s a long shot. I need something to fall back on. How about you?”
    â€œI think the majors is a long shot for me, too.”
    He laughed, really laughed. He had a terrific smile.
    And I felt like I’d scored a few points.
    â€œNo, not the plans for your baseball career. School. What are your plans for school?”
    â€œI’ve got a year of high school to go, and then I want to major in journalism.”
    â€œCool. You like to write?”
    â€œOh, yeah, keep a diary and everything.”
    He leaned back in his chair, grinned, and nodded toward me. I expected him to ask if he could read my diary sometime. Instead he said, “Your cone is dripping.”
    I glanced down. Somehow ice cream had eaten its way through the tip of my cone and dripped onto my shirt. Great, just absolutely great. With a groan, I told him I’d be back.
    I tossed what remained of my ice-cream cone into the trash on my way to the restroom. Of course, there were no paper towels to clean up with…just hand dryers. I rubbed my wet fingers over the ice cream, creating a big wet spot right in the center of my chest. Oh, yeah, beauty and poise contest, here I come.
    I hit the