Thirteen by Lauren Myracle Read Free Book Online Page B

truth of the matter was this: even with all that, even knowing that the olden days were long gone and that I was brave, independent Winnie who could do my own thing, I would still rather Lars make the first move and kiss me . I couldn’t help it. I wanted romance and anticipation and a wonderful, beautiful moment to hold in my heart forever. We were talking first kiss here, for heaven’s sake!
    My first kiss, anyway.
    Eeek! Had Lars kissed other girls before? Eeek eek eek!
    Okay, let’s think about the positives. Just say Lars had kissed a girl before. Or two or three or whatever, although the thought of him having kissed three different girls made my stomach flip. But in one way, that would be good, because he’d know what to do. I knew what to do in theory, but the only person I’d ever touched tongues with was Amanda, back in the second grade. Just our tips touched, just for a micro-second. It felt extremely weird, one wet tongue touching another. We’d also pricked our fingers and pressed them together, meaning she’d be my blood sister for always.
    And now here she was frequenting hot tub parties and swigging wine coolers. Her first kiss had already happened. Probably lots more “firsts” that I wasn’t even aware of.
    So why don’t you call her and ask for some tips? I thought. But I didn’t truly consider it. Sometimes the brain just made words come into your head that in no way reflected reality. Amanda wasn’t a buddy I could call out of the blue anymore. Weird and sad and true.
    If Lars hadn’t kissed anyone, that would be better. He would be my first, and I would be his. I didn’t want other girls existing in his memory, anyway. Still, I wondered: Who might he have kissed? No seventh graders, surely. I scrolled through the set of eighth grade girls he sometimes hung out with: Taryn, who liked anime; Chloe, who was in French with us and who seemed chummy with him; Miranda, who liked him —that was obvious—but who wasn’t pretty, so who cared?
    Was I a bad person for thinking that?
    Girls who weren’t pretty were allowed to get kissed, too. Just not by Lars. My Lars.
    I sighed. It wasn’t even the middle of the day on Saturday, and already the weekend seemed too long. After leaving Memorial Park, Cinnamon had gone to a baseball game with her dad, and Dinah had returned to her house to read a book she was into. Something about vampires. So I’d gone back home, too. I’d crawled into bed and tried to go back to sleep, but that hadn’t happened. Obviously, being in my own obsessive company wasn’t working out that well for me.
    So I got up off my butt and found Sandra and Bo lounging on a quilt in the backyard. It was just starting to get warm—yay spring!—and Sandra was wearing cutoffs. Her legs were pale.
    I plopped down beside them. “Hi, guys,” I said.
    â€œHey, Winnie-O,” Bo said. He scooted over their Boggle game to give me more room. Bo and Sandra were in a Boggle phase, keeping a running tally of who was kicking whose fanny.
    â€œCan I ask a question?” I said.
    Sandra stretched. The silver ring Bo had given her gleamed on her index finger, making her look artsy. The stone in its center was a moonstone.
    â€œWhat’s up?” she said.
    I was glad she was mellow. Otherwise I’d have backed off.
    â€œWell…”
    â€œYessss?” Bo said.
    â€œI was hoping we could discuss kissing.”
    â€œOh, good God,” Sandra said. “ Winnie .”
    I blushed, but the thing about Sandra and Bo (unless Sandra was in one of her moods) was that I could blush around them and still keep going.
    â€œI just don’t understand what you do with your tongues,” I said.
    â€œHow many tongues do you have?” Bo asked.
    â€œHa ha,” I said. “One that belongs to me, one that belongs to someone else.”
    â€œAnd who might this someone else be?”