Truth Game by Anna Staniszewski Read Free Book Online Page B

results of my Truth Game questionnaire are in. I look at my scores. Five points for the “Dating” one along with the comment: “Whoa, snooping in the underwear drawer? Two bonus points!” I smile for a second before it dawns on me that some complete stranger knows about me rummaging through Briana’s underwear. Creepy.
    I look at the stats to see how my answers stack up with other people’s, expecting them to be pretty average. I’m shocked when I see that my numbers are pretty much opposite from everyone else’s. Having a boyfriend but never having been kissed makes me a total anomaly.
    Ugh. Just when I think I’ve left my middle school self behind, something else makes me feel like an outcast.
    I start pacing around the kitchen, feeling like I should bake something. That’s what I always do when I get stressed. I should probably try one of the French pastries I was looking at, but for some reason all I feel like baking are chocolate-chip cookies. No way. I’m not going to waste time making something I’ve baked a million times before.
    â€œMom!” I call into the living room. “What do you want me to bake for you?”
    â€œHow about some lemon squares?” she calls back. It figures. They’re her favorite.
    I sigh and get to work. Maybe I can make a meringue to go on top or do something to make the lemon squares a little fancier. At least the act of baking will calm me down. But the weird thing is, it doesn’t. Not even when the squares are in the oven. Not even when I pull them out, all warm and gooey, and the whole house smells like heaven.
    â€œMmm,” Mom says, her nose practically pulling her into the kitchen. “Can I have a bite?”
    I push the entire pan over to her. “They’re all yours.”
    â€œSo I have some great news,” Mom says. “One of the women on the PTA told me that her brother-in-law’s cousin, Bianca, might be doing sound for the Cooking Network special! So, if you want, I can give her a call and set up a lunch meeting for you and Bianca this week!”
    I blink at her. “Huh?”
    â€œDon’t you see? If you talk to Bianca and make a good impression, maybe she’ll get you some face time with Chip.” She gets a thoughtful look on her face. “Now, the first thing we need to do—”
    â€œMom, do you really think me having lunch with a complete stranger is going to help anything? You know what I’m like with people I don’t know.” I’d probably insult the woman’s dog by accident or something.
    â€œYou’ll be fine!” Mom says. Then she frowns. “Except she apparently speaks only Italian.”
    I groan. “I know you’re trying to help, but can you give me a chance to figure things out on my own for once?”
    Her face falls. “It’s just…I’ve watched your shyness hold you back so many times. I didn’t want that to happen again with something you really cared about.”
    As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. Normally, I wouldn’t have the guts to do anything about getting onto the show. “I know, but I won’t let that happen. Can you please let me handle things my way?”
    She puts her hand on mine. “I guess I’m still getting used to the idea that I don’t have to look out for you all the time. It’s like the day we got you that unicorn balloon at the fair when you were little. Do you remember? When it flew away, you were so upset that I rushed out and bought you a new one, even though I knew I should use that opportunity to teach you about taking better care of your possessions. I told myself I had plenty of time to teach you about the harsh facts of life when you were older. But I think part of me is still trying to protect you from them.”
    The funny thing is, I remember that day with the unicorn balloon, but in my memory, it was my dad who got me a