Waking Up to Boys by Hailey Abbott Read Free Book Online Page B

left, the one area where she would always be better than Sara. She fervently hoped that Todd wasn’t serious—if so, it was almost like he was doing it just to hurt her. Chelsea might have been a strong, kick-ass chick on a wakeboard, but that obviously didn’t extend to matters of the heart.

Chapter Seven
    W hat’s so great about Sara anyway? Chelsea asked herself as she trudged along the path home. So she knew a lot about plants—Eugene Fitzgibbon from Chelsea’s freshman biology class had known a lot about invertebrates, and it wasn’t like the whole world went falling all over the place over him . Usually knowing a lot about something dorky like plants was a good way to get people to make fun of you, not act like you were the coolest thing to happen to Glitterlake Resort since Todd showed up to start the water sports program. Todd . Chelsea sighed.
    Deep down Chelsea knew that the way people reacted to Sara had nothing to do with her expertise in local flora. People liked Sara because she was nice, andlaughed a lot, and always had fun. But mostly, people (especially guys) liked Sara because she was pretty, and well-dressed, and acted like…well, like a girl.
    Chelsea unlocked the door to her house and climbed the stairs to her room. Nobody ever came right out and said that being good at all that girly stuff was what made guys really like you, but that was obviously the way it was. Between her experience with the girly girls at school and now her sister, Chelsea felt like she stuck out like an overgrown third-grader.
    She plopped down on the end of her bed. It was probably only a matter of time before Sebastian, too, would see that she was a sporty, competitive, too-tall tomboy and lose all interest. What did he see in her anyway?
    After tossing and turning and generally wallowing in frustration for about as long as she could take it, Chelsea decided to go wakeboarding after all. She knew it would make her feel better to get in a solid hour before dinner.
    But as she passed Sara’s room, she saw the stained shirt that Sara had discarded on the floor before the plant walk through the open door. And beyond that Chelsea could see her closet, with the doors wide open showing beautiful, feminine summer clothes made out of silk and linen and soft brushed Egyptian cotton. Chelsea couldn’t even imagine the expense that had gone into amassing that wardrobe, let alone the hoursand hours of shopping and trying on clothes that must have accompanied it. Most of her own clothing came from stores and Web sites that also sold things like carabineers, tennis rackets, and surf wax.
    So she couldn’t quite understand why she was suddenly entering Sara’s room, gliding over to the closet, and running her hands along the rows of skirts, blouses, and sundresses. Or why her hand lingered on a flimsy silk shirt the exact color of the lake first thing in the morning, rubbing the tissue-papery sleeve between her fingers. Or why she took the blouse off the hanger and held it up against herself, the fabric cool and light against her bare arms.
    Chelsea was usually fairly aware of her motivations for doing things, but she couldn’t quite explain what drew her to slip the shirt on over her lime green Roxy tank top with the built-in bra—or why, when she saw the way she looked in the mirror, all she could do was stand there staring at the way it seemed to soften her features and bring out the blue in her eyes.
    The thud of footsteps coming up the stairs jolted Chelsea out of her trance. She quickly stashed the top back in the closet and practically leapt out of the room. Sara was coming down the hall.
    “Did you need something?” Sara asked her.
    “No, thanks, I’m good,” Chelsea stuttered. Then she pushed past Sara, down the stairs, and out the door. Sheran along the paths connecting the buildings, her breath settling into a regular rhythm. Her Pumas crunched against the gravel, and beads of sweat started to pop out on her