“You all right?” Even though the effects of weed had seemingly rendered Jonathan paralyzed in his relaxed position on the bed, I could hear a hint of emotion in his voice.
“I’m fine,” I lied. After squeezing my feet into my shoes, I walked around to Jonathan’s side of the bed and kissed his stubbly cheek. “As always, thanks for the good time.”
“You can leave the money on the counter.”
“Screw you.”
~*~
I called Bridget as soon as I got home.
“Wow. Two actual phone calls in one day. How did drinks go? Did you and Mr. Strong go at it in the bathroom stall?”
“In my dreams. You’re never going to believe what Jonathan told me.”
After a brief hesitation, Bridget asked, “When did you talk to Jonathan?”
“At his apartment earlier.”
“I thought you had drinks with work people?”
“I did. I went to Jonathan’s afterward.” I paced the length of my studio apartment, still reeling from the news.
“Oh. Why?”
“Frustrated. Like I knew I would be. Jonathan is easy and available and, after years of practice, he knows how to push my buttons. But this is not why I called.”
Sounding meek, Bridget asked, “Why did you call?”
I was dying to tell her about Hannah, but she didn’t sound right. “Is something wrong, Bridge?”
I heard her take a drag of a cigarette. “Nope.”
“Between you and Jonathan, secondhand smoke will be the death of me.”
“Jonathan’s still smoking too?”
“Yes. The smoking is one thing, but he’s kind of gross in general these days. I don’t think he’s gotten a haircut in six months.”
“Last time I saw Jonathan, his hair was cut close to his head, practically shaved.”
“I guess you haven’t seen him in a while. Now he looks like the straggly kitchen mop I had before I finally discovered the genius that is the Swiffer WetJet.”
Bridget let out a belly laugh. “I remember that mop. It looked like Bob Marley.”
“I made sure not to run my hands through it.” Clarifying my statement, I added, “Jonathan’s hair, not the mop. But back to you. For someone who recycles and eats practically all organic, the smoking is a bit ironic, don’t you think?”
“I’m celibate, Kim. Let me have my nicotine.” I heard her take another drag.
“Whatever. No one is forcing you to allow one bad experience to turn you into a nun. Not all guys have crabs.”
Bridget exhaled loudly. “Have you ever had crabs, Kim?”
She knew the answer to that question. “No.” I’d never even had a yeast infection.
“I didn’t think so. Let me tell you, it’s not pleasant.”
“I can only imagine.”
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about? I assume it wasn’t about the size of Nicholas’s penis.”
I pictured Nicholas naked. Although he was short, I had a feeling he was not shortchanged where it mattered. “No. It’s about Hannah Marshak.”
Bridget groaned. “What about that she-devil?”
I smiled slightly. Bridget hated Hannah as much as I did and was the only girl who stood by me, defending the authenticity of my Coach bag. “She wrote a book.”
“What? No way.”
“Yes way,” I said sadly.
“I’m sorry, K,” Bridget said softly.
I wrapped my hair into a ponytail holder and kicked off my shoes. “Why are you sorry?”
“I know you wanted to be a writer back in high school.”
“High school was ten years ago. And if I recall you wanted to be an astronaut.”
Bridget laughed. “I doubt Neil Armstrong tossed his cookies after riding roller coasters like me.”
I walked over to my bed, pulled down the comforter and sat on the edge. “Writing blogs is about all this girl can handle.” When I wasn’t working, I was reading. When I wasn’t reading, I was blogging. And when I wasn’t doing either of those things, I was responding to emails from authors and publicists, maintaining my Facebook, Twitter, and blog pages, corresponding with other bloggers about author blog tours, and so many other tasks associated with running a successful site. “Between the day job and the blog, I barely have time to wipe my ass, much less write a book. It’s not my dream anymore. But I’ll bet Hannah’s book sucks.”
“Definitely,” Bridget eagerly agreed. “But she would never admit it. Just like when she insisted she was accepted to Brown University but chose to go to a state school out of loyalty to Plum and Marla, who didn’t get in. Please. I’d like to see that acceptance letter.”
I had to laugh. There really was no way Hannah had been accepted to an Ivy League school, but none of her minions dared to challenge her.
“Maybe she’s lying about writing a book too?” Bridget suggested.
“Yeah. I bet her rich parents hired a ghostwriter,” I said, although I doubted it.
“A what?”
“Never mind. Time for bed. I’m so tired.”
“Jonathan wear you out?”
To brush my teeth or not brush my teeth, that was the question. I climbed into bed and cradled the phone in my neck. “It just feels like it’s been an unusually long day. Talk to you tomorrow, Bridge?”
“Of course. And don’t sweat Hannah’s book. I’m sure it will crash and burn.”
I hung up and went to bed feeling slightly better.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am so grateful for the creativity and support of my fellow beach babes: Samantha Stroh Bailey, Francine LaSala, Eileen Goudge, Julie Valerie, Jen Tucker, and Josie Brown, without whom this book would never have been written. I’ll never forget the moment the idea was born during our annual retreat to Northern California.
Thank you to my beta readers: Natalie Aaron, Kaley Stewart, and the aforementioned Samantha Stroh Bailey. Your passion for Kim, Hannah, and the rest of the Blogger Girl characters rivals my own, and I’m so blessed to have your insight at my disposal.
To my editor Vicky Sly and my proofreader Amy Oravec: Thank you for helping me polish this book and make it better than it would have been without your keen eyes for detail. Thank you to my cover artist, Loretta Matson. I’m so glad we were able to work together again.
Since I was well into my twenties in the year 2000, I am so grateful to my younger friends: Megan Coombes, Jordanna Newberger and Kaley Stewart for digging deep into their memories to tell me what they wore, what music they listened to, and what actors they crushed on back then.
Many thanks to my early younger readers: Taylor Coonelly and Hallie Brown. Your enthusiasm for my first young adult novel made my day and gave me the confidence I needed to publish it.
Thank you to my friends for supporting my writing career and keeping me young at heart: Ronni Candlen, Jenny Kabalen, Abbe Kalnick, Hilda Black, Julie Marie Shinkle, Shanna Eisenberg, Jennifer Baum, Jennifer Levin, Marisa Glaser, and Elke Marks.
Thank you to my fellow author and dear friend, Hilary Grossman, for all your support both writing-related and not.
A world of thanks to my family, especially, Mom, Dad, Marjorie, and Jim, for your constant encouragement of my writing career and never tiring of me talking about it.
Thank you to the following book bloggers for sharing your love for the Blogger Girl series: Kaley Stewart (third mention!), Aimee Brown, Bethany Clark, Melissa Amster, Samantha Janning, Marlene Engel, Isabella Anderson, Ashley Williams, Mary Smith, and Kelly Perotti.
Finally, I can’t publish a novel without thanking my late best friend, Alan Blum. Even though he’s no longer with me in the physical world, his faith in me stuck like Super Glue and I rely on it often.
nds
Kim vs the Mean Girl Page 16