Free Anatomy of a Misfit by Andrea Portes Page A

her—all the time.
    Shelli’s weird racist Christian mom made her work at the Bunza Hut to keep her out of trouble. The irony of this isn’t lost on me, considering that I’m rapidly turning her into a first-class saboteur.
    But tonight she can’t even go out to Brad Kline’s birthday party because her mom has suddenly decided she has to stay home and study the Bible or something.
    One of these days her mom is gonna get taken away to the funny farm, I swear to God. Her mom makes her burn her hair after she gets a haircut, so no one tries to cast a spell on her. I’m serious. That’s the level of loony tunes we are talking here.
    So, tonight it’s just Becky and me, which may sound like torture except for two important factors:
    Number one, Becky is completely different when she’s in party mode. It’s like she’s just copying all those girls from teen movies and her goal is to be the life of the party, the belle of the ball, the shiniest of the shiny, the super-happiest!! So she’s making Jell-O shots and smiling it up and acting like she’s just the coolest raddest hottest girl in the US of A.
    I know. It’s surprising. But even Darth Vader has a few red buttons.
    As much as I normally wish Becky would get swallowed up into the nearest sinkhole, the fact is, when she’s in this mode, you kinda can’t help but like her. She’s charming and funny and she’ll get the party started and bring you in under her wing and make you sing out loud to the cheesiest songs and laugh like nobody’s business.
    This solidifies her reputation as the Number One, Super-Fantastic Becky Vilhauer that everyone just HAS to be around—just HAS to make their friend.
    I couldn’t hold court like that. I’d totally punt it. But Becky does have something. She just only takes it out on special occasions. And this, my friend, is a very special occasion.
    That’s the second thing.
    The party is at Brad Kline’s house. This means a Jared Kline sighting is imminent.
    Yes, THE Jared Kline.
    I swear every girl here is just waiting to see if they will see a glimpse of The Great One, and maybe, just maybe, get to talk to him. Or even blow him. That’s like a goal.
    I know. It’s hard to believe the guy is that kind of a rock star. But he is. It’s epic.
    Even I, with my disdain of all mankind, cannot resist a peek at Jared Kline. I’m not standing in line to defile myself with him like all these other girls . . . but . . . I don’t mind looking at him. It’s kind of like seeing Jesus in a tortilla or something.
    The Klines live in this huge Tudor house on Sheridan Boulevard that looks kind of like they should be selling chocolate in Bavaria. And, of course, Becky is here because Brad Kline is her boyfriend. There is one serious damper in their relationship at present, which is that Becky is in the back room, right now, having sex with Brad’s brother.
    Like I said, no one can resist Jared Kline.
    Not even Becky.
    My job right now is to make sure no one, particularly Brad Kline, goes anywhere near the back room. It’s not an easy job, but somebody has to do it and considering that Shelli is probably at home reciting the New Testament with Mama Crazy-Pants, this duty has fallen on yours truly.
    To say that there is a lot of puking at this party is an understatement. Lucky for me, the two upstairs bathrooms are near the front of the stairwell, so I just have to stand here and sway like I’m drunk but not really in a hurry to go anywhere while Becky gets herself inducted into the hall of fame for Kline brother fucking. I hope there is a condom involved. That could be one tricky DNA test if something went wrong. . . .
    Mostly I just wish Logan would magically appear in the window, possibly in the form of a bat, and then we could fly away to some dark and spooky mountain where he would have to make out with me