Free The Girlfriend Project by Robin Friedman Page B

She looks absolutely scandalized. "No way."
    "But this Web site is making my life miserable!" I say, not meaning to sound so pathetic, but it's the truth.
    Ronnie snorts. "Oh, sure, Reed, it's so miserable having girls throw themselves at you."
    I must be a dork down to my bone marrow, because I know other guys would kill for this setup. But this isn't what I wanted
     at all. How can I make her understand that?
    "I wanted a girlfriend, Ronnie, remember? Not girls throwing themselves at me."
    "But you've got to date girls to find a girlfriend."
    What I want to say is, "I already know who I want."
    Instead I say, "I don't want to date girls."
    She gazes at me for a long time. I hope she'll finally get it.
    But instead, she asks, "Are you gay?"
    "No!"
    "It's okay if you are . . ."
    "I'm not!"
    She looks puzzled. "I don't understand, Reed, really. Why don't you want to date girls?"
    Just tell her.
    "Because . . . because . . ."
    She moves closer to me. "Because you're shy and nervous and confused?"
    Yes, yes, and yes. But that's not it at all.
    "You can't give up, Reed, you have to keep trying. I know it's hard for you. You're learning."
    "But everything's coming out wrong!" I yell.
    It had nearly killed me to tell Lonnie about the botched-up kiss with Rhonda the other day. It nearly killed him too. I think
     he's downright revolted by me now.
    "Take it off, Ronnie," I say, then feel my face flame. That sounds like something other than what I intended. I wonder if
     that's how Ronnie will hear it. But she doesn't, and even though it's absurd, that really depresses me.
    "No, Reed, I'm not taking it off. The Web site stays."
    "But it's my life you're playing with!"
    "You just need a little help, that's all."
    'A little help? I can't even kiss a girl!"
    I'm losing it. I don't want to lose it. Maybe in front of Lonnie, but not in front of her.
    "You may think you're beyond help, but everyone else thinks differently. Samantha Spinner invited you to her party this weekend,
     remember? That's something."
    "I don't care."
    "You're hot now."
    'Aren't you listening? I said, I don't care." I hate the tone I'm using with her, but I'm basically at my wit's end. I peer
     at her to see how out-of-line I am. She doesn't look angry. She looks concerned.
    She touches my hair. I wish she'd stop touching me. It only makes things worse.
    "Please give it more time. A few weeks? Please, Reed?"
    "Okay," I mutter in defeat.
    Has Ronnie ever noticed she can make me do anything she wants?
    . . .
    I've always liked Ronnie. A lot. A whole lot.
    But that doesn't mean I ever expected anything.
    She kept getting prettier and prettier, more and more popular, more and more desirable, more and more out of my league.
    She's always hugged me, touched me, kissed my cheek, played with my hair. I knew she meant nothing by it. I was probably like
     another brother to her.
    I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd never get her in a million years. I had accepted it.
    Until now.
    The fact of the matter is, she's the girlfriend I want at the end of this dumb Girlfriend Project.
    It's no contest.
    I would never have allowed myself to think this before all of this started. But now I can't help it.
    I can't stop thinking that maybe I have a chance with her now.
    Maybe.
    On the other hand, she has a serious boyfriend. She's always had serious boyfriends.
    I suppose I could get into other girls. I would've liked kissing Rhonda Wharton. I liked Marsha Peterman for years. I thought
     Janet and Sarah were both cute.
    But Ronnie's the one I really want.
    Ronnie's the one who's always been my friend; the one who sent me Valentines, the one who saw beyond my glasses and braces
     and dorkiness, the one who saved me from drowning.
    Literally. And in general.
    Ronnie gets me.
    I wish I could get her.
    But this stupid Web site isn't getting me closer to that.
    In fact, it's doing the opposite.
    . . .
    I go through an hour's version of I Have Nothing to Wear! with Lonnie before Samantha