Free Sloppy Firsts by Megan McCafferty Page A

good-bye. Scotty handed his controller off to Bridget—who squealed "I can’t play this!"—and walked me out to the driveway.
     
    "Sucked for you, huh?" he said.
     
    "Not really."
     
    "Yeah, right."
     
    Pause.
     
    "What are you gonna do now?"
     
    I didn’t know. But I didn’t want to come right out and say I didn’t know.
     
    "I think I might go over to Hy’s for a while," I lied.
     
    "You two are becoming pretty good friends, huh?"
     
    "I guess."
     
    "Sorry it sucked for you."
     
    "Yeah, me too."
     
    And I meant it. Things would be a lot easier if it hadn’t.
     
    the twenty-second
     
    I made the mistake of promising my mom that I’d help her and Bethany prepare invitations forthe big day. This is how desperate I was for things to do.
     
    At first, my mom and my sister did what they do best: Torture me about Scotty.
     
    "So are you taking Scotty to the wedding?" my sister asked.
     
    "Uh, I don’t know yet."
     
    Her nostrils flared with a sharp, annoyed exhalation of air. "You don’t know?" she asked. "Mother?!"
     
    My mom intervened.
     
    "Jessie, when are you planning to ask him?"
     
    "I don’t know," I said. "The weddingis still three months away."
     
    My sister was about to pop a blood vessel.
     
    "What do you think we’re doing right now? We’re preparing invitations. How can I know whether to send him one if you haven’t decided if you’re taking him?"
     
    "He won’t care if he doesn’t get an invitation," I said.
     
    "I don’t care if he doesn’t care," snorted my sister. "It’s the proper thing to do."
     
    I’m sure this would have gone on for hours if my sister hadn’t picked up an invitation to wave in my face. Before she put it back on the pile, she glanced at the writing. That’s when the blonde bond broke down and things got ugly. I meanreally ugly, to the point where it wasn’t even fun to watch them go at each other.
     
    "You call that calligraphy, Mother?"
     
    "What do you mean?"
     
    "The addresses are all running downhill!"
     
    "No one is going to notice."
     
    "Everyoneis going to notice! I only let you do it because you promised it would look professional!"
     
    "You think I enjoy doing this? If Grant didn’t insist on inviting three hundred people, we might have been able to afford professional calligraphy."
     
    "Don’t blame Grant."
     
    "Well, his family is twice as large and has ten times more money than we do. It would be nice if they helped out a little."
     
    "That’s not the groom’s responsibility, Mother."
     
    "This is the twenty-first century; it’s time for traditions to change. The bride’s family shouldn’t have to pay for everything anymore."
     
    "Well it’s just too bad you don’t have a boy …"
     
    Matthew Michael Darling. Born August 16. Died September 1.
     
    I don’t know what fell faster, my sister’s face or my mom’s tears. Mom ran out of the room but my sister stayed put, knowing there wasn’t anything she could do or say that could take it back.
     
    "You are such a bitch," I said in that quiet, calm way that makes vicious words sound even worse.
     
    Bethany’s mouth went slack. She couldn’t believe what I had said.
     
    I couldn’t believe it myself. I’d never said anything like that to anyone in my family before. I got up and went to my room before I found out what would happen. No way could I stay there, though, stickingLove stamps on the envelopes.
     
    About a half hour later, my mom came up and told me that what I had said to my sister was totally inappropriate. Her eyes were rimmed red.
     
    "And like whatshe said wasn’t?"
     
    "She’s got a lot on her mind," my mom said, running her finger along the dust on my dresser. "She didn’t mean what she said.You did. Which is why I want you to apologize."
     
    "You’re right, I did mean it," I said, bitterly. "But I’m not going to apologize. No way. I’m not sorry. I wouldn’t expect you to understand."
     
    "And why not?"
     
    I wanted to