Free Charmed Thirds by Megan McCafferty Page A

was out the door, a blur of earth-toned khaki and Egyptian cotton. No good-bye. Not for me, not for Marin or Bethany. Not for anyone. I rolled my eyes then, much like I rolled my eyes when Bethany hung up the phone. Marcus shrugged. Marin demolished the castle with a karate chop.
    “Hi-YA!”
    “Jessie! Your boyfriend here is a natural with kids!”
    I glanced at Marin, who was reaffirming this statement by gleefully wrapping Pinky the Poodle’s feather boa around Marcus’s neck.
    “He should be a manny! I’d hire him in a second!”
    Marin danced in circles around him, screeching with approval. “Pretty!”
    “Tell me,” Marcus said, sensing my need for attention. “How was your day?”
    I omitted the part about waiting around by myself for an hour and just cut straight to how cool and nice everyone was and how my opinion is highly valued because the next issue is
True on New Jersey.
    “So the whole time you’re in New York, you have to think about home,” he said.
    “Yes,” I said. “The irony does not escape me.”
    “It never does,” he said.
    “PEE! POO!” added Marin, still spinning around Marcus.
    “Sooooo . . . Jessie,” Bethany cooed. “I told Marcus that he is welcome to stay as long as he wants.”
    Marcus gave me an
Isn’t-that-great?
grin.
    I should have grinned back. Not only should I have been happy that at least one person supports our relationship, I should have been thrilled to spend more time with him. But I’d been looking forward to brainstorming ideas for Tyra. Plus, it was kind of disturbing to see him and Bethany so chummy. I don’t get along with my sister, so Marcus certainly shouldn’t be expected to.
    I didn’t notice that they were waiting for me to say something until I felt the weight of their eyes on me.
    “Awesome,” I said, finally. “Awesome.”
    the fourth
    Tyra thanked me for my ideas, but didn’t say anything else about them, which, I assume, means that she wasn’t blown away by my insights as I had wished. I had particularly high hopes about a piece I’d pitched about the reclamation of the pejorative “guido.” I supplemented my story idea with a “poem” (quotations necessary because it has no discernible rhyme or meter) written by the webmaster of jerseyguido.com:
    FRIDAY NIGHT RALLY
    BY JOEY “ THE SAINT” SANTERELLO

    You sit at your desk


Where you feel like a loser five days a week


It’s 4:30


Living for Friday night


Living for the shore


Where you’re always young and crazy


Even if you’re old and lazy


Go out, go wild, just go!


Just a half hour of hell left


Until you can head for heaven


You wipe away a tear


Thinking about that first beer


PARTY LIKE A ROCK STAR!!!

    Yesterday I was summoned to Tyra’s office.
    “What are you doing this weekend?” she asked.
    “I’m spending it with my boyfriend,” I said vaguely.
    The ambiguity was twofold. First, the only real plans I had for the Fourth involved having lots of loud, uninhibited sex with my boyfriend. My period had ended, but I couldn’t get freaky-deaky with Marin sleeping all goo-goo and innocent in the nursery next door. I didn’t want to be responsible for scarring her subconscious. I planned on taking full advantage of the fact that BG&M were headed for the Hamptons for the holiday.
    And second, I hoped that this answer was sufficiently specific that I didn’t sound like a loser, yet noncommittal enough that maybe Tyra would give me an assignment for the magazine.
    “You have a boyfriend?” She slapped her hands to her cheeks
Home Alone
style. “You don’t strike me as the type to have a boyfriend.”
    “Uh.” Did I strike her as the type more likely to have a
girlfriend?
DAMN THIS HAIR .
    “You seem too independent to have a boyfriend,” she said.
    Oh.
    “Well, Marcus isn’t your typical boyfriend,” I said.
    “Well, have fun with him,” she said.
    Good advice. Since we’ve been in the city we haven’t had much fun.