Free Kiss And Blog by ALSON NOËL Page A

Autumn is already there, and she looks at me all excited and goes, “Hey, Dad sent us each a ticket to visit him.” She holds the envelope high in the air, waving it around like a starter flag.
    But I just roll my eyes. “Duh,” I say, sticking my head in the fridge, even though I’m not at all hungry.
    “What do you mean? It was just now delivered, so how could you possibly know?”
    I slam the fridge shut and look at her. “He called Saturday and told me all about it,” I say.
    “Oh.” She shrugs, dropping the envelope onto the table. “Well, when do you think we should go?” she asks, looking to me for guidance.
    But I’m not up for guiding, leading, directing, or any other kind of big sister role-modeling, so I don’t even answer. I just go in our room, slam the door, and pretty much hide in there until morning.
     
    Okay, if I thought Monday was bad, well, Tuesday? Tuesday was torture. I mean, it started out pretty much the same as any other day. I got up at my usual time, obsessed over my clothes, and stopped for coffee on my way to school. But this time I only bought one, and knowing that the usual chocolate chip scone held way too many memories, I skipped right over it and went for the snicker doodle cookie instead.
    Then the second I stepped on campus, I saw them. All six of the brand-new, fairly chosen, legally vetted members of the junior varsity cheerleading squad, jumping around and acting all high on excitement, while still clad in their pajamas.
    My stomach filled with dread as I watched Sloane smiling brightly and hugging everyone who mattered, all the while looking adorable in the brand-new, Victoria’s Secret pj’s she bought for this very occasion.
    And I happen to know that for a fact, since I was standingright next to her at the register when she pulled out her mom’s black Amex, slapped it on the counter, and purchased her outfit for her date with destiny.
    “Okay, so the varsity squad always,
always
kidnaps the JV squad and makes them go to school in their jammies, so we have to buy something super-cute, but not too obvious, you know?” she’d said, as I stood behind, watching as she trolled through the racks. “And it’s better to avoid anything too sexy, since it’s so much better to be considered adorable than slutty, right?”
    I nodded in agreement, remembering the unfortunate incident just last year when one of Ocean High’s newly crowned frosh-soph goddesses was sent home in shame just seconds after Principal Meyer threw his navy blazer over her sheer, mesh, skimpy cami, matching boy shorts, and sky-blue Ugg boots ensemble.
    We stood there, shoulder to shoulder, poring through mounds of possible contenders, until finally settling on a pair of pink cotton pajama pants (that could easily double as sweats) with the word
Pink
written right across the butt (I guess that’s for the color-impaired), and these matching, little white tank tops that said
Love Pink
down the back. Then we bought some pink bras (I know you don’t normally sleep in a bra, but the tank tops were
white),
matching pink Ugg slippers (well, Sloane’s were Uggs, mine were Target fakes), and then we vowed to wear our hair all pulled back in spunky, high pony- tails, and to go to bed with just the lightest layer of shiny pink lip gloss (so we’d look good, but not like we were
trying
to look good or
expecting
to be kidnapped or anything remotely like that), while forgoing the usual application of zit cream (because, obviously, that would be way too embarrassing for words). Though actually, the whole acne med ban was really more for me than Sloane, since her mom keeps a highly sought- after, well-paid dermatologist on permanent retainer, just soher daughter will never have to suffer the indignity of an adolescent facial eruption.
    But now, as I watch her standing there, starring in her very own cheerleading debut, I suddenly remember how my own pair of Love Pink pajamas are still all carefully folded in my