Free Thirteen by Lauren Myracle

the last slice of pizza. “I don’t know, maybe a little. But we’ll only be there for three months.”
    Three months, right. Only three months.
    â€œI hope there will be some other American kids there,” he went on. “Or not even American, just kids who speak English. Someone to hang out with.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll meet some British kids,” I said. “Or Australian! Eh, mate?”
    He grinned. I loosened a little.
    â€œAustralia rocks,” he said. “Did you know they have wombats?”
    â€œPlus the most poisonous species of jellyfish in the world.” I’d read it in Ty’s National Geographic Kids magazine. “If you get stung by one, you’re dead in forty seconds.”
    Lars ripped off a bite of pizza, shaking his head. “Man. I wish we were going to Australia instead of Prague.”
    â€œBut Prague’ll be fun, too,” I said, sort of hoping he’d disagree.
    He chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, I hear you. Getting to see any part of the world is cool.”
    I sighed. He was right: it would be cool. I was the uncool one, needy and sad.
    He reached over and touched my face. “I wish you were going to be there, though.”
    â€œReally?” My pulse raced. He touched my face! In the California Pizza Kitchen!
    He grinned and tossed some bills on the table. “Ready to get out of here?”
    I fumbled for my wallet. “Do you want me to…I mean, can I…”
    â€œYour money’s no good here, babe,” he said.
    â€œ Babe ?” I said.
    He laughed. So did I. He stood up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me out of the booth. “Let’s go. Aren’t we supposed to meet your sister soon?”
    But Sandra wasn’t due to pick me up for almost an hour, which I was pretty sure he secretly knew. He led me to the outside parking deck, and he kissed me behind a concrete pillar. And kissed me and kissed me. My back pressed against the cool concrete. His lips were soft. He tasted like Thai peanut sauce.
    Â 
    In Sandra’s Beemer, I asked her whether Lars and I would make it. I wanted her to reassure me that everything would be the same, only better, when he returned.
    â€œWinnie, you’re in seventh grade,” Sandra said, as if that was some kind of answer.
    â€œNot anymore,” I replied.
    She rotated her iPod dial and selected her “Mellow Yellow” playlist. Was this her way of telling me to chill? I wanted to chill. I wasn’t being unchill on purpose. Didn’t she get that?
    â€œIf what you guys have is real, it’ll last,” she told me. “If not, it won’t.”
    â€œGee, thanks.”
    She shot me a look. “But worrying about it will only make things worse. You can’t be desperate, Winnie.”
    â€œI know!”
    â€œI’m just saying.”
    â€œI know .” My lips felt puffy from kissing. I loved that feeling. I gazed out the open window and wondered if Lars was thinking about me the way I was thinking about him.
    After we got home, I tried to distract myself by watching Hannah Montana with Ty. Ty had a crush on the main girl, who went by the name “Miley” in her normal life, but was secretly a pop star named Hannah Montana. “Miley” was a cute name, I thought. So much cuter than “Winifred.” “Winnie” was acceptable…but Winifred ?
    If I were a pop star, I could change my name to “Wiley.” Except that was the name of the coyote on Bugs Bunny—so maybe not. Plus, it wasn’t cute. Why was “Miley” cute, but not “Wiley”?
    If I were a pop star, I would never worry about being boring or blobby. If I were a pop star, I wouldn’t worry about Lars coming back to me or not. I’d know he would.
    On the screen, Miley’s annoying brother, Jackson, made his belly button talk, which made Ty laugh. It was Ty’s start-off-real-and-then-turn-fake laugh,