Free The Kissing Diary by Judith Caseley Page A

purchases to go eat pizza at Sal’s.
    Rosie’s nickname for Sal was Mr. Grouch. They ordered their slices and grabbed bunches of napkins, dabbing at the oil until the table was littered with paper. Sal glowered at them as if they’d started a raging forest fire. When Sarah gathered up the napkins and threw them in the garbage, he said, “What a waste.” Pulling a small packet of baby wipes out of her purse, Sarah took one out and polished the table. “All clean,” she announced, checking to see if Sal’s frown had changed. It hadn’t. “I tried,” she said. The girls finished their pizza and pulled out their lipsticks, applying Mocha Peony and Pink Powderpuff and Cherry Malt, pouting in the pizza parlor mirror.
    It was a grand day for Rosie, out with the girls, no boys to bother them, no mothers worrying about losing their hair or yelling about something. Just the four of them. Today, Rosie loved them more than anything. She would wear the glossy new lipstick to school on Monday with her mantra humming inside her head.
    â€œWhat’s it like kissing a boy when you’re wearing lip gloss?” Rosie asked Summer, who had done it once.
    â€œYou wipe it off if you think it might happen,” Summer advised.
    â€œDoes the boy care?” Rosie wondered.
    â€œI think some of them do, and some of them don’t,” Sarah gave her opinion. “I would mind.”
    â€œBecause you’re a clean freak,” Summer said, watching her friend deposit their paper plates in the receptacle.
    â€œWhat if the guy ate mint chocolate chip ice cream before he kissed you?” Rosie mused. “Mint makes me want to hurl!”
    â€œWhat if he hates the taste of mocha chocolate chip?” Lauren said, laughing. “That’s your favorite!”
    â€œYou’ll grin and bear it,” said Sarah.
    â€œIs Robbie a virgin kisser, do you think?” The minute the words were out of Rosie’s never-been-kissed-by-a-boy mouth, Mary Katz walked in. Rosie shushed them and said, “Hi, Mary!”
    Mary spoke to Sal. “I’m picking up the order for Katz,” she said, giving Rosie what could only be called a semi-smile.
    â€œAren’t you glad the Greek skit is over?” Rosie kept her voice friendly.
    â€œHey, I’m sure you’re happy!” Mary said, animated. “At least I was wearing a prom dress, you know? You were stuck looking like a big bowl of fruit salad. Robbie had me in stitches, we thought it was so funny! I almost wet myself!” Her smile was so malicious it took Rosie’s breath away.
    Lauren, forever loyal, couldn’t keep her mouth shut, saying, “He told her she looked cute.”
    â€œToo bad she doesn’t know when someone is kidding!” Mary drummed her French-manicured fingers on the counter. “Is my broccoli rabe ready yet?”
    â€œNasty stuff,” muttered Summer. “It smells so bad.”
    Rosie watched Mary sail out of the restaurant, her order in hand, the word Juicy emblazoned across her rear end. Trust her to leave disaster in her path like a hurricane ripping through an entire town, she thought.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” said Lauren.
    â€œDon’t believe her,” Summer added.
    â€œZap it out of your head,” Sarah said emphatically.
    Rosie hugged her friends when they got to her block. She walked slowly past Mr. Slope’s manmade pond with the fountain of water running out of Cupid’s mouth, past the strip of flowers that Mrs. Goldberg tended, past the mailbox that Mrs. McCue had painted bright pink, past the house that had permanent Christmas lights. She repeated her mantra over and over. It soothed her. It healed her. She would not listen to Mary. She would wear her new lipstick on Monday morning. And when Robbie saw her, he would think she was cute again, because they’d talked for real and because she knew she was cute