Free The Girl Who Invented Romance by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

Parker stopped, didn’t say whatever word Wendy had used and went on. “I got furious and yelled at her, which I have never done, and she took out her cell phone and right there in front of me called Jeep to come and rescue her.”
    I could not even picture this. How absolutely horrible for Park. He had sat there in his own car while Wendy changed drivers. Had Jeep demanded to know why Wendy needed rescue? Had Jeep said, What, you’re hurting her? You some monster or something?
    We were sitting on my bed. Park was slumped against the headboard.
    “Oh, Park.” I felt sick for him. “You’ll find somebody else, though,” I said cheerily. “Don’t worry too much.”
    What a jerk I sounded like.
    I loved my brother for standing up for me, and yet if this was the result, he should have laughed with Wendy. But he was nice. He wouldn’t laugh at anybody, even me.
    “I don’t want somebody else.” The despair in his voice matched the lines on his face.
    It’s better to have played the game and lost, I thought, than to be like me, not playing at all. Nobody’s voice had ever sunk in despair because of me and I had never felt despair over anybody either. At least Park could feel pain.
    I tried to explain that.
    “Kelly,” said my brother, “that’s like telling a cancer victim that now that he’s dying, he can appreciate life. It’s stupid. I don’t want to be a better, stronger person because of this. I want to be plain old me with Wendy at my side.”
    When Parker went into his room, I sat on my bed to stare at my romance board. Currently it featured a great heart with three paths: pink, pale pink and white. You went around the heart three times and ended up in the center, resting on Cupid’s arrow. Little cherubs danced around and wedding bouquets fell into your final square. I’d spent a lot of money on rubber stamps with exactly the right pictures and I was artistically delighted with the result.
    The paths were divided into squares. Each was a Good Thing. Nice dates, sunny weather, sleek cars, lovely gifts, strong hugs, passionate kisses. I’d had such fun making up the dates. I’d never written so many exclamation points in my life.
    A picnic by the sea! Sunburned but happy!
    A bicycle built for two! Windblown and in love!
    You two go hang gliding! In heaven with a heavenly boy!
    But in our house, my brother was devastated, my mother terrified, my father furious, and I was simply lonely.
    How pitiful the game was. In real life, nobody deals you a perfect anything, let alone rows of delightful boyfriends. And to spend every day, every square, doing a Good Thing with this splendid person?
    I kicked the board game under my bed to get it out of our lives.

CHAPTER
7
    “N o,” said Megan. “Absolutely not, Mrs. Williams. Since you’re asking, I will tell you. That outfit is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.”
    My mother looked longingly into my full-length mirror.
    “You have become invisible,” Megan told her. “You are wearing a skin-toned dress. Flesh-colored makeup. Clear nail polish. You can’t seriously want to wear this to the reunion.”
    “Of course I can. And there’s nothing wrong with this outfit or being invisible,” said my mother.

    “Then you’re a success,” Megan told her. “People won’t be able to shake hands with you because they won’t be able to find your hand against that dress.”
    My mother was no match for anyone in those clothes. It was odd how I too had come to think of Ellen as competition to be fought down. I wanted my mother to win easily. We ought to have one winner in the family at least.
    “Go put on that purple dress,” said Megan firmly. “Really. No kidding, it’s perfect. The saleswoman who talked you into buying it had excellent taste and was right. Put it on and then we’ll accessorize you.” Megan turned to me. “God knows, after all these years of gifts from your father, she must have more accessories than the department store