Free How to Ruin My Teenage Life by Simone Elkeles

“He told me he loved me on New Year’s Eve, Amy. I haven’t had a guy tell me he loved me since That Guy.”
    That Guy is Michael Greenberg, who Jessica lost her virginity to last year. He blew her off right after their big night together and she’s been insecure about guys ever since. She won’t even give me, her bestest friend in the entire world, details about what happened with Michael. I can’t even say his name without her walking out of the room.
    â€œDid he tell you he loved you in the heat of passion?”
    â€œHis hands were under my shirt.”
    Okay, so I’m not going to state the obvious. He gave her the ol’ “I love you, let’s get it on” crap. I look back at her and know she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
    I look inside Jessica’s closet to see what new clothes she’s gotten that I can borrow. I pick out a vintage gray shirt with pink writing. “Where did you get this?”
    â€œI have no clue. My mom got it for me.”
    â€œIt’s cool.” As always, I make myself at home. Best friends share clothes, secrets, and beauty tips. I guess we also share guys because I dated Mitch for about a millisecond before he started dating Jessica. Taking my own shirt off, I try on her gray one. It fits, except when I look in her long mirror on the back of her door my nipples stick out because the fabric of the shirt is too thin.
    Depressed, I pull the shirt off and study my bra-covered boobs in the mirror.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Jess asks.
    I hold my arms at my sides and look down at my pink lacy bra. “Do my boobs sag in this bra?” Testing what it would look like if they were perkier, I cup the bottom of my boobs and lift them up.
    â€œNow they’re too close to your chin.” Jess lets out a frustrated sigh. “I wish I had your boobs. Guys love your boobs.”
    â€œThey droop,” I say, my hands letting go of them.
    â€œHow can they not, they weigh what … five pounds each?”
    I’ll have you know I’ve never weighed my boobs. And I’m sure they don’t weigh more than two pounds each. I turn to my best friend. “Jess, you have perfect, perky boobs.”
    â€œOtherwise known as virtually non-existent,” Jess says. “They only look perfect because I bought this Fantasy Bra last week.” She pulls up her shirt to show me a padded pushup bra that’s more padded than my mom’s down winter coat. “I need this in order to look like I have something .”
    The door to Jessica’s room flies open. It’s her twelve-year-old annoying and testosterone-charged brother Ben. His eyes go wide at the sight of us in our bras. I screech and hold my hands out to cover my chest.
    â€œGet out, you little creep!” Jess yells, pulling her shirt back down.
    â€œAre you guys comparing boobies?” Ben says while laughing. “Amy, are those real?”
    Jessica and I both grab pillows off her bed and fling them at the door while Ben slams it shut. “By the way, dinner’s ready,” he says, still laughing.
    When we enter the dining room a few minutes later, Jess flicks her brother hard on the back of the head before sitting down.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œIf you don’t knock next time, I’m going to take a picture of you while you’re in the shower and e-mail it to your entire school.”
    â€œThat’s enough,” Mr. Katz says, putting on his kippah and motioning for Ben to put his on, too.
    In the kitchen, Jess and I help place soup bowls filled with matzoh ball soup on the table.
    Mrs. Katz sets up two Shabbat candlesticks with candles in them and takes matches out of a decanter on the credenza. “Amy, would you like to do the honors?”
    Me? I usually watch while Jessica or her mom lights the candles and does the Hebrew prayer. “Are you sure?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    The entire room is silent as I