By Jill C. Wheeler
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Extra info for Gary Paulsen
I don't remember a thing about last night," I stated firmly. " 'Cept the champagne and then my stomach violently rejecting the champagne. I probably made a fool of myself. I always do really stupid, idiotic, completely out-of-character things when I get drunk," I added pointedly. " "He can be a jerk sometimes," Jane commented darkly. "Yeah, he's Mr. Jerk Mcjerk. So, you and Bikini Dust? " 77 Jane stretched her arms luxuriously. "Just the way I like 'em. Keeps them from getting all slushy and talking about feelings," she said breezily.
Jesus! The Strumpet lip gloss was smeared all over the lower half of my face. I hated Dean. Sometime later that night, when I was back in the Euston travel lodge with my head halfway down the toilet bowl (which was getting to be an old look for me), I suddenly realized that something had changed. I was no longer a kiss virgin. I'd been kissed. Thoroughly, passionately, and definitely kissed. And even though I'd always imagined that my first kiss would be in a flowery meadow with a sensitive, feminist boy who'd hold my hand tenderly, I was glad that it had finally happened.
And Hobiscuit giggled and stroked her hand down his chest. I narrowed my eyes. Hobiscuit's continued presence was getting on everyone's nerves, especially when she kept hinting that she wanted to do backing vocals. Why the hell had I let Dean kiss me? And, way more importantly, why the hell had I kissed him back? " I demanded, the unwelcome memories giving my voice a vicious edge to it that I didn't altogether like. ' "No, don't tell me," I gasped. " "It's not your band, Molly," Dean said aggressively, pushing the Hobiscuit gently off his lap and getting to his feet.