17 First Kisses by Rachael Allen Page A

can’t eat while he’s touching me.
    â€œHow’s it going?” he asks Megan.
    â€œGood. Everything is really awesome.”
    She smiles at him, and they talk about how his big brother went to the carnival last night.
    After school, Britney and I hang out at Megan’s house because Britney is spending the night with her. Megan is back to normal—for a while.
    â€œWe have to ride the Ferris wheel when we go to the carnival tonight,” says Britney.
    â€œOh! You guys are going to the carnival. That’s so cool. I want to go.”
    Megan raises her eyebrows at Britney.
    â€œDo you want to go all four of us?” I ask.
    Megan picks nonexistent lint off her lavender bedspread. “Um. Let me go ask my mom.”
    She shuffles to the door and leaves the room as slowly ashumanly possible.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll say yes,” I tell Britney. “This’ll be awesome.”
    The carnival is one of those caravan ones that come to town every year with dilapidated rides held together by paper clips and a prayer. Everyone knows someone whose cousin’s friend’s nephew died in a tragic accident on one. And there are weird things like pig races and stands selling cotton candy and funnel cakes. I can almost taste the powdered sugar and fried batter.
    Megan’s door opens again, but she just stands there like she doesn’t want to enter the room. “Um. My mom says I can only have one friend come to the carnival with me and spend the night. So, I guess it’ll just be me and B.”
    She says all this with her eyes fixed somewhere around my chin. A tense and awkward silence follows.
    â€œOh. Um, okay.”
    I think it’s weird for her mom to make such an arbitrary decision—plus, I thought she liked me. I think it’s weird that Megan is sitting on her bed looking guilty and uncomfortable instead of storming around the room calling her mom a controlling witch. I think it’s weird that this all feels very personal in a way I can’t pinpoint.
    â€œWell, see you guys later,” I say. “Have fun tonight.”
    Megan still can’t seem to look me in the eye. “We will,” she says quietly.
    I trudge home with the nagging feeling I’ve missed something important.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
Chapter
7
    I wake up the Saturday after the football game with my stomach in knots because I know I should ask my mom about senior pictures today. It really is a great idea. Quite possibly
the
Idea. Our only shot. I pad down the hallway to her bedroom. She’s probably not awake yet, though. I should eat breakfast first. Yeah, I’ll cook pancakes for Libby and me. Then I’ll talk to Mama.
    Libby and I spend most of the morning making chocolate-chip pancakes, flipping them on the griddle as soon as bubbles pop up around the edges and drawing happy faces with whipped cream and extra chocolate chips. We make way too many and give my dad the rejects. Afterward, I clean the kitchen from floor to ceiling. And then, of course, I have to tidy up my room as well, and paint my toenails, and finish a paper that isn’t due until nextweek.
    I finally enter my mom’s bedroom at 2:00 p.m. She’s still in bed. Not promising. I tie open the thick curtains, and light floods the room like an unwelcome intruder, highlighting Mama’s tangled brown hair and the half moons dark as bruises under each eye.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” She throws an arm over her face.
    â€œI, um, I wanted to spend some time with you.”
    â€œToday is a bad day. I’m not feeling well.”
    â€œOh.”
    Talking to my mom is not going to happen today. On bad days, food goes uneaten, clothes go unchanged, and promises go unkept. I hover by her bed for a few more seconds, but then I chicken out and creep down to the basement, where her