How to Ruin My Teenage Life by Simone Elkeles Page A

population at the Academy,” I say, leaning back and hearing the bag under my butt crinkle with every movement I make. Jewish kids probably make up fifteen or twenty percent of the student population at Chicago Academy, and CA isn’t the biggest school in Chicago by far.
    â€œThey think we’re rich snobs,” I blurt out.
    Miranda turns and faces me while Jessica concentrates on driving us home. “People don’t think I’m a snob. They think of me as the fat girl. They think you’re a snob because you’re pretty and don’t smile a lot.”
    â€œSmiling is overrated.”
    Jessica snorts.
    Miranda looks animated now. She’s going into excited mode. “Smiling takes years off your life. Did you know it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile?”
    â€œDid you know it takes more energy to talk than to be silent?”
    Did I just say that? Oh, man. Miranda bites her lip and turns around, slinking down in the seat. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to stop feeling like I was bombarded with everyone pointing out what’s wrong with me.
    Jessica stops the car. I think she’s so pissed she’s going to dump me off the side of the road and order me to get out. But now I realize we’re at my building.
    Keeping up with the I’m-not-a-good-friend-and-I-don’t-smile theme, I open the door to the car and step onto the sidewalk. I’m about to swallow my pride and thank Jess for the ride, but she blurts out, “Close the door.”
    As soon as I shut the door, Jessica’s off like a NASCAR driver.
    I feel like the biggest bitch. Maybe I am. Should I feel better that I’m a bitch with a conscience ? Because I feel totally wretched.
    I stay on the sidewalk for a minute before I turn and walk into the building. I want to smile. I want to be a good friend to Jessica and even Miranda. Miranda doesn’t look or dress or act like me, but she’s nice and smiles. Does she smile because she’s genuinely nice or is she perceived to be nice because she smiles?
    Does it even matter?
    Exhausted physically and emotionally, I pass our night doorman Jorge who opens the door for me as I head for the elevator bank.
    â€œDid you have a good evening with your friends, Miss Barak?” Jorge asks.
    â€œNot particularly,” I answer back.
    â€œSome days are like that, I’m afraid.”
    â€œYeah, some days are crap.”
    In the elevator, I lean my head against the wall. The doors start to close, until I hear someone stopping the doors from shutting with their hands. Those hands are attached to none other than Nathan.
    Nathan enters the elevator in sweats and workout pants. A lady who I’ve only seen a few times who lives on the fifth floor follows in right behind him.
    I close my eyes to block out everything. When we stop on the fifth floor to let the lady out, I open my eyes.
    Nathan is staring right at me through his glasses. His eyes are as bright as Kermit the Frog and the gold specks in them are shining in the lights of the elevator. Stupid lights. Stupid elevator. They make my mind think stupid thoughts, like wondering what I could do to make Nathan like me.
    He takes a drink from a water bottle he’s carrying in his hand. I start breathing heavily, as if my mind is one big mashed potato. I stare at his lips. I’ve never noticed them before, but now they’re shiny from that water.
    Nathan hates me, but maybe …
    No, I can’t.
    But he’s looking right at me; our eyes are locked. I can’t change anything else in my crappy life, but maybe I can change his attitude and animosity toward me.
    If I don’t try it, I’ll never know. I drop my purse on the floor of the elevator and rush toward him, pressing my lips to his. I’m kissing Nathan in the elevator as we ride up from the fifth to fortieth floor, my eyes still locked on his while I’m waiting for some reaction from him.
    I get