Best. Night. Ever. by Rachele Alpine & Ronni Arno & Alison Cherry & Stephanie Faris & Jen Malone & Gail Nall & Dee Romito

Author:Rachele Alpine & Ronni Arno & Alison Cherry & Stephanie Faris & Jen Malone & Gail Nall & Dee Romito
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

ASHLYN { 9:05 P.M. }

“WELL, THIS IS JUST SEVEN kinds of perfect,” I state.

There are two possible scenarios going on right now:

A. I was a serial killer in a past life, and now I’m being punished for it;

B. Something horrific is gonna go down at the dance tonight, and I have a guardian angel who is trying to keep me from getting caught up in it.

Because honestly, what other explanation could there be for narrowly escaping a madman who dresses his iddle widdle puppy in snowflake sweaters only to run smack into a creek flowing right between the edge of the golf course and the grounds of my school? A creek that is most likely too wide to jump and filled with rocks just waiting to crack my skull open if I try to leap across and fail.

“Fun!” Charity says and clomps right into the water. It doesn’t come up higher than the tops of her rain boots, and she splashes straight across like it’s NBD.

Her sister has the same rain boots on (shocker!), so in 2.2 seconds they’re both on the other side giving me Come ON already! looks.

I . . . am not wearing rain boots. I am wearing my brand new Zac Ellingsworth fall collection tall riding boots with a hidden side-zip feature. Their soft-as-that-ridiculous-Pomeranian-guard-dog suede will be completely ruined if they get the least little bit wet. I glance up at the school, all lit up and calling to me like I’m Dorothy and it’s the Emerald City.

Sigh. Double, triple, quadruple sigh.

The Brats are whispering with their heads tilted right into each other, and I just know they’re talking about me. Grr . . . Obviously, I don’t care one bit what they think of me, but it’s just so rude. And insulting. Okay, so I overreacted a teensy tiny bit to that “guard dog”—it doesn’t mean they get to make fun of me behind my back.

Well, fine, then. I refuse to give them any more ammunition.

I’m doing this!

(But not in my suede boots.)

I balance on one foot at a time to tug them off and tuck my socks deep inside the left one. I try to roll up my skinny jeans, but skinny jeans aren’t so much made for river-wading scenarios.

Oh well. At least they’re washable, and I’m way taller than the twins, so it’ll probably only be my hems getting wet.

I kiss each boot lightly and wish it safe travels before tossing them as hard as I can at the grassy bank on the other side of the creek. It’s too dark to see where they land, but there are no splashes, so . . .

There. One problem solved.

Now to get me across. Okay, here goes. I mean, the water can’t be that cold.

OMIGOD, THE WATER IS THAT COLD!!!

I yelp and hop on top of one of the rocks sticking out of the creek, because no freaking way do my toes want an ice bath. Probably there’re some skin benefits to one, but—and I never thought I’d say this about any beauty regimen—I’d rather skip it at the moment.

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