My First Love and Other Disasters by Francine Pascal

Author:Francine Pascal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

Eleven

I must have fallen asleep because next thing I know it’s midnight and the house is quiet. I’m still dressed so I slip out of bed and creep downstairs to see what’s up.

The living room is empty so they must have all gone out. I check on the kids and they’re sleeping fine. Cynthia’s door is open so I go in to get the new Vogue she said I could borrow. I’m not in the least tired. Just miserable.

I’m two steps into the room when I see Cynthia is in her bed sleeping. She didn’t go out after all.

Damn. I could have gone. She really stinks. Maybe she came up to tell me and saw me sleeping and figured I wouldn’t want to go. Still, she could have waked me and asked. She must have seen I was dressed. I think she’s kind of selfish. She probably didn’t even think about me at all. Maybe I’m not so crazy about her anymore. If I tried hard enough I could probably hate her guts. She ruined my entire summer. Maybe my entire life. Damn her!

Maybe I should wake her up and ask her if I could go now. Ten after twelve isn’t that late for a disco. Nah.

She’d probably say it’s too late to be going out. “What would your mother say?” or something like that. Besides, I wouldn’t have the nerve to wake her up to just ask her if I could go dancing. Even if it is just probably the most important night of my life.

I’ll never be able to sleep tonight. I just know it. There’s no way . . . unless. I know this probably sounds really sneaky but suppose I just went out without saying anything. It’s not like I’m not doing my job, because Cynthia’s home and the kids are sleeping and everything is under control. I could go for just a little while and be back and nobody would know the difference.

I’m not saying it’s the best thing in the world to do, but it certainly isn’t going to hurt anyone except me if I don’t do it.

If I keep analyzing it I’ll never do it. So I stop analyzing, fix my hair, put on more gloss, and tiptoe down the steps like a thief, feeling awful. The house is deadly quiet. I turn the door latch as delicately as I can so there’ll be no thunderous click to wake the house up. It works. I’d probably make a great burglar. Anyway, I’m out and my heart is pounding.

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