From the Inside Flap
: How do I go from invisible to talked about? Get together with Andie, the girl with the bad reputation. The girl I never expected to fall for. . . . <br><br>Andie's story: Andy thinks being with me will make him popular. Ha! He's going to have to make a choice, and I hope it's me.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Andy's Side
Andie laughed. "Here," she said, "let me help you with that." She came closer and began to unwind the scarf from around my face.
Once again I found myself unable to breathe, but this time it had nothing to do with the scarf. I was very aware of how close she was--the curve of her cheek, the scent of her shampoo, the tendrils of blond hair around her temples moving gently in the breeze from the heating vent all assaulted my senses, making me feel weird and fuzzy inside.
After a second she too seemed to notice how close we were. She blinked and glanced up, and her fingers on my scarf shook slightly.
Does she want me to kiss her? I wondered. Is that why she's standing so close?
The thought terrified me and excited me at the same time. But I couldn't seem to think about where it might lead. All I could think about was leaning over, taking her in my arms, and feeling her lips meet mine. I bent my head slightly, moving my mouth toward hers. But my lips were still a good six inches short of their goal when she sort of gasped and jumped backward, away from me.
Unfortunately, she was still holding on to my scarf. Her sudden move yanked it tighter around my neck, pulling me off balance. "Ulp!" I gurgled, grabbing for the scarf with one hand and windmilling the other, trying to stay upright.
"Oops!" she exclaimed, stepping forward at the same time to help. Instead she managed to put her foot down right in front of mine, tripping me and sending me flying--right into her. Before I knew what had happened, the two of us had hurtled across the tiny foyer in a tangle of arms and legs, finally coming to rest in a small armchair. I found myself staring down at Andie, who was pinned beneath my body.
"Oh!" I quickly pulled myself off her and stood, offering a hand to help her up. "Are you okay? I'm really sorry."
Her cheeks burned scarlet. "Yes, I'm fine. And you don't have to apologize it was my fault."
"Andie!" a woman's voice called from another room. "Are you bringing your friend inside, or are you keeping him out in the cold all night long?"
"We're coming, Mom!" Andie called back, seeming relieved at the interruption. I knew exactly how she felt.
I followed her into the kitchen at the back of the house. I was sort of nervous about meeting Andie's mother. But Mrs. Foster turned out to be really nice. She was just about the opposite of my mother in looks--slim and stylishly dressed, with the same straight, pale blond hair as Andie. But for some reason she still reminded me a little of Mom. Maybe it was because she seemed so warm and open and real. I could tell that she and Andie had a great relationship. They had an easy rapport and were good at teasing each other, but always with a hint of fondness.
As I sat there, watching Andie kid around with her mother, it was getting harder and harder to believe that she could be the same girl that Fuzzy and the guys had told me about. How could she seem so sweet and nice and, yes, innocent, and still have done all the things they said she did? It didn't compute.
Andie's Side
I took a deep breath. It was the moment of truth.
"Please," I said as calmly as I could. "Before you say anything else, I need to know. My reputation--I mean, I know you must have heard the stories. Or read some of the horrible things guys have written about me on the bathroom walls."
He sort of stammered in response to that. Obviously he knew exactly what I was talking about. I flushed, even though I'd known that by now he must have heard all the stories and then some. How could he not have?
I couldn't stand to look into his searching brown eyes anymore. Instead I stared down at my plate, though I wasn't seeing the food at all. I was looking into the past. "Once all those awful rumors started about what a nympho I was," I said bitterly, "that was that. No matter how much I denied the stories, no one believed me. And since I was new in town, it was really just me against everyone else."
He cleared his throat. "What happened?" he asked. "How did the rumors begin?"
There was a weird tone in his voice, but I couldn't quite read it. That meant I had to decide on my own whether to go on. To trust him with the real story and take it from there. To put our friendship--or whatever--to the test, no matter what the consequences.
I just stared at him for a minute or two, trying to decide what to do. I can't handle this, I thought at first. I can't go through it all again. Even if I tell him the truth, he might not believe me. He might think I'm just making excuses for blowing him off That it's true what his friends say--that I'm a tease, a slut.
Then again, it wasn't as though I could turn back time and take back what I'd already said. This conversation was going to take place sooner or later. I wouldn't be doing myself any favors by ignoring that fact.
I took a deep breath. And then, without really thinking about it anymore at all, I just started talking.
The whole story poured out of me. I hardly paused for breath as I told him everything--those first few afternoons hanging out with Fuzzy. The next few guys. The dawning realization of what was going on.
He didn't say much. Just sort of nodded and asked an occasional question. When I was finally finished--when the whole story was out, for better or for worse he gazed at me for a moment, looking thoughtful and sort of sad.
Then he came around the table and perched in the chair beside mine. "I'm so sorry," he said in a voice thick with emotion, reaching for my hand. "I have to admit, I've heard a lot of . . . stories . . . about you. And at first I wasn't sure what to think. But I should have known better. I should have asked for your side of the story before this. I'm sorry."
I just stared at him, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing. He believed me? He actually believed me!
