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Informationen zum Autor After years of meddling in her friends’ love lives, Rebekah Weatherspoon turned to writing romance to get her fix. Many award-winning novels later she still believes in love, the fluffier the better. Raised in southern New Hampshire, Rebekah now lives in southern California with her dog Lizzie. She will remain there forever because she hates moving. You can find Rebekah twitter at @rdotspoon and her website www.rebekahweatherspoon.com Klappentext "Told in alternating voices, awkward teenagers Bethany and Jacob must navigate blossoming feelings after agreeing to date each other as practice for the real deal"-- Leseprobe 1 Bethany (takes a very risky, yet brave, chance) T he way I see it, everyone has a type, and if you likethick Black girls of slightly above--average height with very clear, medium brown skin, dimples, and boobs just big enough to consider a reduction in the future, then I’m the girl for you. My type? Oliver Gutierrez, hands down. Problem is, I haven’t figured out if I’m the kind of person he’d go for. He’s had a few girlfriends in his sixteen years and there’s been no pattern among them that I’ve been able to surmise. But today I am determined to find out if I fit intothat randomness. Today, I’m gonna ask Oliver Gutierrez to homecoming. “You want me to come with?” my best friend Tatum asks as we step out of Ms. Robinson’s fourth period English class. We both have lunch next, with our other besties Glory and Saylor, and Tatum’s girlfriend, Emily. I need to stop by my locker to grab my lunch. Oliver’s locker is next to mine. He has fifth period lunch too. This is my moment to catch him and pop the big question. I’ll push all my anxiety to the side. That weird, fast--talking mumbly thing I do when I get nervous will absolutely not happen. I’ll flash Oliver a sweet, confident smile and ask him if he wants to join me on one of the biggest nights of the year. It just sucks I have to do the asking in a crowded hallway and not on a quiet, starlit night on Venice Beach like I’d envisioned a million times. “No. I have to do this on my own,” I say as we stop at Tatum’s locker. I wait as they swap out their books and grab their lunch. Then Tatum turns to face me. They put their hands on my shoulders and I hone in on the blue--and--silverglitter artfully streaked all over their beautiful honey-brown face. There’s a football game tonight. Tatum has some very intense cheerleading to do. “Bethany Greene, you are an irresistible goddess.” “She’s right!” some random freshman agrees as she pushes by us. “Thanks?” I say to the random freshman’s back before I refocus on Tatum’s glitter. “You walk right up to that boy and you let him know that taking you to homecoming will be the best decision of his life. You can do this.” “I can do this.” “You’re beautiful and I love you. Go get ’em, champ,”Tatum says. Nothing uplifts you like a cheerleader telling you you’re beautiful. I can do this. I’m gonna do this. Right now. I let out a deep breath and march down the hall. I turn the corner into the west wing and spot Oliver, head and shoulders over our classmates. He’s wearing his royal--blue home jersey, with the number 87 ironed onto the shoulders. He looks good. I’m what my moms call a late bloomer . I’ve always been more interested in other things that had nothing to do with boys, but sometime over the summer that changed. Actually, I’m lying. I know the exact moment things changed. I had my friends over to swim in my pool. Glory’s boyfriend and the other juniors on the football team came by after they’d finished one of their preseason workouts. It was all fun and games until a splash fight devolved into something else. I was laughing, trying not to think about how long it was going to take me to blow--dry my knotless braids, when suddenly Oliver picked me up and effortlessly lifted me over his should...
