Читать книгу Gabi, a Girl in Pieces - Isabel Quintero - Страница 14

July 30

I lay in bed for a long time this morning, thinking about Cindy and the fact that she could be pregnant. I don’t like German, she was right about that. He’s an idiot. German is one of those guys who knows he’s super hot and assumes that girls HAVE to like him. Like, if he asks a girl out and she says no, he’s one of those guys who will say stupid things such as, “Well, fuck you, stupid bitch—I was trying to do you a favor.” One of those gems. What he doesn’t understand is that we don’t have to like him. It doesn’t matter if you’re a beauty queen like Cindy (tall, thin, beautiful olive skin and curly brown hair) or if you’re me (short, plump, long straight hair, and super light-skinned), if we don’t like you, well, we don’t like you.

I don’t know how Cindy could’ve been so stupid as to have sex with him. Anyone but German would have (probably) been better.

The rest of the day I spent arguing with Beto about how loud his music was and that—although I appreciated his love of the Notorious B.I.G.—Rosemary, the little old lady next door (who I love to visit), did not. It didn’t matter though, because all I got was a lot of door slamming, volume raising, and “You’re not my mom.” He’s right. I’m just his older sister—but only by two years.