A Girl Like You by vinnie Kinsella (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

When we got back to my house, every item from my curb was gone: the daisies in the vase, the elephant book ends, the baby clothes. All that was left was a bent Hula Hoop.

“Geez, thought someone would take this,” I said.

“No one’s in shape anymore; they can’t Hula Hoop,” Eddie said, trying to bend it back into a circle.

“Oh, there are people out there who’ve regained their fitness, believe me.”

“Yeah, how’s that gym thing going?”

“It’s going. Just not great,” I said, wrestling with the fabric skeleton.

“You’ll get there, babe.”

It took a while for the Harley skeleton to inflate, but once it did, it was a sight to behold, lit from within, flickering orange flames coming out the back, bony fingers poised on the handlebars, menacing grin on its face.

Even though it was nowhere near October, everything seemed deliciously Halloween.

We left the motorcycle guy up all night, then I packed it away for autumn.

By the time the DPW crews did their sweep of curbs to pick-up household items. All that was left was broken furniture, the ugly mattresses, some tires, and the goddamn washers and dryers.

48

I made it a goal to go online only during “rush hour,” which was after dinner to 11:00 p.m., because I didn’t want to appear bored and needy, even though I was both. I tried to pace myself, but it was tough. I felt a strange sense of urgency getting back to the men who sent messages, winks, smiles, or the coveted emoji—the red heart.

I did rack up some winks: from the skinny man in a tree, to the profile pic of cows standing in a field (no man in view), the guy whose face was cut out of the picture (“Married,” Madd said with conviction), and a man smashing a beer can against his forehead.

“I’ve actually seen two profile pictures of a man standing next to a casket,” I told Eddie.

“No shit…who was in the casket, I wonder?”

“That’s not the point. It’s macabre.”

“Could be a funeral director,” Eddie said thoughtfully.

“Either way, it’s a no-go for me.”

“Aw, kid, thought you were a big fan of Halloween.”

“Not that big.”

One of the first questions guys asked was, “What are you looking for?”

How could that possibly be answered? I’m looking for someone to help pick out lettuce at the market? To go to the movies? To wake up with? To wash my dog?

“They want to know if you’re looking for a LTR or if you’re DTF,” Madd explained patiently to her struggling mother.

“What if I’m somewhere in between?”

“Well, that means you’re open to possibilities.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

“It’s a very good thing, Mombo.”

* * *

“This isn’t working, Madd,” I said over after-dinner coffee. “It’s rush hour and I can’t find anyone I haven’t already messaged.”

“Try not to be so picky. Are you still looking for tall men only?”

“I’ve messaged men who are my height. And I’m short.”

“What about opening up the age range?”

“Overall, I’d guess guys take eight years off their true age. So, when I say I’ll date a 55-year-old, I may get a geezer with none of his original teeth.”

“You have a capped tooth, Mombo.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

* * *

Another evening Maddy came over with a bag of plums, handing me one without even having to ask if I wanted it. We ate them silently.

“You’re never going to meet anyone sitting on your front porch,” she said at last.

“I’m waiting for a visit from Lily.”

“She’s a cutie, but she’s not going to solve your dating dilemmas.”

“Hey, I was out last Friday night.”

“Talk to anyone?”

“There was a cute guy around my age with curly blond hair. He was chatting it up with the bartenders like he was a regular.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Didn’t see one.”

“So did you talk to him?”

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Just when I was about to, he got a huge honking platter of wings. You know I won’t talk to a man slobbering away at a plate of greasy wings.”

“I don’t like this no-wings rule,” Madd said. “Bars have beer, and wings go with beer. Bars, beer, wings. You’ll never get away from it.”

“I think it’s nasty.”

“Mom, you’ll never find a bar with just wine spritzers and salads.”

“Hey, don’t mock my spritzers!”

Madison was quick to point out the many mistakes I was making in my Fish connections.

“You can’t keep checking to see if a guy has read your message! Every time you do that, it registers as you looking at his profile!”

Sweet Jesus. There were men I’d checked several times an hour, obsessively, to see if they’d read my messages. No wonder I’d never heard back, stalker that I was.

* * *

Another night, she caught me admiring a pic of a cute guy against a backdrop of puffy clouds that brought out his shiny white teeth.

“You’re violating the rule here—how many times do I have to tell you, never message anyone with just one photo!” Maddy looked over my shoulder and scolded me.

“But it’s such a nice picture.”

“It looks airbrushed,” she said suspiciously. “I’m going to do a reverse image search on it.”

“What?”

It took her less than a minute to find the exact same photo on a site showing guys modeling trendy short hairstyles for men.

“I can’t believe it,” I sputtered in sheer disbelief.

“Believe it,” she said wisely. “Lots of people do it. That’s why you need to see at least two or three photos to prove it’s the same person. One picture is never genuine.”

“What a dickwad. I’m going to message him to take down that picture!”

“Yeah, like he cares what you think?” Madison was laughing at me again.

49

One morning, Penny came running into the bathroom carrying a small scrap of silver paper in her mouth.

“Give it here, honey.” I coaxed it from her mouth.

It was an empty condom wrapper.

My first instinct was to chuckle and be glad Ian was being careful. My second was to text Eddie.

“Good for Ian,” Eddie wrote. “Have you seen her?”

“No. It’s noon, but no one has come downstairs, unless she’s already gone.”

“Don’t ask a lot