Read Dear Opl for Free Online Page A

AND A STICK. CHASE AFTER A BALL, FOR PETE’S SAKE. HOW MANY OF US WILL ACTUALLY HANG FROM THE ROOT OF A TREE HALFWAY DOWN A CANYON? THAT’S THE ONLY PERSON WHO’LL NEED TO PRACTICE THE FLEXED-ARM HANG. OH, AND MAYBE THE GUY WHO CAN’T HOLD HIS LIQUOR AND KEEPS SLIDING DOWN HIS BAR STOOL. HURTS LIKE THE DEVIL WHEN YOU WHACK YOUR CHIN.
    I leaned back against my bed and let my head fall. That wasn’t so bad. Not nearly bad. In fact, no one had slaughtered me like I thought they would. Of course, only my best friend, my grandfather, and some girl I didn’t know had commented, but people had a chance and didn’t take it. Maybe blogging wasn’t as bad as I thought. And Summer had a point. No one in the school paid attention to me. Most kids didn’t even know my name.
    I raised my head and looked back at the screen. I scrolled up to my latest entry and did a double take. Three comments already!
    Glamourgirl88: Opl, I totally agree with you. I need more veg time. I am sooo behind in my Runway Girls episodes I can’t imagine I’ll ever catch up. OMG, how could I live without free Wi-Fi? It’s the only way I can keep up with my shows while I’m supposedly listening in class.
    Umm, oops, I thought. Not exactly my point, but okay, whatever. The next comment caught me off guard,
    Lovemycat: Dear Opl, why do you spell your name like that?
    I scratched my head. Was I allowed to answer? Someone asks me a question on my blog and I can answer them back, right? It’s my blog. I scrolled down to the last comment to read before making a reply.
    My eyes popped out like two ping-pong balls. It felt like my eyelids had stretched to an unholy position. Summer’s twin brother left a comment!
    EthanEngland: You are such a crack up, “Opl.”
    I wanted to choke. I couldn’t breathe. And then I couldn’t stop panting. Ethan left a comment! Ethan Waldenbridge! The cutest, cutest, CUTEST boy in the eighth grade!
    I rolled to the floor and pushed my laptop aside. A big groan crawled up my throat. I couldn’t stop it. I did not recognize the sound, but I knew the feeling that came with it. Humiliation.
    How could Summer have passed on my blog to her twin brother—the one person I would like never to notice me?
    Well, that’s not entirely true.
    I don’t want him to notice me when I’m spying on him with Summer at their house. And definitely not now, when Mom keeps reminding me I’m not some boney goddess in skinny jeans. And here? On my blog? Where I have been tricked into revealing things about myself? This is so not good.
    I rolled my head to the side and looked for the package of M&M’s. Ethan is my deepest, darkest secret.
    When I first met Summer, after her family’s move from the UK to America, I thought she was too good to be true. Not only did she like me and my loony sense of humor, but she didn’t seem to mind that I had only three outfits I felt comfortable wearing. And none of them worth borrowing.
    â€œYou wear your personality like everyone else wears clothes. That’s what I like about you. You’re barmy,” she had said a couple of years ago.
    A couple of years ago, things had been really different. G-pa didn’t live with us, Dad did, and I wasn’t fat. It seems that as my size expanded, my personality shrank. It couldn’t breathe beneath all the extra layers of flab that appeared. I felt like a turtle retracting into a shell. And Mom had thrown a laptop in there to play with.
    Ethan was perfect. And he had Summer’s sweet, foreign accent. I could be anywhere in school and hear him coming. Having an English accent brings a lot of luck your way. It makes you instantly popular, plus the teachers automatically give you thirty extra IQ points.
    I practice my English accent daily, so that one day, when I’m married to Ethan, he’ll understand me, and I can teach our children the proper way to speak.