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  I mean, Aviva. I’m sorry.”

  “Just go away.

  God, just go away.”

  I sit there, my nose and eyes running, big wet spots seeping onto my sleeves. I sit there with my face in my hands until I’m absolutely sure he’s gone.

  I don’t ever want to see his face again.

  What a coward.

  What did I ever see in him?

  THE MESSENGER

  As if I’m not low enough,

  Kristen comes up to me

  in the caf.

  I didn’t go near the Jock table today.

  Found a different crowd.

  Still, she finds me.

  “Can we talk?” she asks.

  “What about?”

  “C’mon, Viv, you know what about, I’m trying to help.”

  She sits down in unfamiliar territory. She doesn’t care.

  She has this air of entitlement about her.

  Queen Bee can sit anywhere she wants

  without worrying about disturbing the little people.

  “He feels really bad, you know,” she says.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he does.”

  “No really, he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Kristen, do you really think I’m that stupid? Of

  course he meant to hurt me. If he knew everything

  would be over as soon as we slept together, then he

  had to know that would hurt me.”

  “Boys like that don’t think that way,” she says.

  “Why, are they

  that stupid?”

  “Well, yeah, about stuff like this. They just don’t

  think that far ahead,” she says.

  “Is that your way of defending him?

  You want to be

  next?”

  A light dawns.

  “Oh, you do, don’t you? Well, don’t let me stop you.

  He’s all yours,

  just watch your back—and your heart,” I say.

  “Now could you please leave and let me eat my lunch

  in peace.”

  “I tried,” Kristen says, shrugs her shoulders, as

  Little Miss Perfect walks back to jock-land.

  Oh puh-leeze, are we all so stupid? So blinded by a guy who tells us everything we want to hear? Slobbers all over us?

  You know she’s next.

  He shoots me a sheepish look.

  Coward boy needs a messenger girl.

  Bad boy feels bad.

  Too bad.

  Too damn bad!

  I’m such an idiot. And I’m so pissed at myself

  because when I get older

  and look back on my first time,

  I was really hoping it would be a nice memory.

  Too bad for me, too.

  JOSIE

  I’m still sitting in the caf,

  not really sure what to do next,

  when I notice this girl standing next to my table,

  quietly waiting for me to notice her.

  “Can I help you?” I say.

  “No, but I’m hoping I can help you,” she says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m Josie, I went out with him too.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think you should check out Forever at the library,”

  she says.

  “Forever?”

  “Yeah, you know, the book by Judy Blume.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t your fault,” she says.

  I try to say “I know that,”

  but I’m choking on my words through the tears.

  She definitely hit a nerve.

  She puts her hand on my shoulder.

  Why is she being so sweet?

  I don’t even know her.

  “Just do me a favor and check out Forever, okay?”

  She takes her hand off my shoulder,

  smiles,

  and walks away.

  I CAN’T BELIEVE

  what I’m reading.

  This poor book. Every little bit of free space—

  in the back, in the front,

  on the heading pages of new chapters,

  even in the margins—there are things written

  about him.

  It’s not good.

  Josie’s words have been embellished,

  with a border and a label: FIRST ENTRY,

  and an arrow pointing to her words.

  This scribbler wants there to be no mistake:

  Josie = Fearless Leader.

  So many girls.

  How could there have been so many girls

  in four years?

  I’m sure his buddies knew, but somehow he managed

  to keep a low profile about it, and anyway,

  who’s got the time to keep up with

  this guy’s string of girlfriends?

  Certainly not me.

  I bet a lot of girls were mortified after

  and just kept their mouths shut.

  Does he even know the damage he has done?

  I have to think he’d care, if he had a clue.

  He’s not a monster.

  But then again, some of these girls sure think he is.

  They’ve created their very own support group

  within the pages of Forever.

  The more I read, the more I realize

  I’m not alone.

  And it helps.

  It really

  helps.

  WE THREE

  I’m walking through Blue Hall

  and I see Josie.

  “Hey, Josie, thanks for the heads-up about

  Forever. Very, um, informative.”

  “No problem. Hey, Aviva, this is Nicolette,” she says. “Um, hi. Wow. I guess I should say I’m sorry,” I say.

  Nicolette looks at me

  and says

  nothing.

  I open my mouth to add something,

  anything,

  but then Nicolette shrugs and says,

  “I guess it’s okay. You didn’t know.

  Right?”

  “No, I definitely didn’t know.

  But I’m still sorry,” I say.

  Just then, he walks by.

  We all glare.

  He had to expect at least some of us

  would start comparing notes

  sometime.

  He puts his head down and hurries past.

  We look at each other and

  smile

  a little.

  MATERIAL GIRL

  I never did write in the book.

  I don’t know why, maybe I’m saving up

  to write a song about this whole mess.

  Put a bad experience to some good use.

  I never was one to buy into that whole

  suffering artist thing,

  but maybe there’s something to it.

  I do have a lot more . . . material

  than I did before.

  Maybe that whole hippie karmic cosmic

  “everything happens for a reason” stuff

  my parents spout

  is true after all.

  GIRLFRIENDS

  Well, my head is definitely out of the clouds now.

  I take my chances and look for Amanda at lunch

  the next day.

  “I heard what happened. You okay?” she asks.

  Her question springs new tears to my eyes.

  What a stand-up chick.

  She doesn’t have to be nice to me.

  I don’t deserve it.

  “I will be, eventually, I guess.”

  “Real convincing.” She laughs.

  “Hey! Don’t laugh at me.” I throw a French fry at her.

  “You can keep crying, if you prefer.” She smiles at me.

  “You pegged him right away, didn’t you, Amanda.

  You learn about boys like that

  from all those books you read?”

  “I’m sure my time will come.”


  “Yeah, well, when it does, I’ll be here.

  Count on it.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “You got it.” I start crying again.

  “I’m so stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid. You know what, Viiiv?” She grins.

  “You’ll see the next one coming a mile away.”

  Let’s hope so.

  I wouldn’t want to go through this again.

  But unfortunately, something tells me this stuff is

  tricky.

  I doubt this is the only mistake I’m going to make.

  And I’m not so sure

  it was a mistake, anyway.

  I kind of hope he learns something too.

  Even if it’s only for the sake of the next girl

  who comes along.

  Or the one after that. Or maybe the one after that!

  He’s cute and all, but not what I’d call

  a real quick study!

  I laugh out loud.

  And I’m happy for a second, because I still know how to find the funny.

  I like that about myself.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing is a solitary experience. But if we’re lucky, we have a community of people with whom we can share our journey. I consider myself exceptionally lucky in this area and am thankful for the generosity of so many people. Thank you, Beth Wright, YA librarian extraordinaire—you were one of my first invaluable readers and wisely suggested we send this book to Wendy Lamb. Hugs and thanks go to Jill Esbaum and her daughter Kerri (my first teen reader!), Erik Esckilsen (my first male reader!), Catherine Atkins, Stacy DeKeyser, Elizabeth Winthrop, Ellen Jackson, Laura Williams McCaffrey, Donna Freitas, Diane Davis, Jan Hughes, Lisa Angstman, Kristin Gehsmann, and Andrea White. Thanks also to Alex Flinn, Lara Zeises, and Cynthia Leitich Smith, who all offered wonderful advice when I needed it.

  Love to Eileen Cowell (my sweet, forward-reading librarian mom). And props to the Kindling Words gang: I wrote many of these poems during one of our retreats, where it was suggested that my nascent short story was really the beginning of a novel (special shout-outs going to Karen Romano Young and Hope Anita Smith). Gracias, Karen Grencik, for your warm heart and your faith in my work. Thank you, Sarah Aronson, not only for your insights and enthusiasm, but also for your unwavering sisterhood. And big love and thanks to A. Harris Stone (for being the best dad a girl could have) and Laurie Foster (my fabulous, supportive sister).

  And to you, Wendy Lamb and Alison Meyer, your confidence in me and excitement about this novel were thrilling. Alison, your talent for asking the right questions without looking for the “right” answers is incredibly impressive and unimaginably appreciated. And last, but most definitely never least, I thank my family for understanding my need for quiet writing time, and for their unconditional love and support. I love you all madly!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tanya Lee Stone was an editor of children’s books for thirteen years. But when the writing bug bit, she was hooked. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Oberlin College and a master’s degree in education from Southern Connecticut State University. She has published many nonfiction and picture books for kids. Written in verse, A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl is her first novel. Her next novel will be in prose. Visit her online at www.tanyastone.com.

  HAVE YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS BEEN BURNED BY A BAD BOY?

  Let’s dish! Get together with your friends—just like

  Josie, Nicolette, and Aviva did—to spread the word:

  BAD BOYS must not be tolerated!

  Even GOOD GIRLS don’t back down.

  A Bad Boy Can Be Good for a Girl, and a Good Book Can Be GREAT for Her! Sign up for Sister Ink—the newsletter offering up the hottest new reads, your favorite authors, contests, quizzes, and more—at www.sisterink.com!

  www.randomhouse.com/teens

  Published by

  Wendy Lamb Books

  an imprint of

  Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  Copyright © 2006 by Tanya Lee Stone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

  or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any

  information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher,

  except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product

  of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Wendy Lamb Books is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  January 2006

  www.randomhouse.com

  eISBN: 978-0-307-43305-3

  v3.0