Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,48
we were working a kissing booth that sold a lot more than kisses. It was mostly the result of Marie’s advice the day before. “We need girl-next-door . . . meets lady of the night . . . but during the day.”
So even though the morning was pretty chilly, Arlene and Joanie had on suntan pantyhose under their short shorts and Wendy’s red bikini top looked dangerously close to popping open. When Tina pointed this out, Wendy said, “And if it does, we’ll charge extra.” She winked a blue eye, looking annoyingly like Suzanne Somers.
Dana had even departed from her usual button-up blouses to wear a tight tank top and Daisy Dukes. I noticed with some irritation that her boobs were bigger than mine, which I’d never realized. “Perky headlights, Dana,” Marie said. “Good work!”
Franchesa, who always struck me as somewhat mousy, had removed her thick glasses and let her hair down from its ponytail. She had on a short yellow cheerleading-style skirt and a halter top that looked good against her naturally tan skin.
“Wow, Franchesa, where’d you find the sexpot clothes?” Marie asked. “And the bod?”
Franchesa grimaced. “They’re my mom’s. As I was leaving, I heard my dad say, ‘You’re lending her the outfit?’ This thing had better be a success, because I think I’m wearing my mom’s sex clothes.”
We all shuddered. I had a thin white shirt on over my bikini top because I hardly needed some guy to point out my mosquito bites. But I wore a pair of denim cutoffs even shorter than my Sportmart shorts and had tested the outfit in the shower to make sure it looked good wet.
We’d gotten permission to use the school’s overflow parking lot for the wash, the same spot the cheerleaders used in the spring. There was a three-way intersection in front of the high school, and we were positioned in view of all the traffic lights, giving a lot of drivers plenty of time to spot us.
At ten a.m., we officially cut the ribbon for our car wash, and Dawn—who’d actually put on makeup and was showing her curves in basic cutoffs and a T-shirt—said, “Here goes nothing.”
After all the plastering of flyers and reminding our families, I think we all expected a line of cars to be waiting for us when we opened up shop, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, we were greeted by the roar of traffic as it passed us by. My hope started to evaporate as I stood there freezing with my shorts riding up my butt.
“What do the cheerleaders do to get customers?” Joanie moaned. She adjusted one of her auburn pigtails.
“Wear cheerleading outfits,” Tina said. She had on a jumpsuit that hit high on her thighs with the zipper pulled halfway down. “And probably cheer and shit.”
“And raise money for a team people actually care about,” Dawn said, her tone sour. We all knew what she meant—a boys’ team.
We tried yelling at cars stopped at the red lights. We jumped and waved the two signs Joanie had made with her perfect bubble letters, and we shot a stream of water from the hose into the air. If people looked our way at all, they pretended they hadn’t seen us.
“Cheap-asses,” I muttered.
“Are we deformed or something?” Joanie asked, checking her reflection in Tina’s windshield.
Just as we all seemed ready to call it quits, several cars filled with guys pulled up. Some of them were the more unsavory players on the football team. My disgust at seeing them mixed with relief that we finally had some customers.
“Three cars, guys!” Dawn said.
“That’s nine dollars!” Franchesa said.
“At least nine dollars!” Arlene chimed in. “Push the Turtle Wax.”
Keith Barnes hopped out of a Buick, which had to be his dad’s. “You, you, and you,” he said, pointing at Marie, Franchesa, and Wendy. “If you do a good job on mine, then my buddies will get a wash, too.”
“It’s a fundraiser, Keith,” I said. “We’re not looking to start an official business.”
“Klintock, the customer is always right,” he said, casting a glance at my chest that made me feel self-conscious. “Now, I want to see how these girls stroke my ride.”
Wendy looked like she wanted to kick him in the nuts, but we needed his stupid three dollars.
The girls started working on Keith’s car, and the other guys in his car got out to watch. The guys in the second car also got out. Michael, the St. Mark’s guy who I’d blown off, was standing there, sneering