It isn't easy being able to read minds - guys' minds, especially. Gusty Peterson, the hottest bimboy in school, is always thinking I'm sick, as in totally gross to look at. Not that it matters, since I don't have a crush on him or anything. And Mallory, my first real friend since forever, has disturbing, romantic ideas about me bouncing in his brain. Even worse, scrawny Jacob has bizarre fantasies about decorating my ginormous gazungas with mascarpone cheese.
Ask me if I'd rather not know these things. I have enough to worry about with my dad showing up after a two-year vacation from fatherhood, ready to rekindle our relationship before jetting off to save Africa from typhoid. There's something he's not telling me. I know it.
Plus, I've been hiding a cat in my room for two years, which has been giving my mom horrible allergies. When she finds out, her severely clogged head will finally explode. And now I've been assigned to work with Gusty in a hideous new project the faculty are torturing us with at school. It's so wonderful to explore yourself with someone who's always thinking you're sick. I'd probably be a lot better off if I weren't psychic after all . . .
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