Today, we are excited to feature the first chapter of BOY SWAP by Kristina Springer, which released yesterday! This book looks fabulous! Just check out the awesome cover and description.
Boy Swap: The secret to sisterly love and scholarly bliss.
Research shows that seven out of ten girl fights are over a
guy. The Boy Swap Club fixes all that. In an effort to spread around male
cuteness and minimize fights and backstabbing, they just share boyfriends. And
Brooke Thomas, consummate band member, has been asked to join the super secret
club because the president of the club has the hots for her guy.
Brooke doesn’t want to share her boyfriend. I mean, who
does? But how can she say no? She, a second chair flutist in the school band,
finds herself sitting between the Varsity Cheerleader Captain and the
Homecoming Queen at the first meeting. Her friends will never believe this in a
million years. Too bad she can’t tell
them. But she knows. This one event can change her entire life. What if she
becomes actual friends with one of these girls? It might be worth sharing her
boyfriend.
Besides, he'll always love her best, right?
Chapter 1: Tap, tap
Raise your right hand and repeat after me:
We, the members of the Boy Swap Club, being of totally sound
minds and rockin’ bodies, do here forth promise to be true to the following
rules:
1) Never hog
your boyfriend all to yourself.
2) Never get
mad at a sister member for dating your guy.
3) Don’t go
all the way with any of the swapped guys.
4) And
never, ever, fall in love with any guys involved in the swap.
I put down my hand and smile at the group of girls I’ve just
joined. I can’t believe that I’m really here. I don’t totally understand what
it is that I just agreed to but who cares? I’m hanging out with the “it” girls.
Cassie Deegan and Caitlyn Ray, the two most popular girls in our entire school,
run this club and I about died when Cassie invited me to attend. She slipped me
a note after Biology this afternoon that said, “4 p.m., Bookends Bookstore,
Travel section. Be there.” At first I thought, oh great—I pissed somebody off
and now she’s going to lure me into an empty corner of the giant bookstore so
she and her friends can kick my butt, film it on their cells, and post it on
YouTube.
But curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t believe it when I
showed up and found ten of the prettiest, most popular girls at my school
sitting in a circle waiting for me.
Well, except for, blech, Delaney Adams, the only girl who
might actually want to kick my butt. She stands a few feet behind the C2,
scowling and appearing generally unhappy that I’m here. Not that that’s new.
Obviously she was the “Nay” in the Yay or Nay vote on my invitation. But Cassie
and Caitlyn must really want me here so she can just go ahead and deal.
“Okay,”
Cassie bellows to the circle, interrupting my thoughts, “I need to make it
clear that not just anybody can join Boy Swap. This is a super secret elite
club that you have to be tapped into. So don’t like, go running off and telling
your friends or anything. Because we’ll deny it all. You were chosen to join
our club because you have a desirable boyfriend.” Cassie looks directly at me
and gives me a tight smirk.
Hmmm…Chris is a hottie. With his adorable dimples and
dive-right-in ocean blue eyes, I think he’s irresistible. But they really
picked me because my boyfriend is cute? How weird.
“Look
at the girl to your left and the girl to your right,” Caitlyn instructs.
I glance to my left at Sarah Reynolds with her long shiny
blonde hair; she’s the swim team captain and last year’s homecoming queen. On
my right is Jackie Adelson with glossy auburn waves; she’s a varsity
cheerleader and the lead in every single school play. I finger my own
chin-length dark brown hair. Okay. So if the three of us went head-to-head for
a Pantene commercial I’d come in third. But Chris loves my hair. He’s always
running his hands through it when we’re making out.
“They may not be your friends outside in the real world,”
Cassie continues, “but in here, they’re your sisters.”
Wow. Sisters! I’ve always wanted a sister. Or two. Or ten. I
reach down into my purse for my phone—I want to text Lizzie so bad and tell her
all about it. Oooh, but I can’t. Cassie just warned against that, right? Well,
I know, and that is what’s important. Currently, my school social status is
kind of up for grabs. I’m not exactly what you would call popular. Okay, who am
I kidding? If we had to walk the school with our status branded across our
chests for all the world to see like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter, mine
would read “BN” for Band Nerd.
Yes, I’m totally a band nerd. I am the second chair flutist
in our school symphony as well as in the marching band. Ack, I know, I know!
The orange and black toy soldier band uniforms are flattering on no one!
Believe me, if I could convince Mr. Shank, our band director, to let us out on
the football field in cute sundresses and wedge sandals, I would. But it is a
sacrifice that I make to play my music. I love the flute. When I play it, I
feel all Tinkerbell twinkly. If you play an instrument in the band then the
flute is the only way to go. Your sound stands out higher and prettier than all
of the other instruments and it feels more like they are accompanying you. But
don’t mention to anyone that I said that. I’ll have a bunch of pissed off
clarinetists and saxophonists on my back.
Anyway, maybe I don’t have to forever be known as a band
nerd? This could really change everything for me. Maybe now I’ll make friends
with some of these girls and break into their cliques. And that would totally
piss Delaney off as well, which is a major bonus. She just hates that I’m
sitting here smack dab in the middle of her world. We’ve spent the last five
years pretending each other didn’t exist so I imagine this is completely
killing her. Her eyes are rolling so far back in her head I’m afraid they might
detach and plop right out onto the floor at any moment.
“If there are no questions, I’d like you to sign the forms
I’m passing out and…”
“I have a question,” I say, shooting my hand in the air. All
eyes fall on me. “Um, I guess I don’t quite understand what I’m agreeing to.
What is the Boy Swap Club exactly?”
Cassie sighs and rubs her temple with her right hand.
Whoops. Did she already explain and I wasn’t paying
attention?
“Research shows that seven out of ten girl fights are over a
guy,” Cassie says quickly. “We’ve discovered the secret to harmony and
happiness at school. In order to maximize on male cuteness and minimize on
fights and backstabbing, we just share our boyfriends. ”
“And the guys don’t care?” I ask.
“Like we tell them.” Caitlyn laughs and the rest of the
girls join her. Okay, so apparently everyone here does know how things work
already, and I’m asking too many questions. But come on, it sounds a little
strange. How do you share boyfriends without their knowledge? And why do they
want to share boyfriends anyway? I don’t even like to share my fries. Although,
loaning Chris out to get to hang with these girls is intriguing. It would be
hysterical if I actually became popular from being in their club, so popular
that Delaney would beg me to be friends with her again and then I could reject
her snooty butt. Oooh, that would be amazing. And I’m sure they’d return Chris
to me in the same condition as I left him, right? Hmm. Oh, what am I saying?
This is ridiculous.
“So, like I said before, if there are no other questions…”
Cassie scans the circle with an arched eyebrow—daring someone to say something.
But no one makes a peep. “I’ll need you each to sign one of these,” she adds. A
stack of papers is quickly passed around the circle of girls, and I start to
read mine. It’s some kind of boyfriend permission form. These girls are funny!
“Okay,” Cassie interrupts my thoughts, “you are being passed
an agreement that we’ll need you to sign immediately. It is really simple. I,
fill in your name, voluntarily participate in the Interscholastic Boyfriend
Exchange Program, here forth referred to as ‘Boy Swap Club’ blah blah, of which
my boyfriend, fill in his name, unknowingly shall participate, blah blah blah,
turn the page, enter into this agreement under no force and of my free will,
yadda yadda, for a period of no less than three months, blah blah blah. If
contract is broken, penalties up to and including excommunication from entire
student body…well, you get the gist. If you want to join our club, sign now.”
Seriously, can this girl slow down? I don’t want to give
away a kidney or something. I scan the first few lines. I don’t know. Should I
do it? Part of me says drop the paper on the chair and get the heck out of
here. Part of me says don’t be a bore, take a chance, and see what happens.
What’s the harm? I raise my hand again.
“Yes?” Cassie says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Can I get a copy of this to read at home?” I hear a few
sighs and see several girls give each other looks. Yikes. They’re probably all
wondering who let the loser in. But I just want to gather more information. I
mean, this isn’t exactly like when I joined French club.
Stop it Brooke! This is so not going to change your Band
Nerd status. And besides, these girls are, like, the smartest and prettiest at
school. They are readily signing it so it can’t be that bad, right? And it’s
not like Chris would ever cheat on me anyway so I’m totally getting the best of
both worlds. “I mean, never mind. Sounds fab,” I add quickly and scribble my
name. “Here,” I pass my form to Sarah and try to appear thrilled. Everyone
shuffles their papers back to Cassie.
My stomach flips. Ugh. What did I just agree to? That was
rash wasn’t it? I didn’t even take time to really think it over. Let girls date
my Chris? Why would I do that? And why do they want Chris anyway? True, he’s
hot. But he’s just as big a band nerd as me. Although what’s wrong with band
nerds anyway? We’re cool. In our own way. Maybe the popular kids are finally
ready to give us the appreciation we deserve. Ah, who am I kidding? No, things
are fine the way they are. I don’t need to be in this silly club. Now if I can
just get that piece of paper back… “Um, excuse me, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d…”
“Okay,” Caitlyn says, completely ignoring me. “There is one
last piece of business before we let you go today.” She props her Dooney &
Burke bag up on her lap and pulls from it a fistful of the rare, extremely
sought after, pale pink scarves.
A collective “ooooooh” goes around the circle and every girl
is staring at the pile of scarves with wide eyes.
“You will each be given one of these pink scarves,” Caitlyn
says but I can hardly hear her. My mind is racing. Ohmigod! The scarves! Lizzie
and I have been searching everywhere for these scarves. All the girls have.
It’s like, the popular girls started a fad and none of us could join in because
we couldn’t find the darn things anywhere. And now I am getting one? Lizzie is
going to DIE!
But wait, grasp reality here, I don’t need one. I’ve made it
all this time without a scarf. Without being popular. I’m fine. Closing eyes
now. Nothing to see here. Well, maybe just a little peek.
“You must always have the scarf on you in some way—neck,
hair, wrist, whatever,” Caitlyn says. “If it doesn’t match your outfit that day
well, then have it on your backpack or your purse in some fashion. This is our
signal to each other that we are all in the BSC. Never, and I mean NEVER, tell
anyone where you got the scarf. If you are ever asked, tell them it was a sale
at Macy’s.” Everyone is bobbing their heads up and down in excitement. My
fingers are twitching at the idea of possibly holding a scarf in just a few
seconds. Cailtyn walks the circle, dropping one scarf in each girl’s lap.
I’m losing will power fast. Must. Touch. Scarf. Caitlyn’s
getting closer to me. What will people say if they see me at school wearing
this scarf? Matching with all of these super cool girls, together in
solidarity. A sign that I belong with them. That I, Brooke Thomas, second chair
flutist, am someone important. My right leg is bouncing up and down in
anticipation. And then Caitlyn drops a scarf on it.
Oh my God. I drape it over my left wrist and hold it up
toward the light. This is the most beautiful scarf I’ve ever seen.
Kristina Springer is the best-selling author of THE
ESPRESSOLOGIST, MY FAKE BOYFRIEND IS BETTER THAN YOURS, JUST YOUR AVERAGE
PRINCESS, THE PAPARAZZI PROJECT and BOY SWAP. She has a Masters in Writing from
DePaul University and she resides in a suburb of Chicago with her husband and
children. Read more about her at http://www.kristinaspringer.com.
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