"Blume, Judy - Just As Long As We're Together" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blume Judy)

Just as Long as We're Together - Blume, Judy.
1.
Hunks.
"Stephanie is into hunks," my mother said to my aunt on Sunday afternoon. They were in the kitchen making potato salad and I was stretched out on the grass in our yard, reading. But the kitchen window was wide open so I could hear every word my mother and aunt were saying. I wasn't paying much attention though, until I heard my name.
At first I wasn't sure what my mother meant by Stephanie is into hunks, but I got the message when she added, "She's taped a poster of Richard Gere on the ceiling above her bed. She says she likes to look up at him while she's trying to fall asleep at night."
"Oh-oh," Aunt Denise said. "You'd better have a talk with her."
"She already knows about the birds and the bees," Mom said.
"Yes, but what does she know about boys?" Aunt Denise asked.
It so happens I know plenty about boys. As for hunks, I've never known one personally. Most boys my age-and I'm starting seventh grade in two weeks-are babies. As for my Richard Gere poster, I didn't even know he was famous when I bought it. I got it on sale. The picture must have been taken a long time ago because he looks young, around seventeen. He was really cute back then. I love the expression on his face, kind of a half-smile, as if he's sharing a secret with me.
Actually, I don't call him Richard Gere. I call him Benjamin but my mother doesn't know that. To her he's some famous actor. To me, he's Benjamin Moore, he's seventeen and he's my first boyfriend. I love that name-Benjamin Moore. I got it off a paint can. We moved over the summer and for weeks our new house reeked of paint. While my room was being done I slept in my brother's room. His name is Bruce and he's ten. I didn't get a good night's sleep all that week because Bruce has nightmares.
Anyway, as soon as the painters were out of
my room I moved back in and taped up my posters. I have nineteen of them, not counting Benjamin Moore. And he's the only one on the ceiling. It took me all day to arrange my posters in just the right way and that night, as soon as my mother got home from work, I called her up to see them.
"Oh, Stephanie!" she said. "You should have used tacks, not tape. Tape pulls the paint off the walls."
"No, it doesn't," I said.
"Yes, it does."
"Look . . . I'll prove it to you," I said, taking down a poster of a lion with her cubs. But my mother was right. The tape did pull chips of paint off the wall. "I guess I better not move my posters around," I said.
"I guess not," Mom said. "We'll have to ask the painters to touch up that wall."
I felt kind of bad then and I guess Mom could tell because she said, "Your posters do look nice though. You've arranged them very artistically. Especially the one over your bed."
2.
Rachel
"I can't believe this room!" my best friend, Rachel Robinson, said. She came over the second she got home from music camp. We shrieked when we saw each other. Dad says he doesn't understand why girls have to shriek like that. There's no way I can explain it to him.
Rachel must have grown another two inches over the summer because when Mom hugged her, Rachel was taller. She'll probably be the tallest girl in seventh grade.
"I've never seen so many posters!" Rachel stood in the middle of my room, shaking her head. When she noticed Benjamin Moore she asked, "How come that one's on your ceiling?"
"Lie down," I said.
"Not now."
"Yes, now. . ." I pushed her toward the bed. "It's the only way you can really see him."
Rachel shoved an armload of stuffed animals out of the way and lay down.
I flopped beside her. "Isn't he cute?" "Yeah . . . he is."
"My mother calls him a hunk." Rachel laughed.
"You know what I call him?" "What?"
"Benjamin Moore."
"Benjamin Moore. . ." Rachel said, propping herself up on one elbow. "Isn't that a brand of paint?"
"Yes, but I love the name."
Rachel tossed a stuffed monkey at me. "You are so bizarre, Steph!"
I knew she meant that as a compliment. "Is that the bee-sting necklace?" Rachel asked, reaching over to touch the locket around my neck. As she did, her hair, which is curly and reddish-brown, brushed against my arm. "Can 1 see how it works?"
"Sure."
I stepped on a bee in July while I was at Girl Scout camp and had an allergic reaction to its
sting. The camp nurse had to revive me because I went into shock. The doctor said from now on I've got to carry pills with me in case I get stung again. They're small and blue. I hope I never have to take them. I'm not the greatest at swallowing pills. When I got back from camp, Gran Lola, my grandmother, gave me this necklace. I'd written all about it to Rachel.
I opened the small gold heart. "See. . ." I said, showing it to her, "instead of a place for a picture inside there's room for three pills."
Rachel touched them. "What did it feel like to be in shock?"
"I don't remember. I think I felt dizzy . then everything went black."
"Promise you'll always wear the necklace," Rachel said, "just in case."
"I promise."
"Good." She closed the heart. "Now. . . what about those cartons?" she asked, pointing across the room. "When are you going to unpack them?"
"Soon."
"I'll help you do it now."
"That's okay," I told her.
"You've got to get organized before school starts, Steph." She crossed the room and kneeled in front of the biggest carton. "Books!" she said. "You want to arrange them by subject or author?"
"This isn't a library," 1 said, "it's a bedroom."
"I know.. . but as long as we're doing it we might as well do it right."