“Yeah, I’ve never opened a locker before,” I admitted a little obviously.“You must have gone to Roosevelt last year,” she said with certaint.... I looked at her puzzled. How could she know that? “Roosevelt doesn’t have lockers with locks. My cousin went there. Krissy Schultz. I’m Katie Schultz.”“Yeah, I know Krissy,” I smiled as I replied. “She’s cool.” She was more than cool. She was hot. She was the eighth grade version of Jessica Simpson. Curvy blonde and unavailable. Rumor had it. "What's more, darling, I'll lay good money that in that fucking banqueting hall upstairs, I was the only woman who'd enjoyed an appetiser of warm spunk before they served the chilled vichyssoise!" She rocked forward in a vain attempt to supress a fit of giggles, spilling her champagne in the process. After a pause she straightened up and gently laid her head on my shoulder. "By the way, we're staying the night." Sorry?" You won't have to drive us back to Tarrington Hall until the morning." How. More

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