piquant, does he not?
7. I am hesitant to firmly RSVP to this next Barton gathering, even though Mr. Fritz will be in attendance, as it is the night before the Thanksgiving holiday. I will see what arrangements can be made.
Celeste paused in her writing.
To be direct with you, group social events often do not work out well for me. I find them difficult. In fact, most social events are seemingly impossible for me to navigate in a way that does not alienate others. I hope you understand.
8. San Diego sounds to be a very appealing city, and a touristy boat ride and sandcastle building are attractive lures.
9. Architecture must be a challenging and dynamic major. I am undecided what to major in right now, although some specialty in literature holds appeal for me.
Best wishes,
Celeste
Celeste-
I understand about group events. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’ll make sure that you get an invitation just in case you change your mind. Okay? Maybe we could get together while I’m in town, and then it wouldn’t be a big group situation. Would you like that better?
I really enjoy emailing with you. Is that weird to say? I hope not.
-Justin
Words usually came easily to Celeste, but right now she had none. She sat for a few moments, trying to decide how she felt and how to respond. This was unfamiliar territory for her.
She walked from her room and to the kitchen. Although she had teased Matt the other day about wanting to take her out for hot chocolate, a cup of rich hot cocoa seemed in order today. Although it hadn’t snowed yet, it was certainly gloomy and cold enough out to set the mood for the upcoming winter. She heated milk on the stove and took sugar and dark unsweetened cocoa from the cabinet. It took a few minutes for the milk to come to a near boil, and as she whisked in the chocolate and sugar, a thought occurred to her. She abandoned the hot pot and scooped spoonfuls of sugar onto the counter until a solid circle of shimmering crystals formed. Then with the back of the spoon, she carefully swooped lines through the sugar.
Celeste took her cell from her back pocket and snapped a picture, which she then emailed to Justin.
Justin-
It’s perhaps rudimentary, but here’s my snowy owl for you.
-Celeste
The whoosh of the email echoed in the quiet kitchen, and Celeste noticed—with no small amount of shock—that her message contained two contractions.
“How odd,” she said to the sugar owl. “How very, very odd.”
DON’T FLINCH
CELESTE BELTED OUT the final lala la’s of the song as best she could, trying to keep her voice steady and clear. Auditioning for a band was nerve-wracking enough, so the expressionless stares from the three college boys in front of her were not helping. She replaced the microphone back on the stand and took an awkward bow.
It was hard, she was learning, to move easily in a skintight catsuit, but she had felt it appropriate to dress the part. Or what she guessed the part would look like. The costume selection from the school’s drama department offered a finite selection from which to choose. She would return it, of course, since Celeste was not a thief, but she did feel slightly guilty about taking it without asking. The flyer that she’d taken from the rocker in Harvard Square didn’t spell out too many details on song or fashion choices, and she didn’t know much about “skate punk” music, so it had been up to her to package herself. The girl at the salon this morning had been all too enthusiastic about coloring Celeste’s hair neon red, and even though she promised that it would wash out soon enough, Celeste was not yet comfortable with the red spiral curls that kept falling into her eyes. Now that the backing track was off, the room was eerily silent.
The lead guitarist of Flinch Noggins rubbed his lips together for a moment and shook some lint from his flannel shirt. “Huh. What did you say the name of that song was again?”
“The song is titled
7. I am hesitant to firmly RSVP to this next Barton gathering, even though Mr. Fritz will be in attendance, as it is the night before the Thanksgiving holiday. I will see what arrangements can be made.
Celeste paused in her writing.
To be direct with you, group social events often do not work out well for me. I find them difficult. In fact, most social events are seemingly impossible for me to navigate in a way that does not alienate others. I hope you understand.
8. San Diego sounds to be a very appealing city, and a touristy boat ride and sandcastle building are attractive lures.
9. Architecture must be a challenging and dynamic major. I am undecided what to major in right now, although some specialty in literature holds appeal for me.
Best wishes,
Celeste
Celeste-
I understand about group events. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’ll make sure that you get an invitation just in case you change your mind. Okay? Maybe we could get together while I’m in town, and then it wouldn’t be a big group situation. Would you like that better?
I really enjoy emailing with you. Is that weird to say? I hope not.
-Justin
Words usually came easily to Celeste, but right now she had none. She sat for a few moments, trying to decide how she felt and how to respond. This was unfamiliar territory for her.
She walked from her room and to the kitchen. Although she had teased Matt the other day about wanting to take her out for hot chocolate, a cup of rich hot cocoa seemed in order today. Although it hadn’t snowed yet, it was certainly gloomy and cold enough out to set the mood for the upcoming winter. She heated milk on the stove and took sugar and dark unsweetened cocoa from the cabinet. It took a few minutes for the milk to come to a near boil, and as she whisked in the chocolate and sugar, a thought occurred to her. She abandoned the hot pot and scooped spoonfuls of sugar onto the counter until a solid circle of shimmering crystals formed. Then with the back of the spoon, she carefully swooped lines through the sugar.
Celeste took her cell from her back pocket and snapped a picture, which she then emailed to Justin.
Justin-
It’s perhaps rudimentary, but here’s my snowy owl for you.
-Celeste
The whoosh of the email echoed in the quiet kitchen, and Celeste noticed—with no small amount of shock—that her message contained two contractions.
“How odd,” she said to the sugar owl. “How very, very odd.”
DON’T FLINCH
CELESTE BELTED OUT the final lala la’s of the song as best she could, trying to keep her voice steady and clear. Auditioning for a band was nerve-wracking enough, so the expressionless stares from the three college boys in front of her were not helping. She replaced the microphone back on the stand and took an awkward bow.
It was hard, she was learning, to move easily in a skintight catsuit, but she had felt it appropriate to dress the part. Or what she guessed the part would look like. The costume selection from the school’s drama department offered a finite selection from which to choose. She would return it, of course, since Celeste was not a thief, but she did feel slightly guilty about taking it without asking. The flyer that she’d taken from the rocker in Harvard Square didn’t spell out too many details on song or fashion choices, and she didn’t know much about “skate punk” music, so it had been up to her to package herself. The girl at the salon this morning had been all too enthusiastic about coloring Celeste’s hair neon red, and even though she promised that it would wash out soon enough, Celeste was not yet comfortable with the red spiral curls that kept falling into her eyes. Now that the backing track was off, the room was eerily silent.
The lead guitarist of Flinch Noggins rubbed his lips together for a moment and shook some lint from his flannel shirt. “Huh. What did you say the name of that song was again?”
“The song is titled
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