Read Online Joe College: A Novel by Tom Perrotta - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Perrotta
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tip, impaled like a check on a spindle, was a tiny scrap of kimchi.
“That’s the plan,” he said, holding the chopstick in front of his face like a sparkler. “How hard could it be?”
Vernon was a short, powerful-looking guy with no neck and the suave baritone voice of a late-night deejay. He lived with Hank and Donald, but generally kept himself apart from the social life of the entryway. If you asked his roommates where he was, they’d just give a vague shrug, as if to suggest that it was a big world out there, and your guess was as good as theirs. Ever since I’d met Vernon freshman year and learned that he’d attended the same Jersey City high school as my mother, I’d been hoping we could become friends, but lately I’d begun to suspect that it wasn’t in the cards. I couldn’t seem to find a way of talking to him that didn’t transform even the simplest conversation into some sort of debate about race in America. He’d been steering clear of me since our last meal in the dining hall, when I’d pressed a little too hard to enlist him on my side of an argument about Richard Wright’s portrayal of Bigger in Native Son .
“You know what?” I turned to Donald, seized by a sudden jolt of inspiration. “I think I’ll try some, too.”
“You’re kidding,” said Sang.
I shook my head. “Why not? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right!” Sang congratulated me with an upraised fist. I was touched by how pleased he seemed. “I knew you could do it.”
Donald plunged a chopstick into the jar and speared a bite-sized morsel of cabbage. I took it from him and smiled at Vernon.
“Safety in numbers,” I said.
Vernon gave a barely perceptible nod. Then he brought the kimchi to his nose and gave it a little sniff.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, looking me straight in the eye as he closed his mouth over the tip of the chopstick. I followed his lead. He withdrew the chopstick and chewed slowly, his expression shifting from grave suspicion to cautious approval.
As soon as I bit down, my mouth flooded with powerful sensations. The kimchi was cold, briny, crunchy, and spicy, though not nearly as fiery as I’d expected. It was okay.
“Well?” said Sang. “What’s the verdict?”
Hank, Donald, and Ted leaned forward in their seats, as if something important were about to happen. Vernon and I traded glances, each waiting for the other to take the lead.
“Not bad,” we finally blurted out, almost in unison.
Something about our answer struck the other guys as funny. Sang slapped his leg. Hank and Donald traded high fives in our honor. Ted shook his head, an expression of solemn wonderment taking hold of his face. He held out both his meaty arms as wide as they would go, as if he were thinking about embracing all five of us at once.
“This,” he said, pausing to make eye contact with each of us in turn. “This is why I came to Yale.”
An hour or so later, I slipped away from the party. It was almost two in the morning, but my breakthrough with the kimchi had given me a second wind. Even after a couple of celebratory bong hits, I felt strangely alert, eager to resume my plodding trek through Middlemarch My mood was such that it didn’t even bother me to open the door and find Max sprawled out on my bed, his bare, not-exactly-spotless feet propped up on my pillow.
“Hey,” I said, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?”
Unaware of the emotional progress I’d made since our last encounter, he scrambled into sitting position, shielding his face with a fat hardcover.
“Sorry.” He peeked out from behind the book. “I would’ve stayed in my room, but Nancy wanted to go to bed early.”
“No problem.” I dismissed his concerns with a magnanimous flick of the wrist. “Whatcha readin’?”
“Something about Leon Czolgosz. The anarchist who shot McKinley.”
“Nice guy?”
Max didn’t seem to notice that I was goofing on him.
“I
“That’s the plan,” he said, holding the chopstick in front of his face like a sparkler. “How hard could it be?”
Vernon was a short, powerful-looking guy with no neck and the suave baritone voice of a late-night deejay. He lived with Hank and Donald, but generally kept himself apart from the social life of the entryway. If you asked his roommates where he was, they’d just give a vague shrug, as if to suggest that it was a big world out there, and your guess was as good as theirs. Ever since I’d met Vernon freshman year and learned that he’d attended the same Jersey City high school as my mother, I’d been hoping we could become friends, but lately I’d begun to suspect that it wasn’t in the cards. I couldn’t seem to find a way of talking to him that didn’t transform even the simplest conversation into some sort of debate about race in America. He’d been steering clear of me since our last meal in the dining hall, when I’d pressed a little too hard to enlist him on my side of an argument about Richard Wright’s portrayal of Bigger in Native Son .
“You know what?” I turned to Donald, seized by a sudden jolt of inspiration. “I think I’ll try some, too.”
“You’re kidding,” said Sang.
I shook my head. “Why not? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right!” Sang congratulated me with an upraised fist. I was touched by how pleased he seemed. “I knew you could do it.”
Donald plunged a chopstick into the jar and speared a bite-sized morsel of cabbage. I took it from him and smiled at Vernon.
“Safety in numbers,” I said.
Vernon gave a barely perceptible nod. Then he brought the kimchi to his nose and gave it a little sniff.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, looking me straight in the eye as he closed his mouth over the tip of the chopstick. I followed his lead. He withdrew the chopstick and chewed slowly, his expression shifting from grave suspicion to cautious approval.
As soon as I bit down, my mouth flooded with powerful sensations. The kimchi was cold, briny, crunchy, and spicy, though not nearly as fiery as I’d expected. It was okay.
“Well?” said Sang. “What’s the verdict?”
Hank, Donald, and Ted leaned forward in their seats, as if something important were about to happen. Vernon and I traded glances, each waiting for the other to take the lead.
“Not bad,” we finally blurted out, almost in unison.
Something about our answer struck the other guys as funny. Sang slapped his leg. Hank and Donald traded high fives in our honor. Ted shook his head, an expression of solemn wonderment taking hold of his face. He held out both his meaty arms as wide as they would go, as if he were thinking about embracing all five of us at once.
“This,” he said, pausing to make eye contact with each of us in turn. “This is why I came to Yale.”
An hour or so later, I slipped away from the party. It was almost two in the morning, but my breakthrough with the kimchi had given me a second wind. Even after a couple of celebratory bong hits, I felt strangely alert, eager to resume my plodding trek through Middlemarch My mood was such that it didn’t even bother me to open the door and find Max sprawled out on my bed, his bare, not-exactly-spotless feet propped up on my pillow.
“Hey,” I said, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?”
Unaware of the emotional progress I’d made since our last encounter, he scrambled into sitting position, shielding his face with a fat hardcover.
“Sorry.” He peeked out from behind the book. “I would’ve stayed in my room, but Nancy wanted to go to bed early.”
“No problem.” I dismissed his concerns with a magnanimous flick of the wrist. “Whatcha readin’?”
“Something about Leon Czolgosz. The anarchist who shot McKinley.”
“Nice guy?”
Max didn’t seem to notice that I was goofing on him.
“I
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