Read Online Joe College: A Novel by Tom Perrotta - Free Book Online Page B

wouldn’t call him nice, exactly. But I’ll tell you what—that McKinley was a first-class dirtbag in his own right. You want to know what’s wrong with America, study up a little on the McKinley Administration.”
    “Got what he deserved, huh?”
    “That’s not for me to say. I’m just saying there are different ways to be a killer.”
    “I hear you,” I said, thinking suddenly of my parents, and the way my life sometimes seemed to embody their worst suspicions about college. Was this what they’d scrimped and sacrificed for all those years? So their son could spend his Tuesday nights drinking beer, smoking dope, eating weird food, and learning to see the assassin’s side of the story?
    Max rose slowly from the bed, a distracted expression on his face. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, as if he had a headache.
    “Guess what?” I told him. “I just ate some kimchi. Me and Vernon.”
    He let go of his nose and turned his attention to his navel area, which he scratched with more than run-of the-mill thoroughness. The skin down there looked pink and a bit rashy, like he had poison ivy or something. When he was done, he paused for a few seconds to examine his fingernails.
    “Cindy called again. She sounded pretty upset.”
    “I’ll call her tomorrow.”
    He nodded and slipped past me on his way out, stopping short just as he reached the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, forcing a quick smile.
    “Hey,” he said. “That’s great about the kimchi.”
     
     
    I’d only gotten through a couple of paragraphs when my eyes strayed to the pink envelope resting under the chipped hockey puck I used as a paperweight. The envelope contained Cindy’s most recent letter, the only one I’d received from her since we’d parted on bad terms over Christmas vacation.
    I put down the book and picked up the letter, though the actual document was something of a formality, since I had it pretty much memorized. Even now, a good three weeks after I’d fished it out of my mailbox at Yale Station, I still felt the urge to reread it once or twice a day.

    Dear Danny,
     
    I’ve been thinking a lot about Bruce lately, I’m not sure why. I think the song the River is about the saddest thing I ever heard my whole life. I love Hungry Heart though. That’s sad too if you think about it. the guy just gets in his car and ditches his wife and kid. He doesn’t think twice. It’s just who he is. Maybe the guy in the River should do that too. He seems so depressed as it is …
    I always had this idea that if Bruce got to know me—to REALLY know me! then we would fall in love and be together. (I know this sounds kind of stupid, believe me!!! I never told anyone but you) Yeah, I know he’s this big rock star he can have any girl he wants. I’m not Cheryl Tiegs or anything but it’s like he says on Thunder Road, she’s not a beauty but that’s all right with him. Hey—he’s the one who said it NOT me!
    This wasn’t some crazy fantasy. It was what I believed. I believe there’s one person in the world your meant for no matter what, and that he was the one for me (You know that song For You? I LOVE that song) I’ve felt this way for a long time, even before Born to Run. But then this afternoon I realized it was all just a big stupid joke. Joke on me. Even if he met me he’d just think so what? What’s so special about her?
    I cried a little and then I was okay.
     
    Sincerely,
Cynthia

    On New Year’s Eve, Cindy and I had slept together for the first and only time. Her mother was out of town visiting relatives, and she invited me over for a quiet evening of champagne and Dick Clark. Around eleven thirty, we started making out on the couch. It was her idea to relocate to the bedroom, and the suggestion caught me totally off guard. By that point I’d pretty much given up on the prospect of ever actually having sex with her, a mental adjustment that had made our time together a lot less