Read Online Lessons in Love by Emily Franklin - Free Book Online Page B

as we head toward the seating area. “I think they do — only, this time it affected you, so you notice.”
    We sit at the end of one of the communal tables, leaning in close to talk, like we did over the summer. In my bag are notes and too many assignments, as well as postcards from Gala — my mother. She’d promised to send one every day, and so far, she has. Sometimes they’re funny, filled with observations about what’s around her, and other times they don’t say all that much, more like the stamp and scalloped edges are meant to remind she’s out there, this roaming presence in my life.
    My brown tray touches Chris’s orange one, while Chili removes her plates from the tray and begins to eat like she’s in a restaurant. The table is rectangular, light wood that’s been recently shellacked. At the far end are a group of sophomores who take notice of us but keep to themselves. “That’s true,” I say, forking up a bite of salmon. “Maybe you only pay attention to errors when they’re directed at you.”
    Chris eats and gives me a look as a couple of the sophomores glance our way. Chili looks at me and then at Chris. “What? What’d I do?”
    “Nothing,” Chris says. “It’s just…” He waits for me to fill in, but I don’t want to poke at Chili on her first week. She visited last year enough to know the ropes, but she’s still fresh-faced and easily bruised. “It’s only…Love and I were talking…”
    “You were talking about me?” Chili asks.
    “No,” I say right away. “No — not like that.” I bite a roll pleading a full mouth so Chris has to do this.
    “We adore you, right?” Chris gives Chili his puppy look, all sweet-faced and wide-eyed. “But you…we’re graduating this year.”
    “With any luck,” I add.
    “And then I’ll be left with no one, blah blah blah,” Chili says, intervening for us. “Don’t you guys think I know all this? It’s not my fault if I gel best with older people.”
    “You make us sound geriatric,” I say. Across the dining hall I see Jacob, and then wonder how it is at this distance, with his generic dark blue t-shirt, even from the back, that I can know it’s him. Girls are more easily spotted — the hair, the clothing. Guys blend more; yet I can detect his still-tanned neck, the lank curls that have grown just a little longer since summer.
    “Thanks for trying to protect me,” Chili looks at me, “Again. But seriously, I can handle it. I’m sure I’ll meet people in my classes. I just haven’t yet.”
    “It’s been a week,” Chris says as though by that time she should have been well-ensconced in the sophomore ways.
    “When I was a sophomore, I was really good friends with Lila Lawrence,” I say, not to defend Chili but just as a reminder to myself and to Chris.
    “And when she graduated you were all sad — it sucks when your friends leave you stranded.” He finished eating and stands up. “Look, Chils, all I’m saying is — get out there and see what happens. It’s cool to live like a senior, but when it comes down to it, you’re not.” He smiles at us, semi-unaware of how harsh he sounded. “I have a GAS meeting.”
    “Looking for a few good men?” Chili asks, putting a brave face forward.
    “Always,” Chris says, then he pauses. “Or just one.”
    I watch him walk to the clearing center where you unload your tray of trash, utensils, and plates. “Notice how he just happened to clear when Haverford’s there,” I say, deflecting potential tension by turning the conversation back to a reliable topic like Chris’s lovelife.
    “If he wants my brother,” Chili says, “He’s being a dumb-ass about getting him.”
    My habit of packing up my tray before clearing has come back in full force. My garbage is crumpled together, my utensils already upended in my water glass for easy unloading. Maybe this method is abnormal or maybe it’s just part of my fiddling instincts (not the instrument — that I can’t play