when they met his.
“I didn’t mean to litter.” After I said it, I cringed. It seemed like such a junior high school do- gooder thing to say. I didn’t want him to think of me like that-some Goody Two-shoes from Westchester, impeccably groomed for a life of dinner parties and reading the society pages. I wanted to be my interesting and alluring college self.
“I don’t either, but I’m not about to jump in after it. Are you?” A perfect chunk of his shiny dark hair fell across his forehead. It was just short enough to avoid getting in his eyes. “What can you do?”
We walked to the other side of the bridge to watch the cup float down the river.
I pictured myself, perched on the railing, stripping off my plaid skirt and sweater to dive in after his coffee cup. It would be wild and rebellious and faintly reminiscent of an Aerosmith video.
“You’re not, right?” He laughed.
“What?”
“You looked like you were considering going after it.”
“We used to go bridge jumping in high school,” I said, pretending I’d been reminiscing. “In the reservoirs. Off these old train trusses.”
“I didn’t think you were allowed to swim in reservoirs.”
“You’re not,” I said.
“You didn’t get arrested?”
“Nah.” I waved it off. He looked at me in awe, and I liked feeling dangerous.
I’d really only gone once, with my public school friends. Diane was out in the driveway, smoking in her nightgown, when I got home. She’d probably just had another fight with Charles. She gave my wet jeans and dirty bare feet the once-over and said, “Don’t embarrass us, coming home in a police car with flashing lights and that whole mess, Savannah Leone.” She slurred her words, and dragged out my name until it was ridiculous. The next day, she didn’t show any signs of remembering, but I never went bridge jumping again. So much for wild, dangerous rebellion.
“My dad would kill me if I ever did anything like that,” Pete said, stepping away from the railing and putting his hand out in an “after you” gesture. “We should go. I have class.”
On the walk back, he told me about how his dad was grooming him to join his firm, and that he expected to be a partner by the time he was thirty.
“So no bridge jumping for you, huh?”
“Nope. I’ve got to keep my nose clean. But it’s a small price to pay for a killer job and a brand- new Audi when I graduate.” He flashed me his perfect white smile.
When we got back to the chapel, Peter stopped and shuffled his feet around. “Well, this is me,” he said, pointing across the street.
“So, Friday,” he said, “there’s this party in my dorm. You game?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying really hard to stifle my smile and play it cool. “I could be game.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll get your number in class on Wednesday.” He was so obviously dropping me off. This was the end of our coffee time. So even though I had to go back to the center of campus too, I pretended that I had to stick around the chapel. He turned and started walking toward campus.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I yelled after him.
He turned around and walked backward so he could look at me. “Anytime.”
I went into the chapel and stared at the stained-glass windows for a few minutes to give him some lead time.
Chapter Six
T he first five hours of my trip back to Rochester were fueled by rage and coffee. The two and a half hours from Chittenango to my condo were excruciating. I was so angry and I didn’t know where to put it. The caffeine buzz wore down to jitters. I was lonely. I picked up my cell phone, balanced it against the steering wheel, and scrolled through my address book. It was full of people I didn’t know anymore-college friends who left Rochester after school, who’d stayed in my cell phone to fill up space so I felt like I still knew people. Thirty-seven people in my phone, and I only ever called two. And even if Peter and Janie weren’t
“I didn’t mean to litter.” After I said it, I cringed. It seemed like such a junior high school do- gooder thing to say. I didn’t want him to think of me like that-some Goody Two-shoes from Westchester, impeccably groomed for a life of dinner parties and reading the society pages. I wanted to be my interesting and alluring college self.
“I don’t either, but I’m not about to jump in after it. Are you?” A perfect chunk of his shiny dark hair fell across his forehead. It was just short enough to avoid getting in his eyes. “What can you do?”
We walked to the other side of the bridge to watch the cup float down the river.
I pictured myself, perched on the railing, stripping off my plaid skirt and sweater to dive in after his coffee cup. It would be wild and rebellious and faintly reminiscent of an Aerosmith video.
“You’re not, right?” He laughed.
“What?”
“You looked like you were considering going after it.”
“We used to go bridge jumping in high school,” I said, pretending I’d been reminiscing. “In the reservoirs. Off these old train trusses.”
“I didn’t think you were allowed to swim in reservoirs.”
“You’re not,” I said.
“You didn’t get arrested?”
“Nah.” I waved it off. He looked at me in awe, and I liked feeling dangerous.
I’d really only gone once, with my public school friends. Diane was out in the driveway, smoking in her nightgown, when I got home. She’d probably just had another fight with Charles. She gave my wet jeans and dirty bare feet the once-over and said, “Don’t embarrass us, coming home in a police car with flashing lights and that whole mess, Savannah Leone.” She slurred her words, and dragged out my name until it was ridiculous. The next day, she didn’t show any signs of remembering, but I never went bridge jumping again. So much for wild, dangerous rebellion.
“My dad would kill me if I ever did anything like that,” Pete said, stepping away from the railing and putting his hand out in an “after you” gesture. “We should go. I have class.”
On the walk back, he told me about how his dad was grooming him to join his firm, and that he expected to be a partner by the time he was thirty.
“So no bridge jumping for you, huh?”
“Nope. I’ve got to keep my nose clean. But it’s a small price to pay for a killer job and a brand- new Audi when I graduate.” He flashed me his perfect white smile.
When we got back to the chapel, Peter stopped and shuffled his feet around. “Well, this is me,” he said, pointing across the street.
“So, Friday,” he said, “there’s this party in my dorm. You game?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying really hard to stifle my smile and play it cool. “I could be game.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll get your number in class on Wednesday.” He was so obviously dropping me off. This was the end of our coffee time. So even though I had to go back to the center of campus too, I pretended that I had to stick around the chapel. He turned and started walking toward campus.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I yelled after him.
He turned around and walked backward so he could look at me. “Anytime.”
I went into the chapel and stared at the stained-glass windows for a few minutes to give him some lead time.
Chapter Six
T he first five hours of my trip back to Rochester were fueled by rage and coffee. The two and a half hours from Chittenango to my condo were excruciating. I was so angry and I didn’t know where to put it. The caffeine buzz wore down to jitters. I was lonely. I picked up my cell phone, balanced it against the steering wheel, and scrolled through my address book. It was full of people I didn’t know anymore-college friends who left Rochester after school, who’d stayed in my cell phone to fill up space so I felt like I still knew people. Thirty-seven people in my phone, and I only ever called two. And even if Peter and Janie weren’t
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