Confessions of the Sullivan Sisters Read Free Page B

student even though I’d already blown my cover. When I got to class the licorice-haired guy wasn’t there yet so I sat in the same seat. He came in just before the class started and sat behind me again. I could feel the heat. My cheeks and my nose got very hot, and I knew they were probably red. I hate when that happens.
    The teacher tested our reading speeds again—it turned out she planned to do that every week—and this time my score was much less embarrassing. I turned around to wave it victoriously in my tormentor’s face.
    “Good job,” he said. He flashed his score at me, which was even higher than the week before, still way higher than mine. But this time he’d written his name on his paper. Robinson Pepper. Had he done that on purpose so I’d see it? I scribbled my name on my paper and showed it to him.
    “Hello, Norris,” he said.
    “Hello, Robinson,” I said. “Everyone calls me Norrie.”
    “Everyone calls me Robbie.”
    I sighed happily. I was so glad to have an official name to call him. Now things could get started for real. Fate could begin to take its course.
    I just want to clarify here that I didn’t consciously think “Fate can begin to take its course.” I wasn’t planning a coup or anything. But looking back, I can see that was the moment when my life changed direction. I would also like to add that I’m talking about FATE here, not choice. Not free will. It was out of my hands. I’m not saying I didn’t choose to do what I finally did—I’m only saying that I wasn’t steering myself that way on purpose.
    After class that night, Robinson Pepper asked me if I wanted to go get some coffee. Speed Reading was on Tuesday nights and I had homework to do, but what the hell. Heck.
    We walked to a café on campus that was busy with Hopkins students taking study breaks. What follows is a re-creation of our conversation from my memory and from what I wrote in my diary later that night.
    “So what does SMPS stand for?” Robbie asked me.
    “Huh?” Oh right, the monogram on my uniform. It took me a second to figure out what he was asking. “Guess.”
    “Snooty Mean People Society?”
    “Close. St. Margaret’s Preparatory School.”
    “Oh. Is that a good school?”
    “If you’re Catholic. You must not be from around here.”
    “Because if I were, I’d know all the schools?”
    “Obviously.”
    “No, I’m from New York. I’m down here for grad school.”
    “My brother lives in New York.”
    “I must surely know him then. What’s his name?”
    “Sinjin. St. John.”
    “Hmm. Is he a saint?”
    “No. My father named him after the college he went to. St. John’s in Annapolis?”
    “That’s that strange college where they make everybody study mathematics and classical Greek, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So what does St. John do in New York?”
    “He’s a philosopher poet.”
    “Ah. A dying breed. We used to have a lot of those up there.”
    “I know it sounds ridiculous.”
    “No it doesn’t.”
    “What are you studying in grad school?”
    “Your turn to guess.”
    I sized him up. The hair was not conservative, so nothing business-y, lawyerly, or medical seemed likely. The oxford shirt and jeans were faintly preppy, which said to me not Art . “English?”
    “Film theory. Basically the same thing.”
    “Why are you taking Speed Reading?”
    “Because I have a lot of reading to do. You?”
    “Same reason. What other reason is there?”
    “You’re so right.”
    There was an awkward pause while we sipped our hot coffees. I didn’t usually drink coffee at night back then so I wondered what kind of effect it would have on me. (Five hours later as I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling, I got my answer.)
    I tried not to stare at Robbie too much but I found him really fun to look at. He has very twinkly eyes—they’re merry, like Santa Claus’s—and his mouth is always moving, so the expression on his face changes every few seconds. They’re nearly always