Flat-Out Celeste Read Free Page B

Overcooking couscous and then flattening it into something resembling sheets… Well, never mind. Do you have fries at least?” He looked desperate.
    “Matthew ate them all, or I would be happy to share,” Celeste said.
    “Fine. I’ll wait until Erin falls asleep, and then I’ll sneak downstairs for something. I just hope that she doesn’t catch me. I don’t want to make her feel bad. I turned her down when she asked me accompany her to hot yoga today, so I need to be on good behavior.” He pushed delicate silver frames up from the bridge of his nose and then handed Celeste a large mailing envelope. “This came for you earlier. More college stuff, I imagine.”
    Celeste read the return address. Barton College. “How strange. I received correspondence from one of their students today.”
    “Based on the weight of this package, I’d say they’re certainly interested in you.” Her father winked. “As they should be. Don’t forget we’ve got the trip down to Yale this weekend. Your mother is beside herself with excitement, as you can imagine.”
    “Probably excited about all the gnarly snacks she’s going to pack,” Matt murmured. “Glad I’m not going.”
    “Be nice, or I’m going to make you join us,” Celeste snapped. “Our mother is dipping her culinary hand into new adventures. I applaud her. At least, theoretically.”
    “I’d love to join you for a family car trip, really, but I have two study groups and a paper to finalize.” Matt stood. “Speaking of which, I should get going and do a little work tonight.”
    “I’ll walk you out,” Roger said.
    “Congratulations again on your presentation, Celeste.” Matt put a hand on her shoulder before walking away.
    “Thank you, Matthew.”
    “You got it, kiddo. Call me if you need anything, okay? For real.”
    “I will.”
    Alone again, Celeste opened the envelope from Barton College. It wouldn’t hurt to look. The liberal arts school appeared, at least in print form, similar to many others in the brochures she’d collected over the past few months, although it was certainly on the smaller side, with only twenty-five hundred students. Yet she spent a solid thirty minutes studying the course listings, reading about the history of the school, and admiring the full-color photos of the campus and students. Her own picture could be in a brochure, she thought. No one would know the difference. No one would be able to see from a photograph that she was not, in fact, like any of the other students.
    Celeste grabbed for her phone. The search bar in the browser called to her, in the relentless way it often seemed to do. So she started to type what she felt obligated to. Asper… And then, as she always did, she deleted the letters.
    What is wrong with me? she typed sarcastically.
    Celeste practically snorted. The first result was some sort of “emotional intelligence test” which she would likely fail.
    Later that night, she was propped up in bed with her laptop as she finished typing up her thoughts on Flaubert for her French class. An email arrived.
PS–When I assured you that the event is on Saturday the 15 th , I meant that the event is on Saturday the 22 nd . Really. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.
You must think I’m a nut bag. I’m not. But at this point, I’m wondering if you might need proof otherwise? I can send letters of reference that outline my delightful nature.
-Justin (Likely soon-to-be ex-student liaison to Barton College.)
    She smiled. He was quite something, this Justin Milano. And she did not find him to be a “nut bag.” There was in fact, she thought, something rather sweet about his repeated emails. It seemed the decent thing to do to reply and alleviate some of his anxiety. She would just reframe things in a positive light.
Dear Justin-
Thank you for the information about the meet-up on the 22 nd . I will look into whether this date will work for me, as my days are very tightly scheduled with activities. I