Life by Committee Read Free Page B

croissant. I just want to do it with makeup on.
    â€œIt makes me sad, seeing you like this, hearing people talk about you the way they are, asking me what’s going on with you,” Jemma says, gesturing vaguely at my face and maybe my low-cut peasant top, which is hardly stripper wear or anything. “We said we’d never dress like those girls, remember? We said we’d never prioritize guys over everything else. We weren’t going to be like this.”
    Maybe I shouldn’t have let Paul go behind the counter. I’m obviously not capable of being on my own right now. Paul would have chimed in with something snarky and cool, something that shows Jemma’s a bitch and that Idon’t care.
    I open and close my mouth like a fish because I can’t think of actual words to say in response.
    â€œYou’re becoming this Other Person,” Jemma says very, very slowly. “And hanging out with Elise . . .”
    Elise wears baggy pants and a Don’t Mess with Me look on her face. That’s what Jemma’s trying to get at, but she’s choosing her words carefully so as not to sound judgmental. In Vermont we are not judgmental. We are concerned .
    â€œElise isn’t exactly trouble,” I say. Also true. Elise doesn’t party or wear low-cut shirts or anything. Just has short hair and pushes the dress code by wearing obnoxious T-shirts underneath her chunky cardigan sweater collection.
    Scandalous.
    Elise wants to go to Harvard. She volunteers at the hospital and plays with sick kids. She’s practically a saint. A lesbian saint.
    Jemma has glassy eyes like she might cry.
    It didn’t only make her angry, when I started liking boys more than sci-fi movie marathons and when I started getting catcalls in the halls. It also made her sad.
    I think I hate her sadness even more.
    Which makes no sense, because I’m the one who got ditched and is still getting assaulted by random insultsand slut implications, even if I’m in the supposedly safe haven of Tea Cozy. If anyone should be crying, it’s definitely me.
    â€œI hate everything about this conversation,” I say, because at a certain point you have to say exactly what you’re thinking.
    â€œIt’s a small school,” Jemma concludes. “People notice. That’s all I’m saying.”
    I feel myself blush even though I want to stay tough. I feel a little sinking in my stomach, and my hands go to my collarbone, protecting the naked parts of me. I wish I had a turtleneck sweater and a big knit scarf to cover up whatever they’re seeing. I wonder which customers are listening in on our conversation. I know if the situation were reversed, I would be eavesdropping the hell out of this moment. I love little more than watching other people’s lives happen to them.
    Jemma sees the blush spreading on my face and pats my shoulder. Pats. It . Like I’m a child and she’s a teacher and I have sooooo much to learn. I shrug her off and turn my attention to my computer, where Joe has finally logged on, and the machine is pinging at me urgently.
    I see Jemma see his name.
    I don’t cover the screen, even though I should.
    She nods at it, and I know she’s taking note and that I will hear a rumor about me and Joe in the next week.Except by this time next week, maybe it won’t really be a rumor so much as the truth. I’m a terrible, terrible person for how good that feels, buzzing inside me. The thought of there being an us .
    I grab hold of my huge mug and let it cover my face (and my smile) as I take a long sip.
    Jemma wrinkles her nose and is going to say more, I think, but Paul reappears, hands on hips as he stands too close to her for it to be comfortable.
    â€œAre you and Alison getting something else? Because I really can’t let you take that table for very long if you’re not purchasing food or another beverage,” Paul says. Sometimes I think my