No Such Thing as Perfect Read Free

fortes, reaches out to hand it me. His arm is circled by black lines, tattoos snaking under his sleeve. I take the book and look up, meeting his eyes.
    “Thanks.”
    “Are you reading this?” he asks. Dark hair nearly covers his eyes, which are swirls of indigo, subtle seas of suspicion, broken with a tempest of playfulness.
    “Well, technically. I mean, I’ve already read it several times, but yes, we are reading it for class.”
    “I personally always liked Marianne,” he says.
    “You’ve read it?”
    “Is that surprising?”
    “No, but slightly cliché. Is this the scene where we discover we knew each other as infants, too?” I ask.
    He laughs. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just a pretty common book.”
    “Valid point. So why Marianne? Isn’t she a little too... reckless?”
    “Not at all. She’s far more intriguing, don’t you think? She knows what she wants, even when it’s wrong for her. I bet Marianne would be a lot of fun.”
    I don’t know why it feels like a challenge suddenly, but I tuck my book tighter into my bag and take a step back. “Her fun , as you call it,” I argue, “almost ruins her. It’s selfish and immature to think about nothing but one’s own passions.”
    “I see. So I suppose I should call you Elinor, then?”
    “You don’t need to call me anything. Thanks for picking up my book.”
    “I’m Jack,” he says. “Sorry if I upset you. I was just trying to help.” The light in his blue eyes flashes out quickly, leaving a hollow darkness in its place. The sticky heat of a stubborn summer is drained from the world in the empty chill that enters his expression. I didn’t intend to be mean. He was only making conversation. 
    “No, I mean, I’m sorry. You’re right. Marianne’s okay.”
    I watch him pause. I want to say something, to apologize for some reason, to try to shake the sudden guilt at the way he’s staring at me. His look went from curiosity to anger and then to something else. I understand now what they mean about seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes. He’s reflecting everything I fear about myself in this look – and I hate it.
    He takes out a pack of cigarettes and places one between his lips. “All right. See you around, Elinor.”
    “Wait,” I plead, but he’s gone.
    “Awesome. You are already pissing people off,” I mutter to myself.
    I head to dinner, where I load my plate with pasta, focusing on food instead of feeling like I said something stupid. I’m sure he doesn’t care anyway; it was just a dumb conversation.
    Kristen is sitting with Lyle and Don and some of the girls I recognize from our floor. The condom hoarder is there, too. I wish I knew how people could walk into the unknown and just start new without caring. They’re already acting like they’ve known each other for ages and I can’t even remember anyone else’s name. I promise myself I’ll try harder. This is not supposed to be hard. I look around the cafeteria and everyone’s talking and eating and settled. Classes just started but I’m the only person who seems out of place.
    “Lily, what are you doing tonight?” Lyle asks. “Do you want to go to a party?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really a party kind of person,” I say.
    “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Kristen says. “It’s just a group of us and some guys from the other wing. Nothing crazy.”
    “I have a lot of homework already. Maybe this weekend?”
    “Sure. If you change your mind, we’re just down the hall,” Lyle says. “410. Come on by. I’m sure we’ll be up late, so even if you want to pop in after you finish your homework. It isn’t going to get wild or anything. We’ll probably just play Xbox.”
    “You really know how to woo girls, don’t you?” Kristen teases.
    “You’re coming, aren’t you?”
    She blushes and looks away. It’s amazing. It’s so normal, so natural. How do people connect that quickly without trying?
    “What’s your major?” Don asks me,