The Petty Details of So-And-So's Life Read Free Page A

their class pretensions that she had, for the last two years, dined alone with her books in her room, and spent the summers waitressing while her parents holidayed at the cottage in Maine.
She
knew she had a soul—just one the world around her considered alien. She’d hitch a ride on a satellite one day and wander the universe in search of like aliens. Until then, she had her books, and an industrial-sized lock on her bedroom door.
    When Peter Wainright asked her to the prom then, she was deeply suspicious. The prom was at the end of June, and dates for the great event had been secured as early as January. It was the third of June when he asked her, so she knew she couldn’t be his first choice. But she was
a
choice, and although this mystified her, she couldn’t help but feel flattered.
    On the fateful day, she had thrown her bookbag down on her bedafter school, and in and amongst the dog-eared textbooks, feminine hygiene products, chewed pens, and lint-covered lip glosses was a postcard of the Great Wall of China. On the reverse it read:
    Dear Elaine
,
    It’s taken me such a long time to work up my nerve to ask you, that you probably already have a date for the prom. If you don’t
—
I’d be honoured to take you
.
    Yours sincerely
,
Peter Wainright
    She stared at his minute, precise scrawl, thinking, Surely, this must be a joke. Peter Wainright was the son of Dr. and Mrs. Derek (“Tilly”) Wainright, the snooty couple with whom her parents played bridge every other Sunday afternoon. Dr. Wainright was a plastic surgeon, and Mrs. Wainright was just plastic, and Peter was apparently going to dental school in the fall, presumably because, like every other boy in her year who was off to dental school in the fall, he’d failed to get into medical school. Despite all that was not in his favour, Elaine actually thought Peter Wainright was all right. Still, this surely had to be a joke.
    â€œWhat do you make of this?” she asked her older brother Sam.
    â€œWell, I might be stating the obvious, but it looks like Peter Wainright is inviting you to the prom.”
    â€œFor real?”
    â€œWell, what other kind of invitation is there?”
    â€œMaybe it’s a hoax.”
    â€œYou read too much,” Sam groaned. “I’d say you better say yes. Might be your only chance of being normal.”
    She dared to brush by Peter Wainright’s desk the next day on her way to her seat in calculus class. She peered down at his notebook and flushed red at the sight of his handwriting—as minute and meticulous as the letters on the back of the Great Wall of China. She sat nervously in front of him, wondering if her hair looked like a battered meringue from behind, and scribbled a note to him on the last page of her notebook.
    Dear Peter
,
    Thank you for your invitation to the prom. After seriously weighing the options of my various offers , I have decided that I would, indeed, like you, above any one else, to take me. I’ll be wearing pink and I’m allergic to roses
.
    Yours sincerely
,
Elaine Howard
    As soon as the bell rang, she bolted from the room, dropping the note on Peter’s desk as she ran past him. In her haste she dropped her calculus text with a humiliating thud, but was far too embarrassed to turn around and pick it up. Peter retrieved the book from the floor and followed her to her locker, where she was rummaging clumsily in search of nothing in particular.
    â€œYou dropped this,” he said.
    â€œOh? Did I?” she said, feigning surprise. “Silly me.”
    â€œThank you for your note.”
    â€œNote? Oh yes,” she said, as if she’d forgotten having dropped off her unabashed “yes” five minutes earlier.
    â€œSo, I’ll pick you up at seven?”
    â€œOh. Yes, fine. Thank you,” she nodded and returned to the catacombs of her locker.
    â€œI’ll be seeing you, then.”
    â€œSee you!”