brunch buddies. Ditto a few other classmates who are in my phone for purposes like study group or catching up on missed homework. Oh! Lili could be a brunch buddy, maybe…nope—a quick text to her yields the response that her parents are there for the weekend.
And then there’s Racquel. Could I text Racquel? I’ve certainly booty-texted her in the past. But first thing in the morning seems a little odd for that, and I can’t even imagine hanging out with her in any other context; it’s just not what we do.
Which brings me back to Samara.
Fuck it. I text Cait. Hey, wanna brunch?
It takes her a few minutes to write back. If you can believe it, my mom actually came in this morning.
Et tu, Caitlin?
But you can come with us to the PW brunch!
Hard pass. Being at a Radleigh-sponsored Parents’ Weekend brunch with a zillion parents who aren’t mine is definitely not how I want to spend my Saturday. Nah, but thanks.
K, sorry. Xoxo
At this point, it’s clear: the universe is pointing me in a single direction. And I can’t ignore the universe. I take a deep breath and text Samara. If you’re not bored of me yet, I’m home alone and desperately in need of something to do. You free?
“Say no,” I mutter at my phone. “Please say no.”
YES. I’ve been up for hours and I’m going stir crazy. Have you eaten?
Ugh, she is fucking perfect. Nope.
We make plans to meet at Wicked Waffles, which everyone on campus calls Double-Dub, and I take way too long to get dressed. I’d been afraid it would be overrun with Radleigh kids and their parents, but I guess more have gone to the brunch than I’d have thought. The restaurant is half empty when I arrive, making it easy to spot Samara, even though she’s tucked in a corner with her nose buried in a book.
She’s so engrossed, she doesn’t notice me until I’m literally seated across from her, tapping her foot with mine.
And then she jumps in her seat. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Hi!”
“Good book?” I tease.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” she says sheepishly.
“Lesbians?” I ask with a waggle of my eyebrows.
She tips her head to the side. “Let’s say…sexual orientation unclear. But I have my theories.”
“How are you so good at getting me interested in these?” I ask as I watch her tuck away the black hardcover.
“Maybe you’re just meant to be a YA reader,” she says with a smile.
“For you? I’m willing to give it a shot. After I catch up on my art history reading,” I amend.
“Deal. I know just the book for you—lesbians right on the cover.”
“You’re learning my taste so quickly.”
She laughs, and I resist the urge to point out that for a straight girl, she sure seems to have encyclopedic knowledge of queer books. Instead, I let the laminated menu hide my smile as I survey my waffle options, and I imagine that she’s doing the same.
Once we’ve both ordered—bacon-cheddar for me and cinnamon-pear for her—I say, “This is on me, by the way. For dragging yourself out to my show last night.”
“Are you kidding? If anything, I owe you for salvaging what would’ve otherwise been a pretty miserable weekend. I love reading, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to three days holed up in solitude while everyone else did the parent thing.”
“Considering I ended up parent-less this weekend too, I could say the same,” I point out, wanting her to know how much it meant to me to have her there last night. “I would’ve been completely solo at my own show without you.”
“You would not have been completely solo. You had plenty of friends show up later.”
It’s true, I did—Connor hadn’t been able to go to Pomona with Lizzie for the weekend, and he tagged along with Cait and Mase once the athletes’ dinner was done. Abe and Sid both eventually showed up with parents in tow, and a bunch of people from Rainbow House and art class came throughout the night. For as sparse as it started out, it was actually pretty decently
And then there’s Racquel. Could I text Racquel? I’ve certainly booty-texted her in the past. But first thing in the morning seems a little odd for that, and I can’t even imagine hanging out with her in any other context; it’s just not what we do.
Which brings me back to Samara.
Fuck it. I text Cait. Hey, wanna brunch?
It takes her a few minutes to write back. If you can believe it, my mom actually came in this morning.
Et tu, Caitlin?
But you can come with us to the PW brunch!
Hard pass. Being at a Radleigh-sponsored Parents’ Weekend brunch with a zillion parents who aren’t mine is definitely not how I want to spend my Saturday. Nah, but thanks.
K, sorry. Xoxo
At this point, it’s clear: the universe is pointing me in a single direction. And I can’t ignore the universe. I take a deep breath and text Samara. If you’re not bored of me yet, I’m home alone and desperately in need of something to do. You free?
“Say no,” I mutter at my phone. “Please say no.”
YES. I’ve been up for hours and I’m going stir crazy. Have you eaten?
Ugh, she is fucking perfect. Nope.
We make plans to meet at Wicked Waffles, which everyone on campus calls Double-Dub, and I take way too long to get dressed. I’d been afraid it would be overrun with Radleigh kids and their parents, but I guess more have gone to the brunch than I’d have thought. The restaurant is half empty when I arrive, making it easy to spot Samara, even though she’s tucked in a corner with her nose buried in a book.
She’s so engrossed, she doesn’t notice me until I’m literally seated across from her, tapping her foot with mine.
And then she jumps in her seat. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Hi!”
“Good book?” I tease.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” she says sheepishly.
“Lesbians?” I ask with a waggle of my eyebrows.
She tips her head to the side. “Let’s say…sexual orientation unclear. But I have my theories.”
“How are you so good at getting me interested in these?” I ask as I watch her tuck away the black hardcover.
“Maybe you’re just meant to be a YA reader,” she says with a smile.
“For you? I’m willing to give it a shot. After I catch up on my art history reading,” I amend.
“Deal. I know just the book for you—lesbians right on the cover.”
“You’re learning my taste so quickly.”
She laughs, and I resist the urge to point out that for a straight girl, she sure seems to have encyclopedic knowledge of queer books. Instead, I let the laminated menu hide my smile as I survey my waffle options, and I imagine that she’s doing the same.
Once we’ve both ordered—bacon-cheddar for me and cinnamon-pear for her—I say, “This is on me, by the way. For dragging yourself out to my show last night.”
“Are you kidding? If anything, I owe you for salvaging what would’ve otherwise been a pretty miserable weekend. I love reading, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to three days holed up in solitude while everyone else did the parent thing.”
“Considering I ended up parent-less this weekend too, I could say the same,” I point out, wanting her to know how much it meant to me to have her there last night. “I would’ve been completely solo at my own show without you.”
“You would not have been completely solo. You had plenty of friends show up later.”
It’s true, I did—Connor hadn’t been able to go to Pomona with Lizzie for the weekend, and he tagged along with Cait and Mase once the athletes’ dinner was done. Abe and Sid both eventually showed up with parents in tow, and a bunch of people from Rainbow House and art class came throughout the night. For as sparse as it started out, it was actually pretty decently
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