like a coffee, black.
That voice
And a biscotti.
That voice . Could it be ?
Thank you.
And there, brighter than the wattage of Times Square or the Rockettes bleached smiles, and more spectacular than anything Broadway has ever seen, was none other than the Boy Whose Name I Can Shout Out Loud
PAUL PARL1P1ANO!
I caused such a commotion at the milk and sugar station that I immediately attracted his attention in the most seen-it-all city on earth. But even on the off chance he recognized me, I never expected him to come over to talk to me, which is exactly what happened. So this is how, in a city of a bizillion people, and even more coffee franchises, I found myself standing face-to-face with my crush-to-end-all-crushes.
I know you, Paul Parlipiano said.
I gulped down a chunky mouthful of air.
Jessica Darling, right?
I nodded.
Youre still at Pineville. Youre going to be a senior.
I nodded again and forced a single word out of my throat.
Yes.
What are you doing here?
SPECIAL.
I see.
As soon as he said that, I realized how dorky I must have sounded. He didnt know SPECIAL was an acronym. Duh.
Summer Pre-College Enrichment Curriculum in Artistic Learn-ing. SPECIAL. I got accepted to the writing program.
Great, he said.
It really isnt all that great because I dont really like the people in my class because theyre all very pretentious and suicidal and we all took a trip here today to do a reading at Blood and Ink that theyre all very psyched about but Im not really and our professor who is the writer Samuel MacDougall have you heard of him? No? Well, he let us roam around for a while to take in the sights, sounds, and smells so we could write about them later so I decided to come here to take a break even though it would totally freak my parents out if they knew I was wandering around alone because they hate New York but nothing screams dork louder than traveling in packs
Correction: Nothing screams dork louder than a dork who cant stop babbling.
Thank God Paul Parlipiano pointed to a free table, because the shock of that gesture shut me up. He did it without thinking, as though it was totally natural and normal for me, Jessica Darling, to sit down and have coffee with him, Paul Parlipiano, my former obsessive object of horniness, in the middle of the afternoon, on a totally average day, in this teensy little nothing of a pastry shop in the heart of New York City, New York, USA. If this was happening, didnt it make anything possible? Why couldnt we fall madly in love and get married and have many babies? I dont even like babies. I have a very low tolerance for people who sit in their own defecation. But something about Paul Parlipiano made me want to procreate. He gave me the urge to merge.
I sat down.
Paul Parlipiano paused, looked down at the table, and pursed his pink lips. Then he pulled a single white napkin out of the dispenser, held it by the corner, and brushed away stray sugar crystals and muffin crumbs left behind by the previous customer. Only when the tabletop was cleared of the snacky detritus did he sit down. It was the delicacy of that tidy-up gesture that reminded me of a small but crucial detail that would put the kibosh on our honeymoon: PAUL PARLIPIANO IS A HOMOSEXUAL.
This was easy for me to forget because he looked the same as he always did. He hadnt gayed himself up since coming out: No platinum highlights in his dirty blond curls. No pink triangle pins. No Im HERE. IM QUEER. GET USED TO IT! tattoo.
So how do you like school? I bravely ventured.
I love it! Columbia was the best decision I ever made in my life, he said, running a slender finger around the rim of his mug. I thought thats why you might be here.
I didnt understand what he meant.
I thought you might be checking out colleges.
Oh, uh. No.
Oh, he said, his mouth forming an oval just wide enough to
That voice
And a biscotti.
That voice . Could it be ?
Thank you.
And there, brighter than the wattage of Times Square or the Rockettes bleached smiles, and more spectacular than anything Broadway has ever seen, was none other than the Boy Whose Name I Can Shout Out Loud
PAUL PARL1P1ANO!
I caused such a commotion at the milk and sugar station that I immediately attracted his attention in the most seen-it-all city on earth. But even on the off chance he recognized me, I never expected him to come over to talk to me, which is exactly what happened. So this is how, in a city of a bizillion people, and even more coffee franchises, I found myself standing face-to-face with my crush-to-end-all-crushes.
I know you, Paul Parlipiano said.
I gulped down a chunky mouthful of air.
Jessica Darling, right?
I nodded.
Youre still at Pineville. Youre going to be a senior.
I nodded again and forced a single word out of my throat.
Yes.
What are you doing here?
SPECIAL.
I see.
As soon as he said that, I realized how dorky I must have sounded. He didnt know SPECIAL was an acronym. Duh.
Summer Pre-College Enrichment Curriculum in Artistic Learn-ing. SPECIAL. I got accepted to the writing program.
Great, he said.
It really isnt all that great because I dont really like the people in my class because theyre all very pretentious and suicidal and we all took a trip here today to do a reading at Blood and Ink that theyre all very psyched about but Im not really and our professor who is the writer Samuel MacDougall have you heard of him? No? Well, he let us roam around for a while to take in the sights, sounds, and smells so we could write about them later so I decided to come here to take a break even though it would totally freak my parents out if they knew I was wandering around alone because they hate New York but nothing screams dork louder than traveling in packs
Correction: Nothing screams dork louder than a dork who cant stop babbling.
Thank God Paul Parlipiano pointed to a free table, because the shock of that gesture shut me up. He did it without thinking, as though it was totally natural and normal for me, Jessica Darling, to sit down and have coffee with him, Paul Parlipiano, my former obsessive object of horniness, in the middle of the afternoon, on a totally average day, in this teensy little nothing of a pastry shop in the heart of New York City, New York, USA. If this was happening, didnt it make anything possible? Why couldnt we fall madly in love and get married and have many babies? I dont even like babies. I have a very low tolerance for people who sit in their own defecation. But something about Paul Parlipiano made me want to procreate. He gave me the urge to merge.
I sat down.
Paul Parlipiano paused, looked down at the table, and pursed his pink lips. Then he pulled a single white napkin out of the dispenser, held it by the corner, and brushed away stray sugar crystals and muffin crumbs left behind by the previous customer. Only when the tabletop was cleared of the snacky detritus did he sit down. It was the delicacy of that tidy-up gesture that reminded me of a small but crucial detail that would put the kibosh on our honeymoon: PAUL PARLIPIANO IS A HOMOSEXUAL.
This was easy for me to forget because he looked the same as he always did. He hadnt gayed himself up since coming out: No platinum highlights in his dirty blond curls. No pink triangle pins. No Im HERE. IM QUEER. GET USED TO IT! tattoo.
So how do you like school? I bravely ventured.
I love it! Columbia was the best decision I ever made in my life, he said, running a slender finger around the rim of his mug. I thought thats why you might be here.
I didnt understand what he meant.
I thought you might be checking out colleges.
Oh, uh. No.
Oh, he said, his mouth forming an oval just wide enough to
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