at me. “Nice try, Boo.”
When Lydia, Josh, and I left the dining hall, I found George waiting for me in the Prescott College Common Room, legs slung over the armrest of a leather love seat. He waved, and I latched on to any excuse to depart from the company of the lovebirds.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Is that any way to greet your brother?” He feigned hurt.
“No doubt the way you would prefer I greet you isn’t very sisterly, either.”
He nodded and moved over on the seat. “That’s true. Sit down and talk to me.”
“Where were you last night?” I sat down, but at the farthest edge. There was a recommended minimum safety distance when it came to tête-à-têtes with George Harrison Prescott. Also, I preferred an immovable barrier between us, like a table, or a mountain. Otherwise, I could muster little resistance to getting horizontal, even in a place as public as the Prescott College Common Room at brunch time.
“Would you believe me if I said studying?” He watched me shake my head. “But I was. I was studying. All the time spent in the tomb has been taking a real toll on my working hours. I had a paper due last week and I got an extension until Monday because of our Thursday meeting. But we have another meeting tonight. Last night was the only time I had to work on it.”
“What was the name of your paper?” I asked. “Sarah? Mandy? Amber?”
He clutched his fist to his heart. “I find your lack of faith disturbing. It was called ‘The East German Uprising of 1953, and Its Effects on the USSR and Other Nations of Eastern Europe.’ And you, dear Boo,” he added, leaning forward, “should not be acting jealous.”
“Oh?” I crossed my arms. “ You get the exclusive on that?”
He waved his hand back at the dining hall. “Tiny lapse in judgment.” Apparently, hundreds of thousands of years of male evolution are tough for even George to overcome. “But my point is, I have always been…available to you, for whatever. You’re the one who’s not interested in what I have to offer.” He leaned back. “ You’re the one who left me standing outside your door last May.”
Silence spread between us in the wake of that remark, and I studied George carefully. Had Prescott College’s most popular player actually been hurt when I turned down the chance to stare at his much-observed ceiling? He’d acted with equanimity at the time, but maybe, like so much of the devil-may-care attitude George presented to the world, it was a show. After all, I was one of the few (I supposed) privy to his tale of woe about his parents and their traumatic ongoing affair. When he’d told me shortly after initiation, he’d intimated it was only our Digger connection that made him feel comfortable sharing the sordid details of his upbringing. But maybe I had broken down the barriers of the most gorgeous and eligible bachelor at Eli, and maybe I’d broken a little more than that when I’d rejected his offer.
“You shot me down,” he added, “to get, of all things, a boyfriend. ” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured it out. Your whole short, doomed relationship with that guy from Calvin College.” So George had been paying attention to my awkward exchange with Brandon and his new girl after all.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Clarissa told me.” Now he shook his head and laughed, swinging an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t you see, Boo? You’re not the girlfriend type. This is not a bad thing. You’re like me!”
“And that’s a good thing?” I snapped back. George and I might have been equally unable to deal with commitment, but there the similarity ended. Gorgeous, rich, charming George Harrison Prescott could have the women (and gay men) of the world at his feet with a crook of his finger. My face hadn’t exactly launched any ships recently.
“Would you really prefer that whole deal Josh has with your roommate?” he asked. “Lie to her for a few weeks or months, then cheat on
When Lydia, Josh, and I left the dining hall, I found George waiting for me in the Prescott College Common Room, legs slung over the armrest of a leather love seat. He waved, and I latched on to any excuse to depart from the company of the lovebirds.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Is that any way to greet your brother?” He feigned hurt.
“No doubt the way you would prefer I greet you isn’t very sisterly, either.”
He nodded and moved over on the seat. “That’s true. Sit down and talk to me.”
“Where were you last night?” I sat down, but at the farthest edge. There was a recommended minimum safety distance when it came to tête-à-têtes with George Harrison Prescott. Also, I preferred an immovable barrier between us, like a table, or a mountain. Otherwise, I could muster little resistance to getting horizontal, even in a place as public as the Prescott College Common Room at brunch time.
“Would you believe me if I said studying?” He watched me shake my head. “But I was. I was studying. All the time spent in the tomb has been taking a real toll on my working hours. I had a paper due last week and I got an extension until Monday because of our Thursday meeting. But we have another meeting tonight. Last night was the only time I had to work on it.”
“What was the name of your paper?” I asked. “Sarah? Mandy? Amber?”
He clutched his fist to his heart. “I find your lack of faith disturbing. It was called ‘The East German Uprising of 1953, and Its Effects on the USSR and Other Nations of Eastern Europe.’ And you, dear Boo,” he added, leaning forward, “should not be acting jealous.”
“Oh?” I crossed my arms. “ You get the exclusive on that?”
He waved his hand back at the dining hall. “Tiny lapse in judgment.” Apparently, hundreds of thousands of years of male evolution are tough for even George to overcome. “But my point is, I have always been…available to you, for whatever. You’re the one who’s not interested in what I have to offer.” He leaned back. “ You’re the one who left me standing outside your door last May.”
Silence spread between us in the wake of that remark, and I studied George carefully. Had Prescott College’s most popular player actually been hurt when I turned down the chance to stare at his much-observed ceiling? He’d acted with equanimity at the time, but maybe, like so much of the devil-may-care attitude George presented to the world, it was a show. After all, I was one of the few (I supposed) privy to his tale of woe about his parents and their traumatic ongoing affair. When he’d told me shortly after initiation, he’d intimated it was only our Digger connection that made him feel comfortable sharing the sordid details of his upbringing. But maybe I had broken down the barriers of the most gorgeous and eligible bachelor at Eli, and maybe I’d broken a little more than that when I’d rejected his offer.
“You shot me down,” he added, “to get, of all things, a boyfriend. ” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured it out. Your whole short, doomed relationship with that guy from Calvin College.” So George had been paying attention to my awkward exchange with Brandon and his new girl after all.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Clarissa told me.” Now he shook his head and laughed, swinging an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t you see, Boo? You’re not the girlfriend type. This is not a bad thing. You’re like me!”
“And that’s a good thing?” I snapped back. George and I might have been equally unable to deal with commitment, but there the similarity ended. Gorgeous, rich, charming George Harrison Prescott could have the women (and gay men) of the world at his feet with a crook of his finger. My face hadn’t exactly launched any ships recently.
“Would you really prefer that whole deal Josh has with your roommate?” he asked. “Lie to her for a few weeks or months, then cheat on
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