Carrie Pilby by Caren Lissner Read Free Book Online Page B

who got the most attention in class that day was Brian Buchman. Not that Harrison had a choice. Buchman went on and on, and Harrison ate it up—one genius to another. I was filled with jealousy. I wanted to say something equally brilliant, but neither I nor anyone else in the class had a chance to get a word in with motormouth running.
    Buchman talked about “The Stranger.” He said, “Not that, by the way, the English translation can even come close to the French…” and Harrison nodded in agreement. Buchman called Camus “superb” and made the “okay” symbol with his thumb and forefinger as he said it. I wondered if vomiting would cost me an A. An airheaded girl in our class, Vicki, stared at Brian the whole time, cocking her head to the side like an attentive terrier. Brian wasn’t bad-looking. But what a phony.
    Harrison didn’t look at me once. I felt miserable.
    When the class ended, Brian and the professor were still talking. Neither of them glanced up as I went out.
    I left in a foul mood.
    I walked toward the Square, and it looked like everyone on campus was having fun. Two people in down jackets pitched a Frisbee back and forth. A gaggle of fraternity guys was horsing around with a lumbering Saint Bernard. A girl and her boyfriend were fake-fighting in front of the library.
    In my dorm hallway, I smiled when two girls from my floor passed me, but they kept talking and didn’t smile back. That wasembarrassing. I opened my door, dropped my books on my dresser and climbed into bed.
    I lay there for maybe half an hour in a fetal position, racked with malaise. It was almost a month into the semester, and already, everyone had crystallized into groups.
    I listened to the end of a branch scrape repeatedly against my dorm-room window.
    The phone rang.
    â€œCarrie?” a voice asked. “It’s Professor Harrison.”
    â€œHi.” I sat up.
    â€œI just was wondering if you’d be up for dinner tonight. I know you probably have plans…”
    Something inside me seized. A one-on-one dinner? Would this count as a date, or just a discussion? Would there be other students there? What had inspired this? How should I act? What if I said something stupid? At least I had already read half of the books on the syllabus, so I could hold my own in that respect. Besides, Harrison had enjoyed talking to me that first time, right? I shouldn’t be nervous.
    â€œSure,” I said. My voice probably cracked.
    â€œWhat kind of food do you like?”
    â€œUh, whatever you want.”
    He laughed. “You ever eaten Moroccan?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen we’ll do Moroccan.”
    He seemed to like it when I hadn’t tried something. I would soon learn that. He liked being a teacher.
    I hung up and thought about what to wear. I didn’t know if you were supposed to look good for a man who was asking you to dinner but who was a respected elder and not someone who could potentially have a romantic interest in you. I didn’t really know how to look good, anyway. Looking good involves trying to look just like everyone else, and I don’t spend a lot of timelooking at everyone else. I pulled on a blouse that I’d worn to a formal dinner with my father a year earlier. I did have an adult-type wool coat. I trotted down the stairs, glad to be joining the other people who had somewhere to be. A chilly wind blew. I felt excited and nervous at the same time.
    I waited on the lawn. Harrison wasn’t there yet. I gazed back at my dorm. It looked like a three-story Colonial house. Several of the lights were on. They represented people who were stuck inside, not about to step into the thrilling unknown.
    Professor Harrison’s car was so small that I didn’t realize it was there for the first few seconds. I guess Harrison didn’t notice me at first, either, because he peered in his rearview mirror for a second before realizing I