Election by Tom Perrotta Read Free Book Online Page B

way he had the last time I'd hugged him, way back in third or second grade.

TAMMY WARREN
     
    I HADN'T GONE out in a long time, and Mom was all excited, like it was prom night or something. She supervised my hair and kept trying to get me to change into a dress.
    “Mom,” I said. “Would you get real? These guys play Nintendo like nineteen hours a day. I'll be overdressed if my socks match.”
    “Are they cute?”
    “Cute?” I clutched my head. “These guys sleep in their clothes, Mom.”
    She waved her hands in surrender.
    “All right, all right. Forget I even asked.” She started backing out of the room, but stopped in the doorway to offer one last piece of advice. “Believe me, honey. A little lipstick never hurt anyone.”
    So I put on some lipstick, just to make her happy. It didn't look bad, though I might've cared a little more ifthere'd been someone in the world I wanted to kiss who had the slightest desire to kiss me back.
    The party was across town, and Mom had enlisted Paul to drop me off on his way to Lisa's and pick me up on the way home. He was waiting in the living room with his coat on, impatiently tapping his foot. He jumped up when he saw me, and told me I looked great. Being in love had turned him into a much nicer person.
    “Doesn't she?” Mom smiled, brand-new wrinkles tugging at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Your baby sister's growing up.”
    She kissed us goodbye and stood alone beneath the porch light, waving as we backed out of the driveway.
    “Poor Mom,” I said.
    Paul nodded, frowning as he wiggled the gearshift. He'd only been driving for a couple of months.
    “I wish she'd get out more,” he said. “Meet some new people. Lisa's mom belongs to a singles' group. She's out on a date tonight.”
    “Really?” I tried not to sound too interested. “What are you guys doing?”
    He shrugged. “Hang out. Maybe watch some TV.”
    We drove in silence for a few minutes, long enough for me to realize that it was the first time we'd ever been alone in a car. It was amazing in a quiet way, the kind of moment we couldn't have even imagined as little kids, pinching and tickling each other in the backseat. Onlong drives I used to fall asleep with my head in his lap. Sometimes, out of the blue like that, even when I was mad at him, I'd suddenly remember that Paul was my brother and I loved him. He looked at me, almost like he could read my mind.
    “You know that brunch tomorrow?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You mind if I bring Lisa?”
    The speedometer glowed on the dashboard, a ring of luminous green.
    “Do what you want.”
    We turned down Grove and stopped in front of number 71.1 unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle.
    “Hey,” he said. “Whatever happened with you two anyway? ”
    “Why don't you ask her?”
    “I do. She never answers.”

MR. M.
     
    FOR SIX OR SEVEN MONTHS Diane and I had been trying to get pregnant, dancing to the joyless tune of calendar and thermometer. On doctor's orders, I traded in my briefs for boxers, which I found uncomfortable, and we restricted ourselves to the sexual positions mostlikely to facilitate conception (not that we'd been that wild to begin with). When it was over, Diane lay perfectly still for ten minutes, hugging her knees to her chest as she visualized the hoped-for collision between sperm and egg.
    All that hard work took its toll. Despite my wife's misgivings, I found it increasingly difficult to perform on demand for several consecutive nights without the aid and inspiration of dirty magazines. It wasn't that Diane objected to pornography on feminist grounds; she just disliked comparing herself to the women in the pictures, whose bodies seemed to her so effortlessly and inhumanly beautiful. After a few inconclusive fights, we struck a tacit bargain, whereby I was allowed to consult my magazines as long as she could pretend not to know about it. Practically speaking, this meant that I spent a lot of time in the bathroom