Joe College: A Novel by Tom Perrotta Read Free Book Online Page A

be out-of-line to float my own candidacy. “This is something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
    “My history TA’s pretty cute. But he’s got that awful beard.”
    I rubbed my clean-shaven chin and clucked my tongue.
    “Too bad.”
    “There’s got to be someone,” she said, squinting into the distance.
    From where I sat, I had a clear view of the counter, so I knew what was coming when the pizza guy bent down and put his lips to the silver microphone they kept by the register.
    “Slices are ready.”
    His mumbled announcement crackled through the staticky PA system, silencing the pizzeria like the Voice of God. I jumped up and joined the mad rush for the counter, jockeying for position among the mob of ex-National Merit Scholars and former student council presidents, many of whom were waving plastic plates in the air like extras in a movie about the Depression. I had jostled my way almost to the front of the line when someone shoved me from behind with a force that could only have been deliberate.
    “Hey,” I said, whirling angrily. “Take it easy.”
    Matt fixed his paper hat on his head and eyed me with cool disdain.
    “ Et tu, Danny?”
    I shrugged an insincere apology, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial level. “I’m with a girl. Good things are happening.”
    Any of my other male friends would have accepted this excuse without a protest, but Matt’s expression didn’t change. He raised his hands up to his head like a hold-up victim, and turned slowly, until I was facing his back.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “Go ahead,” he said, glancing mournfully over his shoulder. “Stab me in the liver. Give it a couple of twists while you’re at it.”
    “Yoo-hoo,” said the guy behind the counter. “You boys want slices, or you wanna play games?”
     
     
    “So, what about you?” Polly asked, shaking a storm of red pepper flakes onto her slice. “What’s going on with you and your secretary?”
    I always felt bad when people at school referred to Cindy as my secretary, not only because it was unfair to her, but also because of what it said about my own sad vanity. At some point I’d realized that my association with her struck certain of my college friends as vaguely exotic, and I’d played up the working-class angle for all it was worth.
    “Nothing much.”
    “You going to visit her this weekend?”
    “Nope.”
    “She coming here?”
    “Nope.”
    “I guess spring break’s only a couple of weeks away. You must be looking forward to that.”
    I usually thought of myself as having a quick mind, but I was often slow on the uptake with Polly. For weeks I’d been pretending to her that Cindy and I were still a couple, figuring that this somehow equalized things between us, saving me from looking like what I really was—the second banana, the would-be boyfriend waiting in the wings, the one who kept her company when the other one had better things to do. But all at once it struck me that Polly wasn’t just making conversation, that she might actually have a personal interest in my weekend plans, that there might be some hope for me after all.
    “It’s over,” I said.
    Her self-possession faltered for a second. She leaned forward, the eagerness in her voice betraying the careful blankness of her face.
    “What?”
    “It’s over with me and Cindy. It’s been over since Christmas.”
    She sat back and contemplated me for a couple of seconds. She couldn’t seem to decide if she was angry or amused or simply puzzled.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I don’t know.”
    She looked away, momentarily distracted by a commotion across the room. One nerdy guy in a Yale sweatshirt was leaning across a table, beating another nerdy guy in a Yale sweatshirt over the head with a Yale baseball cap. The guy being hit wasn’t trying to defend himself. He just sat there with this feeble smile on his face, as if he wanted onlookers like us to think it was all in fun.
    “I wish you