Love and Other Foreign Words by Erin McCahan Read Free Book Online Page B

up
means
thank you, hot
is either
wildly
popular
or
sexy,
chill
means
relaxed,
and
cool
and
sweet
are synonymous. In college, it’s Ohmig*d 2.0—with some shared vocabulary and some different. I’m a high school
girl
but a college
woman
. I mature and regress all on the same day depending only on my location.
    I like studying languages. At Cap, I’ve already declared Romance Languages as my major, but I don’t know yet what I want to do with the degree. I don’t know that I’m wildly ambitious beyond the things I like to study, and pretty stubborn about the courses I dislike, doing the bare-bones minimum for the grade and not for the knowledge itself. I only know I want to do something that keeps me engaged, and the puzzle of foreign languages and the tangle that is sometimes English do that. Like Ohmig*d and Ohmig*d 2.0, there are a lot more foreign languages in the world than the ones identified by national or international boundaries.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    I find Sophie at her locker a little after three this afternoon. She’s engrossed in conversation with a couple of her friends from Art Club, and I’m headed to track practice, so I say, “I’ll just call you later.” But she grips my wrist, and tells her friends, “Hang on a minute. This is important.
    â€œI put some feelers out,” she says when she turns to me. “I’m doing this slowly. Trying to be really subtle, you know.”
    â€œWell, I prefer subtlety to a sign on my locker that says, ‘Help, I’m desperate for a prom date.’”
    â€œI’d make a gorgeous sign for you, though.”
    â€œI’m sure you would.”
    Emmy Newall appears next to me and demands, “You coming?” She doesn’t like going anywhere alone. Ever.
    Sophie turns back to her friends with a promise to catch up with me later.
    â€œOkay, so get this,” Jen says, running to join Emmy and me as far as the gym. “Today in chemistry—did you hear?”
    â€œStefan Kott?” Emmy asks as Jen says, “Yes,” and I ask, “What?”
    â€œStefan Kott,” Jen says, and stops walking and pauses for excited emphasis as we stop too. “. . . lit his hair on fire.”
    â€œWhat?” I ask. “Is he okay?”
    â€œHe’s absolutely fine,” Jen says. “He just got his front, but—”
    â€œHe’s got thick hair,” I say, worried.
    â€œExactly. And it went—” She snaps her fingers. “Like that. Ohmig-d, it stank too.”
    â€œBut you’re sure he’s okay?” I ask.
    â€œYeah. I mean, he slapped it right out. Didn’t get burned at all. But, you know, his hair,” she says, and pulls a sad face. “He’s gotta get that fixed. Like, today.”
    â€œOhmig-d, he’s so stupid,” Emmy says, and I turn deliberately to stare at her. “What?” she says.
    â€œHe’s not stupid. He may have been clumsy, but that’s not the same as stupid.”
    â€œWhatever. Sorry,” she puffs at me. “Come on. Let’s just go.”
    We part from Jen and head toward the locker room, and I say, “He’s actually pretty smart.”
    Emmy uses a pinky to hook a captive hair stuck in her lip gloss, frowns, and says, “Whatever,” again. A couple seconds later she adds, “I’m glad he didn’t get hurt.”
    â€œYeah,” I say, happy that she said it, so I concede, “He doesn’t always focus.”
    He also doesn’t appreciate the value of self-possessed silence and practice it judiciously,
I want to add but don’t. Our silence beyond
hi
in the halls isn’t self-possessed. It’s just plain awkward.

Chapter Seven

    Stu says nothing for several seconds, just looks sideways at me, waiting for me to admit to exaggeration, which I do when I do, but today I speak the unadulterated truth.
    â€œA bird on a pogo