Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Read Free Book Online

pizza,” said Jag. “We could go somewhere else.”
    “Pizza’s fine; I’ll go,” I said. “I’m starved. Claire?”
    “Nope. Val and I are going to a movie at the student union. Enjoy!”
    I went in the bathroom and put on some lip gloss, combed my hair, and then the three of us went out.
    It was a gorgeous spring night, and there were couples all over campus. I walked between the guys, and we jokingly jostled each other for room on the sidewalk. Both of them were business majors, and Dave was a sophomore. Last semester he’d taken sociology as an elective, and that’s where we’d met.
    “Cold?” Dave asked. “Want my jacket?”
    “No,” I told him. “I’m okay.”
    The air was heavy with a damp sweetness that mingled with the smell of wet concrete and earth. The smell of spring. The night breeze was like a caress through my hair—the kind of breeze, the kind of night that could make you feel in love even if you weren’t.
    We decided against driving to Ledo’s and went to a neighborhood café where they had the best Monte Cristo sandwiches, a favorite of mine.
    “So . . . ,” Dave said when he’d finished his sandwich. He’s a fast eater, and I’m usually only halfway through by the time he’s done. He sat tweaking a plastic straw in his hands. “Any idea what you’re going to do this summer?”
    “Something different, but I don’t know what,” I told him. “What are you guys going to do?”
    “My uncle’s a painter. I’m going to work for him. Slave wages, but it’s better than nothing,” Jag said.
    “I usually work for my dad in his music store, but I’d like to do outside work. Your uncle doesn’t need another helper, does he?” I asked.
    “Unfortunately not.”
    “Sign up with a temp agency,” Dave suggested. “That’s what I do.”
    “How does that work?”
    “You tell them what you can do—type, file, cook, paint, whatever—and if a company needs a temporary employee, the agency will send you there for a week or however long they need someone.”
    Jag saw some friends at another table so he excused himself, and Dave ordered a piece of pie.
    “Somehow I thought you’d be traveling this summer,” he said, studiously carving out a forkful of apple and crust.
    “No . . .”
    Without looking at me directly, he asked, “What about that Patrick guy?”
    I didn’t answer for a moment. “What about him?” I said finally.
    His blue eyes studied mine. “Well, is he out of the picture? Just wondering.”
    “I still hear from him,” I said. “I got a postcard last week.”
    “Hey! A postcard! He’s got class!” Dave grinned, but he let it drop.
    “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I was hoping he’d be back in the States this summer, but now he’s talking about joining the Peace Corps.”
    “Hmmm. That’s a two-year commitment, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah,” I said, offering nothing more.
    Dave studied me thoughtfully for a moment or two. “Why don’t you come to the mountains sometime for a weekend? My folks would be glad to have you.”
    “What mountains?”
    “Blue Ridge, western Maryland. We could do whatever you like—hike, swim . . .”
    “Well, maybe,” I said, and was embarrassed to discover that my first thought was where I would sleep. “Do you have room?”
    “A bedroom all to yourself.” He gave me a playful grin. “Of course, if you’d like to share mine . . .”
    I laughed, and Dave was all business again. “You said you wanted to be outdoors more. That’s about all there is where we live—mountains, valleys . . .”
    “Sounds nice. I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.
    I had to admit I was attracted to this guy. Patrick was pretty sophisticated, but every once in a while he used to do something childish, like speak with a British accent for a day. Dave didn’t act like that. He was a bit more casual, more quiet, but he could always make me laugh. Just little things, like, he’d make funny little stick people out