The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld Read Free Book Online Page B

girl fell into step beside Hannah as they were leaving the lecture hall after statistics class. “Hey,” the girl said. “You were on my orientation trip, weren’t you?”
    Hannah looked at the girl, her blond bangs and brown eyes. Something in her features made her seem friendly, Hannah thought, and realized it was her teeth: The incisors were disproportionately large. But she wasn’t unattractive. She wore a white tailored shirt underneath a gray wool sweater, and jeans that looked pressed. It was the kind of outfit Hannah imagined on a coed from the 1950s.
    “I’m Jenny.” The girl stuck out her hand, and Hannah shook it, surprised by the firmness of Jenny’s grasp.
    “So I have to confess something,” Jenny said. “I have no idea what’s going on in that class. I mean, not a thing.”
    That Jenny’s confession was so bland was both a relief and a disappointment. “It’s pretty confusing,” Hannah said.
    “Have you heard of any study groups?” Jenny asked. “Or would you be interested in studying together? I think it might be easier with someone else.”
    “Oh,” Hannah said. “Okay.”
    “I’m starving,” Jenny said. “Have you had lunch yet?”
    Hannah hesitated. She ate only breakfast in the cafeteria because you could eat breakfast alone; other people did it. “Yeah, I have,” Hannah said, then regretted it immediately. In her room, she ate bagels and fruit for lunch and dinner. It had become disgusting. She wanted something hot or wet—a hamburger or pasta. “But maybe after class on Wednesday,” Hannah said.
    “Let me give you my number,” Jenny said. They had reached the path leading to the cafeteria. When Jenny passed a scrap of paper to Hannah, she said, “So I’ll see you in class, assuming I don’t stab myself in the heart doing the reading before then.”
    Walking back to her dorm, Hannah thought,
A friend.
It was miraculous. This was how she’d once imagined she’d meet people in college, just this effortlessly, but it had never happened. She’d seen it happen to other students, but it hadn’t happened to her. The first problem was that, randomly, she’d been assigned to a single. The second problem was Hannah herself. She had had friends before this—not a lot, but some—and she’d believed college would be a vast improvement over high school. But upon her arrival at Tufts, she hadn’t joined clubs. She hadn’t initiated conversations. Early on, when her hall would go en masse to watch student improv troupes or a cappella groups, Hannah didn’t go because she didn’t want to, because she thought improv and a cappella were kind of stupid. (Later, that seemed like poor reasoning.) On Saturday afternoons, she’d take the T over to Fig’s dorm at BU and hang out while Fig got dressed for frat parties, and then Hannah would return to Tufts around eight P.M. and her own dorm would be silent except for certain throbbing rooms, and these Hannah would hurry past. All her decisions alone were trivial, but they accumulated and she felt herself sliding backward. By October, when the kids who lived around her were going out, she couldn’t go not because she didn’t want to but because she just couldn’t. Because what would she say to them? Really, she didn’t have anything to say to anyone. Five months passed, the longest months of Hannah’s life, and then she met Jenny.
    As far as Hannah can see, there is nothing remarkable about Jenny except for her reaction to Hannah. Jenny does not seem to realize that she is Hannah’s only friend. The last time they were studying, Jenny said, “A bunch of us are going to Springfield on Friday. My friend Michelle went to high school with a guy who goes to this engineering school there, where it’s like ninety percent men.” Jenny raised her eyebrows twice, and Hannah laughed, because she knew she was supposed to. “You should come,” Jenny said. “It might be a bust, but at least it’ll be a change of scenery. And I’m so