Beware of Love in Technicolor Read Online Free PDF Page A

reviews. I was planning a visit home to see my family and Penny on the upcoming weekend. She and I were going to spend Saturday afternoon shopping in Boston and go to a Red Sox game that night, courtesy of one of her father’s business partners. I wanted to see if there was anything I should do or see before returning to school on Sunday evening.
                  I was in a good mood. I was going shopping. I was skinny. And I’d soon be getting out of this god-forsaken town for two whole days.
                  “Where on earth did you get The Phoenix ?” A voice suddenly broke my train of thought, and I noticed John had taken a seat next to me on the bench.
                  He was wearing another concert t-shirt, David Bowie this time, and the same black jeans and Docs. No jewelry, though. For the first time, I noticed his eyes were a slate blue, and his hair was ashy blond. It hung in his face in loose curls, though it was shorter and straighter in the back. His features were large: large nose, full lips, and strong jaw. He was very tall. He looked like a Greek statue. Not cute, but there was something pleasing in his appearance.
                  “You can have it,” I said, handing him the folded newspaper. “I’m done with it.”
                  “Where are you going?” he asked me.
                  “The mall.”
                  “Me too.”
                  I nodded and checked my watch.
                  “So, did Alex get drunk that night?” I asked, though I really didn’t care if Alex had found Jesus that first night more than two weeks ago. It was something to say.
                  “Nah, I dunno. Ben and his vapid chippies all ditched me after the show.”
                  “Sorry.”
                  “Don’t be,” he smiled. “But I should ask where you disappeared to that night.”
                  “I ditched those vapid chippies after the show,” I smiled. It was nice to talk with someone, anyone, even a near stranger at the bus stop.
                  “How is that roommate of yours?”
                  “You mean Mollyanna Cowgirl?” I asked. It was the nickname I had come up with while attempting to describe my new roommate to Penny during my five minutes of hall phone time.
                  He laughed and started to say something, but stopped as the bus pulled into the stop.
                  “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked as we made our way down the center aisle.
                  “Sure,” I replied, not wanting to seem anti-social. Truth was, I would have preferred to stare out the window. I had a feeling he was developing a crush on me, and I had decided upon first laying eyes on him that he was not at all my type.
                  There is a very good chance  that my horrible track record with boys up until that point in my life was also partially due to  my incredibly picky standards and impossible to meet list of criteria. I once broke a date with a guy because I learned he bought a pair of shoes at Kmart.
                  You see what I mean.
                  John had good shoes. In those days, you couldn’t do better by me than a pair of black Doc Marten boots. He seemed clever, had good hair, a nice smile, and a solid knowledge of alternative music. He was just so damned big. He towered over me. He could have snapped me like a twig.
                  I no longer hold that quality against men.
                  I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make at least one friend here while I applied as a transfer student to colleges in Boston and New York City. It beat hanging out with Molly. So I relaxed a bit and actually enjoyed our twenty-minute conversation on the bus ride to the mall two towns