Hung Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

you said a few phone calls ago about things happening to people beyond their control. It happened. It shouldn’t have. I wish it wouldn’t have. But it did. Let’s get back to clay.
    Lucy: Right. Your plate-making period. What do these art pieces look like?
    James: Sort of like plates. But bumpier.
    Lucy: You’re so funny.
    James: That wasn’t a joke.
    Lucy: It doesn’t matter. Okay. I feel like I’m finally getting to know the inner James Rusher.
    James: That makes me feel exposed.
    Lucy: Calm down. So what was your favorite class last semester? And I want your answer to be told in the form of a story.
    James: Okay. Once upon a time, last semester, I took a course called International Foods. I did this because I liked the idea of eating at school, and also learning in a room that had ovens. They were electric ovens, so that was a tad disappointing. I like flames. Anyway, while taking this course, I fell madly in love with a girl named Valley. Valley didn’t seem to notice me too much. But I sure noticed Valley. She had long dark hair and she sat in front of me. Each class, I had an urge to reach out and touch her hair. When she leaned forward, her hair rose up her back. And when she sat up straight, it draped longer down her chair. It was like watching a water line climb and fall. I learned a lot that semester. Because International Foods wasn’t a class just about food. We also studied food issues. Diabetes. Veganism. Hunger. Finally, things were winding to a close. Of course, it being a food class, the semester culminated with a buffet. I brought churros. They were good. My mother helped me. I’d never worked with that much hot grease before. Anyway, from across the room, I watched Valley bite into my churro, and then her face twisted into this awfulexpression and she spit it into her napkin. I saw her mouth ask the question “Who made these?” Well, Lucy, I liked Valley a lot, but I am also a guy who’s equipped with a fair amount of culinary pride. I knew my churros were excellent. If she didn’t like them, it said a lot more about her palate than it did about my churros or flash-frying skills. I saw her ask her friend again, “Who made these?” So I waved. Then she pointed to some puff pastries that involved spinach and strong cheese. I believe her dish represented Algiers. She thought her food item was superior to my churros. I watched her throw her napkin away and roll her eyes. She shook her head and flicked her hair over her shoulder and laughed.
    Lucy: How rude.
    James: Well, that’s Valley. She has a mean streak.
    Lucy: Why would you want to fall in love with somebody like that?
    James: It just happened.
    Lucy: I don’t think it was love, James. I think you might have a hair fetish.
    James: Maybe.
    Lucy: How do you feel about Valley now?
    James: I don’t feel any way about her. I hardly see her.
    Lucy: Well, then that definitely wasn’t love.
    James: You say that like you’ve been in love before.
    Lucy: I was in almost-love. Once.
    James: What was his name?
    Lucy: Why?
    James: Because I want to know his name.
    Lucy: I’d prefer to give him an alias.
    James: Why? Do I know him? Does he go to Burlington?
    Lucy: No. He goes to Montpelier. He plays basketball.
    James: I bet I know him!
    Lucy: Exactly.
    James: You should tell me his name right now.
    Lucy: When it’s anonymous, it’s fun to talk about this stuff. But the idea that you might know these people freaks me out.
    James: Vermont is a small state. If you want anonymous phone conversations, you should call some high school kid in Texas.
    Lucy: Don’t be like that. I’ll tell you about this another time.
    James: So you can ask me any question you want, but I can only ask you questions you feel like answering?
    Lucy: I think I might be more private than you.
    James: Thanks a lot.
    Lucy: I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I think we’re just different.
    James: Well, you’re wrong. I’m plenty private.
    Lucy: This isn’t a