The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen Read Online Free PDF

until they crack.
    I groan, staring up at the ceiling. Acoustical tiles. There have been moments, this summer, when my solitude has been so deep that I’ve caught myself counting the divots in them.
    â€œTonight was the palm reader, right?” he prods me.
    â€œIt was. Tonight was the
palm reader
.” I add ironic emphasis to the words, though the truth is, I kind of had my hopes up about it. Tyler was so enthusiastic, when he described it to me. I wanted it to be cool.
    â€œSomebody should really tell that guy that nobody watches art films anymore.” Eastlin pauses. “In fact, I’m pretty sure nobody
makes
art films anymore.”
    â€œIt’s going to suck,” I inform him. “It’s going to suck so hard I don’t think I’m going to let him put my name on it.”
    â€œTyler? He probably wasn’t going to, anyway.”
    â€œYeah,” I say, thinking.
    â€œNow, see this guy?” Eastlin flashes his phone at me, showing a profile picture from some cruising app that he uses. I catch a glimpse of a clean-cut guy our age with a lopsided grin and a backward baseball cap. He looks like a lacrosse player. “Why couldn’t he have been there? He probably doesn’t go to clubs.”
    â€œActually—” I start to say.
    â€œHe probably doesn’t have to. Meets everyone he wants at the polo matches or whatever. He looks like you, if you, like, knew how to dress.”
    Eastlin thinks I’m a slob. But then, Eastlin thinks that most guys who wear cargo shorts are slobs, even though cargo shorts are a completely normal thing to wear.
    â€œActually, you know. It wasn’t bad. It was okay,” I say. I don’t know why I want to defend my night to him. But I sort of do. I mean, it’s not like I was just sitting here by myself playing Minecraft. Which is what I would’ve been doing, if Tyler hadn’t made me go out.
    â€œBullshit it was. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
    â€œYeah. Except . . .” I hesitate. “There was this girl there.”
    I regret it the moment I’ve said it.
    â€œOh, reeeeaaally?” My roommate’s phone has immediately disappeared and he’s zeroed his eyes on me. I’ve taken no end of crap from him about my failure to bring a single girl back to the room in five weeks. More than once he’s pointed out that I’m squandering ridiculous opportunities in the privacy offered by his active nightlife. It’s become a joke.
    â€œElaborate, please,” he says, resting his chin on his hand.
    I close my eyes, my mind’s hand reaching forward to brush theelbow of the girl with the curled hipster hair and the bottomless black eyes. My scalp starts to tingle.
    â€œShe was—” I begin.
    â€œWas she hot?” Eastlin likes to cut to the chase. Or rather, he likes to cut to the end of the chase.
    I consider the girl’s face. That cool, opalescent skin. The mole above her upper lip.
    â€œHot isn’t the right word,” I say.
    Eastlin’s eyebrows move slowly up his forehead, and he breaks into a smile. His front tooth is chipped, I don’t know from what, but it means that he doesn’t smile widely all that often. “You think she’s beautiful,” he tells me.
    â€œCome on,” I say, rolling my eyes.
    â€œYou do. I can tell.”
    How can I explain her to him? Not because he won’t understand, but because something about her fails me. She’s impossible to put into words. There’s only the feeling.
    â€œI don’t know how to even tell you,” I say, helpless before the idea of her.
    â€œWhat did she look like?” he presses me.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œLight? Dark? Big tits? Little tits? Come on. Give me something to work with.”
    â€œLight hair. In this kind of weird, complicated curl situation. Dark eyes.”
    â€œWhat was she