The Trouble With Flirting Read Online Free PDF Page B

know.”
    “Yeah, you should ignore that feeling in the future. Bye, guys.”
    As I walk away, I hear Isabella saying in a low voice, “So, wait—she’s really not in the program?” I can’t hear the response.
    I leave the dining hall and pause out front, adjusting to the hot muggy air. Everyone else is inside. It’s just me out there.
    It’s kind of an icky feeling, like I’ve been exiled from all the fun. I know that’s not how it is. No one’s kicking me out. No one’s treating me like some kind of outsider. They were all actually really nice to me. But it still feels that way.
    I start to cross the courtyard to the theater but have to jump back when a car comes zooming up the gravel drive. It’s not a through street or anything—there’s a sign at the entrance that says only college-owned vehicles are allowed to come down this way, but this car is a small silver Porsche convertible.
    The car brakes near me in an abrupt spray of gravel, anda guy gets out of the driver’s seat. He’s got flat brown hair and a round head and appears to be somewhat challenged in the chin department. He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see his eyes, but he looks college-aged. “Hey, there,” he says, amiably hailing me. “Where is everyone?”
    “The dining hall.” I jerk my thumb in that direction.
    He leans down to the car window. “She says they’re all in the dining hall.”
    A girl gets out of the passenger seat. She looks a little bit younger than he does—roughly my age—and pretty, with honey-colored hair, large hazel eyes, and a heart-shaped face. She’s wearing very short denim cut-offs and a tight blue T-shirt. Perfect body: small, compact, curvy. “That’s why it’s so quiet. I was wondering if I had the day wrong,” she tells me. “I was here earlier to drop my stuff off, and then we went out to lunch. I figured I should have one last good meal before I have to eat dining-hall food all summer.”
    “It’s actually not too bad,” I say. “The pizza’s decent.”
    “Really? I’m dubious.” There’s a pause.
    “I’m Franny,” I say, since we’re just standing there.
    “Oh, hi. I’m Marie.”
    She doesn’t bother to introduce the guy, so he says to me, “I’m James,” before turning back to her. “Well, I guess this is good-bye for now.”
    “Don’t you think we should get my purse out of the car before you take off?”
    “Oh, right.” He scuttles around to the passenger side andgets out a large quilted leather purse.
    “ Now we can say good-bye,” she says as he hands it to her. She offers her cheek to his lips and he plants a solid one there, making an appreciative smacking sound that seems to cause her pain, since she winces.
    But she recovers and says, “I’ll let you know when you can come see me. There are all these rules about visitors and going off campus, but I am not going to be a prisoner here for the next six weeks, so expect to hear from me soon.”
    “I’ll break any rules for you,” he says with awkward gallantry.
    Her lip curls. “But you wouldn’t be the one breaking them; I would.”
    “Right. Text me,” he says, and gets in his Porsche and continues driving down the sloping road—which means he has to drive past us again a few seconds later, because the gravel road only leads to an area that lets you turn a car around. He gives us a little wave as he goes by.
    “He’s nice,” I say.
    She shrugs. “Uh-huh. Let’s go in. I don’t want to miss the meeting.”
    “I’m going this way,” I say, indicating the theater.
    “I thought you said we were supposed to be in the dining hall.”
    “ You are. All the acting students are. I’m working on costumes.”
    “Oh,” she says, her eyes darting away. “That’s great.”She turns toward the dining room, then stops. “Hey, since you don’t have to make the meeting, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just running my purse up to my room?” She holds it out toward me. “It’s really