The Valeditztorian Read Online Free PDF

face and derriere, Grace seems a bit heavier than your average Korean American woman. Intrigued, I ask her what she’s been living on this whole time.
    “You mean o ther than chocolate mouse?” she replies, smiling.
    “Yuck ,” I say, making a face.
    “Seriously,” she says, “i t’s been tough. For lunch, the lab used to have a great salad bar, but they lost power a month ago, and they’ve been closed ever since.”
    “So things get fixed quickly around here ?”
    Grace rolls her eyes .
    “Luckily, Paula’s been coming by with feijoada (pronounced ‘fay-jhoo-ah-duh’) every few nights,” she says.
    “ Feijoada? What’s that?”
    “ It’s a Brazilian stew, made with rice, beans, and different types of salty meat, like beef or bacon.”
    Feijoada sounds like a great dish to sustain a person during times of famine . In Grace’s case, it appears to be doing a more than adequate job. Hopefully, Paula will forgive me for attracting Luciano’s attention and continue supplying us with this calorie-rich concoction. Having another female friend around, especially one who likes to share food, would be fabulous, and perhaps essential. I’m not sure whether it’s the jet lag or my recent hospitalization, but as I perseverate on our limited food supply, my anxiety level starts to rise.
    Just as I begin losing feeling in my fingertips, Grace makes one additional stop, at an ice cream shop on the next corner.
    Entering the store, a blast of frigid air hits my face like a bucket of ice water, reviving my failing neurons and narrowly averting my second panic attack in the span of two days. Hallelujah. With working freezers and an air conditioner, the shop is the most high-tech facility I’ve encountered thus far in Brotas. Standing at the counter, grinning beatifically, I gaze in wonder at the colorful buckets of ice cream arrayed before me.
    “I had a feeling you’d like this place,” says Grace , watching my goofy face. “The stuff they serve here is closer to gelato than regular ice cream, but it’s still really good.”
    Digging into a small cup of dulce de leche, I’m in heaven .
    W orking on our Dixie cups, we cross over the busiest road in town, which is paved and heavily trafficked with cars and buses. Grace explains that most Salvadorans get around via the municipal bus system. Unlike the United States, where a person can simply walk onto a lot and buy an automobile, cars in Bahia are apparently sold by lottery system.
    “Even if you’re middle class, buying a car here can be really difficult,” says Grace. “After trying for a few years, Luciano finally got his first one a few months ago.”
    “So what do you think of Luciano?” I ask.
    “I love that he’s been driving me all over Salvador,” says Grace.
    “What about Paula ? Does she get jealous?”
    Grace gives me a funny look .
    “Not at a ll. Most of the time she comes too. Why do you ask?”
    “Paula seemed a little insecure around Luciano when I met them yesterday.”
    “The two of them started d ating when I got here in August,” says Grace. “For the past month they’ve been joined at the hip. I haven’t noticed any problems.”
    Considering Grace’s perspective, I wonder whether I wrongly envisioned the tension between Luciano and Paula . Perhaps I judged him too harshly. After all, it’s possible that Luciano is just a harmless flirt. Moreover, as Grace pointed out, the man owns a car, which is reason enough to cultivate a friendship with him. Alternatively, since she’s totally flat chested, Grace might’ve missed the fact that Luciano is a lecherous jerk because his eyes never bothered roaming in her direction.
    Maybe I’m not being fair, but I can already sense that keeping an open mind about my new boss is going to be challenging, especially considering my upbringing.
    “ Never trust a man farther than you can throw him,” Grandma Sally always said.
    Even before she raised my mischievous father, Grandma Sally was