Flat-Out Love (11 page)

Then she did what any girl would do: she Googled him. Eight minutes of scrolling through search results and clicking on links got her nowhere, although she did learn that there was a Finn Watkins who played drums for a rather successful college band called Eggs Benedict and that a Finneas Watkins from New Jersey had won a 2006 award for his classical ballet performance. None of the results produced any information about her Finn. Well, not
her
Finn, but…whatever. This was annoying. Not that Googling herself yielded any information either, but it would have been nice to find something.

She looked at the pictures again. Yes, indeed. Finn was cute. Super cute. And funny, smart, and charming. And he adored his sister. And did amazing volunteer work in between adventurous travels. And…

Julie stopped herself. This was silly. She couldn’t possibly have a crush on someone she’d only exchanged a few messages with, right? Because that would be abnormal. Insane. Completely not based in reality. She was not that desperate. Besides, Boston was likely teeming with smart, adorable boys. Not that having a boyfriend was really a priority, but it wouldn’t be awful.

And while the pictures were attractive and distracting, she hadn’t failed to notice that Finn had not answered her questions about Celeste.

“What if the clip comes out?” Celeste squirmed as Julie fixed her hair.

“It won’t.”

“It might.”

Julie walked from behind the kitchen chair and stood in front of Celeste. “It won’t. On the off chance that it does, I can assure you that your hair will fall into gorgeous, billowing curls because of the anti-frizz serum I ran through your hair. And because you have naturally fantastic hair that most people can never achieve, even when they waste money buying celebrity-endorsed spiral curling irons on the off chance that three easy payments of nineteen-ninety-five will solve their hair woes. Just don’t touch your hair. And here’s the scarf I said would match the sweater I lent you perfectly.”

Celeste eyed the pale blue scarf suspiciously. “This is not a scarf. A scarf is thick and warm and only needed in the winter.”

“Oh my God. Relax, kid. This scarf is just an accessory. Like earrings or a belt. It’s long and gorgeous with a little shimmer to it.” Julie wrapped the scarf once around Celeste’s neck and smiled. “The color brings out your eyes. Now here, take my iPod, listen to the playlist I made you, and completely
ignore Matt when he drives you to school. Then when you get out of the car, glare at him with solid disgust and slam the door.”

“Why would I do that? I do not consider that a fitting response to his driving me to school.”

Julie sighed. “Fine, forget that last part. But at least listen to the playlist. I’m obsessed with this local band, In Like Lions. You’ll love them. Support the indies, kid.”

Celeste scrolled through the music Julie had picked out for her. “But usually Matty and I do reasoning games and logic questions in the car. I don’t think he’ll like this. And I don’t know any of these songs.”

“Big deal. I’ll handle Matt, and you handle the Top Forty. OK, stand up and spin around. Let me check you out.”

Celeste dutifully allowed Julie to assess her outfit. Matt entered the kitchen—a messenger bag across his chest and a stack of Internet printouts in his hand—as Julie was adjusting the sweater sleeves.

“Morning, Matt,” Julie said. “Celeste looks nice today, doesn’t she?”

“Morning. Celeste always looks nice.” Matt hurried past them to grab a banana from the counter. “Why is she wearing a scarf?”

Julie practically snorted. “You two are definitely related.”

Matt talked through a mouthful of fruit. “It’s not winter. We have to get moving. You ready?”

Celeste nodded and took her backpack from the floor. “Julie, are you sure this scarf is a good choice for me?”

“You are a beautiful girl, and it doesn’t really matter what you wear. I like the scarf on you, but take it off if you want. As long as you don’t borrow your brother’s T-shirts, you’ll be stunning.” Julie turned to Matt. “Don’t think that bag strap is
hiding your shirt from me. I can still read it.” Today’s T-shirt said:
ME: like you, only better
. “You’re straight out of
GQ
, Matt.”

“I do my best. Come on, Celeste. Julie, do you want a ride? I just have to run a few errands after I drop her off, and then I’ll be back for a few hours before I have to be at school.”

“No thanks. I have to leave in a few minutes for class, and I don’t mind walking to the T.”

“Bye, Julie. Thanks for the scarf. I guess. And my hair.” Celeste followed Matt out of the room.

“And the music. Don’t forget to listen to the music!” Julie called after her. “I’ll see you after school!”

Julie sat down at the kitchen table and sipped her coffee while she went over her schedule for the week.

“Hello,” Roger said as he came into the room. “Oh, you made coffee? Wonderful. I’ll make a cup for Erin. We’re both biking to work today, and we have these delightful cup holders that fit right on the handlebars.”

“It’s a beautiful day for a ride,” Julie said. And it was. The humidity had vanished over the weekend, and the temperature had dropped to a comfortable seventy-five degrees.

“What do you have there?” Roger asked as he filled two stainless travel cups. “Is that your course schedule?”

Julie nodded. “Yeah. First day of classes today.”

Erin breezed past her, clad in dark pants and a short-sleeve dress shirt, her outfit completed by a bike helmet and riding gloves. “What’s on the educational agenda for today?”

“Applied Calculus and then Intro to Psych,” Julie said. “Those are both Monday, Wednesday, and Friday classes. I’ll be home with plenty of time to get Celeste, though, so don’t worry.”

“Applied Calculus, huh? Didn’t you do that in high school?” Erin asked.

“I took an AP calc class, and this seems to be the next step. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have Intro to Eighteenth-Century Literature and then Economics of Poverty in the US.”

Erin adjusted her bike helmet and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. “That’s a good first-semester schedule you’ve chosen. Roger, are we set?”

“We are. Don’t forget that I have my final pretrip meeting tonight, so I won’t be home until late. Julie, hope your first day of classes goes well.” He patted her shoulder as he walked past her. “I’ll grab my gear and meet you out front, Erin.”

“I don’t know what time Matt will be back from school. If he isn’t home by six, would you order dinner for us from the Bulgarian restaurant? The menu is by the phone, and they have our credit card on file.” Erin tucked a strand of hair under her helmet. “Enjoy yourself, college girl.” Erin turned to leave and then stopped. “I hope this isn’t an awkward question, Julie, but do you have money for your textbooks? I know how overpriced they can be.”

“I just got my financial-aid check, and since I’m not paying rent now, I should be fine.”

“Don’t be shy about letting me know if you need help with anything.”

Julie could think of a number of nonfinancial things that she’d like help with.
Gee, would you like to tell me why the hell your teenage daughter is glued at the hip to a cardboard brother, has no friends, barely leaves the house, and is a complete social misfit? Huh?
But considering she didn’t want to disrupt her happy housing arrangement and the fact that Matt had specifically told her not to bring this up with Erin and Roger, she kept her mouth shut. “I can’t think of anything.”

“I’m serious, Julie. I don’t want you to go without whatever school materials you need. Ask if you need help.” She turned
to the front door and charged forward. “I’m coming, Roger! You might as well get a head start, since I’m going to beat you anyway!”

Julie laughed and reached for the
New York Times
. She was a bit surprised that she wasn’t more nervous for her first day of classes. Eager, yes, but not the least bit nervous. She was finally where she wanted to be.

Julie glared at the test in front of her. Fine,
now
she was nervous. She hadn’t taken a test since last spring, and she hadn’t even thought about anything calculus-related in months, but within three seconds of stepping into her class, the professor had informed Julie that she might be able to skip Applied Calculus and transfer into Multivariable Calculus.

My, my!
It was hard to think of anything more appealing.

Julie surmised that she must have just been radiating derivatives and explicit functions, because she certainly hadn’t requested the opportunity to place out. The only reason she’d signed up for calculus was to get her math requirement out of the way as early as possible, because who the hell wanted to be stuck cramming a last-minute math course into her senior year?

Julie crossed her legs and started on the test. She was alone in a classroom with a teaching assistant, who was presumably sitting with her to make sure she didn’t frantically call some math-geek hotline. Or Matt. But as she moved through the test, it turned out that she didn’t really need any help. Yes, a few of the questions were beyond her, but a lot of the material she knew either from her AP high school class or because she just… knew it somehow.

When she was done, the TA took her paper. “I’ll score this and have the professor call you later today to give you the results. If you’ve passed, Multivariable Calc meets at the same time, so you’ll have an easy transfer.”

“That’s
excellent
! I can’t wait,” Julie said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. She wondered briefly if she could refuse to make the transfer if she passed, but that seemed lame. Even if she wasn’t aching to devote her life to vector fields, she couldn’t justify taking the easy way out.

Intro to Psych proved to be fun, and Dana was in this class with her. The professor, Dr. Cooley, was wildly enthusiastic about the field and even handed out copies of Freudian slip cartoons along with the lengthy syllabus.

Dr. Cooley erased the whiteboard and addressed the class. “I know this is a big group, and I don’t want anyone to get lost. You have all my contact information and my office hours. Use them. I want to hear from you. I want to help you.” He turned and set his hands on his hips. “I like teaching, and I like students, and I want to learn from you as much as you want to learn from me.”

When class was over, Julie and Dana filed out of the large lecture hall. “I can’t stand these huge classes,” Dana growled. “These stupid required courses are always so congested. I can’t wait until I’m in Evolutionary Psych with, like, five other students.”

“You’re going to be a psychology major?” Julie asked.

Dana smoothed down her already immaculate straight bangs and wiped nonexistent mascara smudges from under her eyes. “I’ve known for years. Both my parents are shrinks too. Whitney has a really good program, and Dr. Cooley is highly regarded in the field.” She glanced at her watch. “Damn. I was supposed to meet Jamie at the student union for coffee
ten minutes ago. I forgot how long this class was. You want to come?”

“I’d love to, but I have to get home, get the car, and pick up Celeste. Rain check?”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Dana buttoned her blazer with one hand and adjusted her stack of folders with the other. “Call me later.”

By the time Julie made it home, changed clothes, and packed Flat Finn into the car, she was running a few minutes late to get Celeste. She sat at a stoplight and swore. The gas tank was nearly empty. Dangerously empty. The only gas station she knew was in the opposite direction, and it seemed to make more sense to go there than to hope she passed one before she ran out. Pulling an illegal U-turn seemed a good way to christen herself into the world of Boston driving. She gunned the car down the road, swearing at every stop light, and peeled into the gas station.

As Julie jabbed the nozzle into the gas tank, she simultaneously sulked and panicked: it was the first day of her official Celeste duties, and she was already screwing up. Celeste didn’t seem like the typical kid who wouldn’t give a damn if Julie were late. Not that Julie could guess how Celeste would react to a shift in schedule, but she wasn’t dying to find out. She tapped her foot anxiously as the numbers rolled over in the pump. Had she selected the slowest possible pump in the entire country? Obviously.
Come on, come on
, she pleaded silently. The gas seemed to be trickling into the car, microscopic drop by microscopic drop. Who leaves the goddamn gas tank empty? After what felt like an endless wait, she had managed to drip a few gallons of gas into the car.

She got back into the car and fumbled with the keys. Why was she so shaky? Celeste would be fine. There wasn’t anything to be done about being late, and no one to blame. Except Flat Finn.
“I was warned about your frequent failure to refill the tank!” she hollered. “Not only that, but you’re
so
inflexible. And I don’t mean disciplined. I mean literally inflexible. It takes way too long to get you into the car, and you don’t help out in the least. I don’t want to hear any complaints about how I smacked your elbow into the spare tire, OK, Flatty? Just deal with it.”