Higher Education Read Online Free Page A

boxes.
    â€œI’m not angry, Miranda. But I’ll be honest with you, I am somewhat concerned.”
    â€œIs it because I have food between my teeth?” I smirk radiantly at him, in deference to his avowed intention of becoming a dentist. “Something huge and disgusting?”
    â€œJust a small tree in the very front, darlin’.” Michael taps my chin. “It’s kinda cute, though.”
    â€œI’m not joking, Miranda,” Walt persists. “That’s barely one, one point five dollars you’ve got on your tray there.”
    â€œI’ll steal some silverware, okay?”
    â€œY’all take some dishes, too.”
    â€œNo respect.” Walt shakes his head again and turns his attention to a large half-eaten piece of meat, the animal source of which I don’t care to guess at, that rests on his plate gleaming with an obscenely brown sauce. “Pass the salt, please.”
    Michael complies, then pushes back his imaginary ten-gallon, smiling at me. “How goes it, kitten?”
    â€œThe usual.” I shrug, listening to a girl behind me saying, “Every time I’m in France I get sick. Isn’t it funny?” Sipping my coffee, I keep my eyes fixed on Michael’s face. “What’s new with you?”
    â€œWell now, funny y’all should ask. My latest Cobol program just about blew up the Science Center, an’ my professor’s gonna string me up the next time I show my red ol’ face in class. ’Course I got three hundred pages of tutorial readin’ due tomorrow, an’ I’ve gotta run over to the phone company first thing in the mornin’ an’ beg ’em not to disconnect my phone just because my roommate used the phone money to buy marijuana. But other than that, not much to report.” An eyebrow arches, sleek and orderly. “Oh, an’ my folks are threatenin’ divorce again.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œAll very well and good,” Walt chimes in. “But what are you planning to wear to the Spee’s pajama party?”
    There is a tremendous sound of phlegm-rattling wheezing and then Andrew descends upon us, his cheeks blazing with an alarming red flush. “Hi, guys.” Breathlessly he leans his palms on the table. “Anybody got a cigarette?”
    â€œNo, asshole.” Walt glares at him. “Bug off.”
    â€œShit.” He whirls and clatters off, leaving a pungent scent of Gitanes in his wake.
    Walt stabs his fork into his meat. “Dirty son-of-a-bitch bastard.”
    â€œWell, gal, I thought I’d wear pajamas.” Michael winks at me again.
    â€œWhat a concept.”
    â€œNo-good rotten stinking moron,” Walt goes on, bitterly. “Decaying scum-of-the-earth douchebag.”
    â€œNow Walt.” I repress a smile. “It’s not nice to talk about your roommate like that.”
    â€œHe’s a putrefying baboon and I hope he drops dead from lung cancer. The sooner the better.”
    â€œThen you really should keep a supply of cigs around for him, don’t you think?”
    A voice rings out from the end of the dining hall: “Panty raid!” Somebody cheers, and the master’s baby starts crying again. Sighing, Walt inserts a large chunk of meat into his mouth.
    A brilliant flash of crimson catches my eye, and I twist around in my chair to watch Robbie and Adolfo gliding out of the kitchen wearing handsome red frocks—new Kamalis, if I’m not mistaken. Their earrings, necklaces, stockings, and pumps are all charmingly coordinated in varying shades of red.
    Robbie and Adolfo are certainly among the most prominent Adams House residents, although it’s hard to say whether it’s because of their tireless activism for gay rights or because of their exquisite taste in clothing. Nobody bats an eye at them, from Master Ackerman on down; after a few days of confusion, the incoming sophomores catch on too. Even