On the Road to Find Out Read Online Free

Jenni about my resolution, since it was her idea to make resolutions in the first place, and also because if you don’t tell your best friend about something, it’s like it doesn’t exist. That’s part of what it means to have a best friend: you have a warehouse for all your stray thoughts, which, if you keep them in your head, don’t seem as real as they do when you hear them come out of your mouth.
    Jenni never forgets one single thing. We’ve been friends for more than a decade and although we’re different in lots of ways, she knows me better than anyone. She’ll remember what I wore the time we went bowling with these skeevy guys from Morgantown who tried to get us to eat mushrooms—not the kind you put in omelets—and she’ll remember what flavor birthday cake I’ve had every year since we were six. She’ll remember the time I drank a bunch of Southern Comfort and she had to hold my hair back while I puked and said I was never going to drink alcohol again, something I think about each time I drink alcohol, but she never mentions. She’ll remember I said I didn’t want to go to college still a virgin, but she doesn’t point out I’ve never even kissed a boy.
    She doesn’t bring these things up to use against me, as some bad friends would, but instead waits for me to mention something or ask her a question: What was the name of that restaurant we went to that time in New York City? Where did I first have tiramisu? And then she’ll tell me. So she’s not only a storeroom for random thoughts but also the historian of my life.
    A few nights before New Year’s Eve, Jenni and I were at my house.
    I had been complaining about my Yale rejection. Which was pretty much the only thing I’d talked or thought about for the previous two weeks. Jenni had been trying to comfort me, but like everyone else, she was so surprised I had been rejected she didn’t know what to say except that they were making a big mistake. I’d given up trying to argue.
    Jenni didn’t understand why Yale was such a big deal to me, since no one from her family had even gone to college.
    Jenni didn’t talk about her plans for next year and I avoided asking. I didn’t want to pressure her and make her feel bad if she chose not to go, which was kind of what I expected.
    Instead, I kept trying to make her see what a failure I was and that I probably wouldn’t get in anywhere else. But she loves me too much to see my flaws, and she indulges me when I spend hours pointing out these very same flaws. Jenni just kept saying, “They’re making a big mistake. They’ll be sorry when you’re interviewed by Oprah.”
    That night my parents went out to a holiday party. I had to beg them to go. Mom threatened to cancel because she was worried about me.
    For two weeks I’d been saying I wanted to stick my head in the oven.
    For two weeks I had barked and snarled at everyone who wasn’t Walter.
    I was miserable for darned sure, but I wasn’t suicidal.
    When I said I wanted to stick my head in the oven it was a joke. Black humor, people. But no one thought I was in a joke-making frame of mind.
    I had to remind my mother we had an electric oven and if I tried to pull a Sylvia Plath, all I’d manage was to singe my hair and eyebrows off.
    Still, before my parents went out I overheard Mom tell Jenni to keep an eye on me. Which is kind of funny, since Jenni does that all the time anyway. It’s kind of her job. Just like my job is to make a lot of obnoxious comments. And to make her believe in herself more. For such an amazing person, Jenni can be a little insecure.
    Jenni and I lay on my bed with a buffet of snack bags between us. Walter was on bed patrol, sniffing around and peering over the edge to make sure the perimeter was secure. Then he walked into a bag of Ritz Bits.
    â€œHey,” said Jenni. “He’s in the