Romance Is My Day Job Read Online Free

Cinderella, with a few jitters and some doubts. Maybe, though, he’ll kiss me at the end of the night even if it seems wrong. Walking next to him, this giant blond boy, I can’t imagine us as a real couple. This is what happens when I try to turn the Joy of Staring into a viable relationship.
    We move into the cafeteria, where the dance is taking place, with its special lighting, streamers, and posters galore. Outside the cafeteria, a line of couples in their taffeta and tuxes wait to get their photographs taken. For some reason, Kent and I glide by the photographers, perhaps because the line is too long, the punch is too irresistible, or they’re playing “Rock Lobster.” As such, there will be no evidence that we ever went to the dance together.
    I’m sure Kent and I should talk about something, but we don’t. People sort of leave us alone, walking around us as if we’re a museum exhibit. On The Love Boat, conversation is effortless. Julie McCoy, your cruise director, would know how to seduce a sixteen-year-old boy, no problem. I’m disappointed we’re not this easy-breezy couple. The awkwardness is more than I can bear, and it’s due in part to our not knowing much about each other—plus my idea of flirtation is to show up. Dances are not about fun at all, mostly just freaking out over nothing and a depressing walk back to the dorm at the end of the night.
    So it’s a little obvious to me this is a wrong turn in my love story, but not fatal. Maybe we won’t be an ecstatic couple. At least I know this. He won’t kiss me under a full moon or father my child accidentally on the topmost soccer field. As the music gets going, with decked-out couples dancing away, there are no fireworks between me and Kent. This I can admit to myself, though it gives me an empty feeling—like, who do I have a crush on now? I do feel some relief, too, because I expended a lot of energy thinking about Kent. We are not made for each other, and I can always go back to obsessing about John Taylor, who is perfect (and the tabloids say he’s a virgin!).
    I start to rally and notice how the cafeteria has been transformed into the dance of our dreams with the cheesy decorations, the refreshments, and the sea of couples on the dance floor. There are other occasions when my peers dress up, but the gowns and tuxes take my breath away. My classmates clean up good. It’s preparation for their lives ahead, with professional functions, weddings, parties, and fund-raisers. These students are the hope of the future. Tonight, they look the part.
    Kent and I dance a little. Most eighties music brings out the beast in me on the dance floor. For instance, that laugh at the beginning of “Hungry Like the Wolf” jump-starts me to the point where I have to find Nici and then thrash in front of the nearest speaker. This time, I hold back on any wild moves since Kent is a mellow side-to-side dancer. As other people jump and twirl around us, Kent and I smile at each other now and then, not quite participating in the real festivities. I start to feel uncomfortable, like I should have left him alone so that he could have a better time with his own friends. I don’t hate him at all for being such a sedate date. He’s a really nice guy, just not my partner on my real-life Love Boat .
    Within the hour, I am alone.
    I know this happens a lot at dances. The year before, I ditched someone, ran to hide in a stairwell, and I know I hurt him. This is karma paying me back for spurning such a tender heart. Kent is not my Devlin. He’s an affable Deadhead with great hair—and he has vanished. I’m not sure how or when, maybe when he went off with a group of friends. I totally expected this and don’t even try to find him. How could I have ever mistaken him for Devlin?
    And yet I’m sad. Paranoid, too, that he devised some secret plan to escape my clutches. If that’s even true,