The Espressologist Read Online Free Page B

working on a paper for my lit class.”
    â€œI know what you mean. I’m tired, too,” I say with a yawn, stretching my arms over my head. Though I’m not tired from school, but rather from catching up on last week’s TiVo’d
All My Children
episodes last night.
    â€œHow are your classes going?” Em asks. How are they going? Good question.
    â€œI just got off the phone with my mom and she asked the same thing,” I say, attempting to avert the question.
    â€œAnd what did you say?” she persists.
    Well, shoot. That didn’t work. “Um . . . okay. I guess.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Is that chemistry class at the college getting you down? I heard that it’s hard.”
    â€œNo . . . not really.” It can’t get me down if I’m not there, right? Em looks up at me quizzically and props her head on her right fist.
    â€œWhy haven’t you been talking about school lately?” She studies my face. I hate when she does this.
    â€œIt just isn’t that exciting,” I lie, trying to look innocent. Em’s eyes narrow and she rubs her chin with her index finger. “You’re the one with all the interesting classes. You know how boring my schedule is,” I add. My classes are on the other side of the school from Em’s, so even when I do go I rarely see her.
    â€œReally? Just nothing exciting to talk about? What are you studying in your classes?” She continues to look at me. Uhoh. Her stares are relentless—I’m doomed.
    â€œWhat?” I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my chair for a few seconds. “Oh fine, fine! I haven’t gone to classes in a couple of weeks. Happy?”
    â€œJane!” she says, exaggerating the “a.” “Why haven’t you been going to classes?”
    â€œBecause,” I whine, “they’re boring! When will I ever needto know how to make a cheese soufflé? And I suck in ceramics. Even my grandma wouldn’t want one of my spun pots. Seriously. None of this stuff will matter when I’m designing red-carpet gowns in fashion school.”
    â€œYou can’t skip classes, though. You’ll get kicked out of school.”
    â€œI haven’t gotten in trouble yet.”
    â€œ
Yet
is the key word here,” Em says, and frowns. “And what about your college credit courses?”
    â€œI don’t like the college either.”
    â€œWhy not?” she asks.
    â€œIt’s . . . not what I expected. I want to go to school to study fashion, not stupid English and chemistry. And the people are weird. It’s all like, people who couldn’t make it into real colleges and old people returning to school. I just don’t like it,” I say, pouting now.
    â€œSo what are you going to do? Just not go? You have to go.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Em sighs and I feel a lecture looming. “Jane, I know you think senior year is just a blow-off year, but it isn’t. What if the School of the Art Institute asks to see your grades from this year? What are you going to do then?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t do that. Would they?”
    â€œThey might. Do you really want to take the chance?” she asks. Hmph. We’re both silent for a moment. “Just try. Will you go to classes tomorrow?”
    â€œFine, whatever. Can we talk about something else now?”
    â€œOnly if you promise to go to school tomorrow,” she retorts.
    â€œOmigod, Mom, I promise, I promise! Jesus!” I say, annoyed.
    â€œOkay, fine, I’ll drop it then.” She looks victorious. “How much time do we have left?”
    â€œAbout five minutes,” I answer, alternately tapping my left index and middle fingers on the table. “Ooh, did I tell you what is going down tonight?” I suddenly cheer up.
    â€œNo, what?”
    â€œSarah’s friend Simone is coming in. I’m going to introduce her to Gavin. He