The Great American Whatever Read Online Free Page B

of a long hallway that hopefully leads to unlimited fun. And beer. Tonight is The Night I Try Beer and Maybe Pot.
    â€œIt’s cool,” I go, noticing a tea-colored stain in the ceiling. “I’ll be okay.”
    â€œI actually can’t stay that late, to be honest,” Geoff goes, starting to lead me toward a room that’s boomeranging with voices. “I have the first shift at Loco Mocha tomorrow.”
    â€œWait, you got a job ?” I go. I stop him beside a bathroom that’s got this giant Yankee Candle going. Classy place.
    â€œYeah, I got a job,” Geoff goes. “Turn on your phone sometime. It will deliver mysterious things to you, like news.”
    â€œNo, I just can’t believe you got a job.”
    We used to make movies together, every day, all day, every summer. I’d write them, Annabeth would direct, Geoff would star. He was a terrible actor. So terrible it was funny, and somehow seemed like a version of good.
    â€œMy dad made me get a job.”
    â€œBut your dad is, like . . .” I consider how to phrase this. Geoff and I don’t talk about money. He just . . . pays for stuff, while I look away. “Loaded.”
    Geoff laughs, heads into the bathroom, and swishes with Listerine right out of his sister’s bottle. Straight boys, every last one of ’em a mystery.
    Anyway, he’s back. “We do fine, but we are not exactly loaded . That’s just what people think.”
    â€œYou drive a brand-new Toyota, Geoff.”
    â€œYou don’t know anything about cars, Quinny. It’s not exactly a Tesla.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œExactly.”
    We keep walking. It is a seriously long hallway, made emptier by how there’s nothing in it but us, no furniture or posters or anything. I can’t believe college kids can afford a place with such a long hallway.
    â€œWell, whatever,” Geoff goes. “My dad said that in order to ‘learn money, you’ve got to earn money.’ So, like I said. Whatever.”
    These must be the lessons other kids get from their dads. Here is the lesson I got: When your wife turns forty, run for the hills and don’t take your shorts.
    â€œMaybe I should get a job at Loco this summer,” I start to say—it could be fun to make coffee all day—but Geoff’s big sister, Carly, appears at the end of the hallway, puts her hands on her hips, and openly examines our outfits. Carly herself looks as if she was standing outside an Urban Outfitters when a pipe bomb went off.
    â€œJesus, bro,” she says, clucking at Geoff, “are you still getting dressed in the dark?” She’s majoring in Fashion Merchandising, if that helps.
    â€œHa-ha, Carly,” Geoff goes, punching her shoulder harder than guys our age should. Carly’s always ripping on Geoff, but she loves the dude. Can’t blame her. I mean, the mustache alone gives Geoff a Make-A-Wish vibe that you have to kind of fall for, in a strictly platonic way.
    â€œAt least Quinny-boy had the decency to dress in neutrals tonight,” Carly goes, bypassing Geoff and giving me a huge hug. My arms don’t know how to manage a hug anymore. “Wow,” Carly says, coughing, “neutrals and cologne , Quinn. Neutrals and cologne.”
    I pull back and lift my collar to smell myself. “Too much?”
    â€œNo,” Carly says, running her hand over my head. “People will be too distracted by the hot new military man here to notice that he fell into a vat of Polo.”
    â€œAw, whatevs.”
    â€œSeriously, Quinn: You look handsome as whoa . You look like a man .”
    Geoff disappears into the montage of bodies just beyond, and I feel my heart kick into gear. Call it little-brother syndrome. I’m desperate for my own independence and then can’t stand it when I get it.
    I decide I could use that beer. I look like a man. Men drink