Back When You Were Easier to Love Read Online Free Page B

it, starting at the bottom, fingers moving nimbly to the top. His eyes met mine. “Warmer now?”
    I still couldn’t nod, or speak, but I knew he knew. That I was warmer, that I wasn’t like the other Haven girls. That I was in love, and he was falling for me, too. I knew he knew I knew all these things, in just one glance.
    “That one, there,” I said, regaining control of my body. “That’s the best sign here.” I walked toward it, and Zan followed like I knew he would.
    The guy holding it was just a guy, just a youngish man in a blue parka standing there alone, apparently not affiliated with any group pro or anti. He was just a plain, ordinary guy with a sign in rainbow lettering: I SUPPORT THE RIGHT TO BE FABULOUS.
    “I love your sign!” I told him.
    He and Zan nodded at each other, maybe exchanging a look over my enthusiasm, but I didn’t care. “We should find a reporter or something, because seriously, this sign says it all.” True, I might have said it loud enough for the nearby reporter to overhear. So what? It got her attention, didn’t it?
    The reporter was identical to the first one we’d seen—same sleek hair, same sleek suit. She asked us a few questions and her photographer arranged us around the sign, like he was taking a family portrait.
    The picture never made it into the paper, not that I saw at least. But the image in my mind is sharper than a newsprint photo could ever be. In my mind I see that prenight sun lighting us up from behind, making Zan glow, making me glow.
    With him, being fabulous wasn’t just a right. It was a privilege.

THE WORLD ACCORDING TO HAVEN HIGH
    Mr. Daniel’s office is decorated in a style that falls somewhere between the Hard Rock Café and the tail end of a car. I stare at a poster that says “God could only make so many perfect heads—the rest he covered with hair!”
    “You wanted to see me?” I hand him the note one of the office aide kids just delivered to my last-period class. I hate this day. I don’t want to be living this day. I want Zan.
    “Yes, sit, please.” Mr. Daniel sifts through my file page by page then looks up at me.
    “So.” His face is earnest. “Where do you want to go from here?”
    There’s no real answer to a question like that, and Mr. Daniel doesn’t care, anyway. He’s all about catchphrases, like “keep your options open” and “anything is possible,” but he knows little about the actual workforce and even less about post-secondary education. College counseling here is a joke. If a school is out-of-state or doesn’t have a big-name football team, it might as well not exist.
    To say I don’t take this guy seriously doesn’t even begin to describe it.
    “Where do I want to go from here? I’m still trying to come to grips with the fact that I am here.”
    “Don’t tell me you still haven’t adjusted to life at Haven?” Mr. Daniel has been my counselor since I moved here and became the dreaded New Girl. He’s always calling me into his office to “see how the adjustment’s going.”
    “That’s just it. I adjusted fine, then everything changed and I’m trying to adjust to that. I’m not ready to adjust to what may or may not happen in the future.” My voice goes up a few notches.
    “The future is now,” he says. It sounds like he’s reading something you’d find in a mass-produced fortune cookie. “I have your college prep work sheet right here. The one you were supposed to fill out in English class?”
    Ah, yes. The work sheet. I can explain that. But trying to explain it to Mr. Daniel is like playing a guessing game. I want to make him understand, but there are certain words I just can’t say.
    “Your top three college choices are left blank. Thing is, you had three top college choices when you moved here. Back then you wanted to go to . . . uh . . .” He checks the list. “Scripps College, Pomona College, or Pitzer College. I mean, I’ve never heard of these schools, but I’m presuming you