The Way I Used to Be Read Online Free Page B

sweetly, expecting a response that leaves her with something she can do about any of it. But since there’s not, I clear my throat and repeat, “Just personal.”
    â€œI understand.” She looks down at her fingernails and smiles sadly. I wonder if she really does understand or if that’s only something she says.
    Just as I’m about to stand up and leave, something in her face changes. She looks at me like she’s considering letting me do it anyway, like she’s going to take pity on me.
    â€œWell,” she begins. “I do have this idea I’ve been toying with, something you might be interested in?”
    I inch closer, literally pushing myself to the edge of my seat.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about trying to put together a student group, a book club that would meet during lunch. It would be open to anyone who’s interested in doing a little extracurricular reading. It would be like an informal discussion group, more or less. Does that sound like something you’d want to do?”
    â€œYes! Definitely, yes, yes. I love books!” Then, more calmly, I add, “I mean, I love to read, so I just think a book club, um, would be great.” I have to force my mouth to stop talking.
    â€œOkay, well, that’s excellent. Now, according to school policy, any club must have at least six members to be official. So, first things first—do you know anyone else who you think might be interested?”
    â€œYeah, I think so, two people maybe—one for sure.”
    â€œThat’s a start—a good start. If you really want to do this, I’ll need you to do a little bit of the legwork, okay? Because basically my only role is to be a faculty adviser, a facilitator—the group itself is essentially student run, student organized—it’s your group, not mine. Does that make sense?”
    â€œYeah, yeah. So what would I need to do then, to make it happen?”
    â€œYou can start by making flyers, putting them up around school. Start by seeing if we can get enough people interested.”
    â€œI can do that. I can do that right now!”
    She laughs a little. “You don’t have to do it right now—although I do appreciate the enthusiasm. In fact, you don’t have to do it at all. You can take some time to think about it if you want.”
    â€œI’m sure. I want to, really.”
    â€œOkay. All right then. I’ll take care of the paperwork this afternoon, how does that sound?”
    â€œGreat!” I shout, my voice all high and trembling as I fight the urge to jump over the desk and throw my arms around her neck. “That sounds really great!”
    I make the flyer right then and there and have the walls plastered by the end of the day.

SATURDAY MORNING, PROMPTLY AT TEN, the doorbell rings. I call from my bedroom, “I’ll get it,” but Mom beats me. I get to the living room just as she’s swinging the door open.
    â€œGood morning, you must be Stephen! Come on in, please, out of the rain.”
    â€œThanks, Mrs. McCrorey,” Stephen says, walking through our front door cautiously, dripping puddles of water all over the floor, which I know is making Mom secretly hyperventilate.
    I stand there and watch as Stephen Reinheiser hands my mom his raincoat and umbrella. Watch as this person who knows me in one very distinct way crosses this unspoken boundary and begins to know me in this way that’s entirely different.
    â€œYou can just leave your sneakers on the mat there,” Mom tells him, wanting to ensure he does indeed take his wet shoes off before daring to step onto the carpet. This is a no-shoes house he’s entering. Watching him stand in my living room in his socks, looking uncomfortable, I realize that he has boundaries too.
    â€œHey, Stephen,” I finally say, making sure I smile. He smiles back, looking relieved to see me. “So, um, come in. I thought we could work at