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She knew what I was feeling, what I was thinking. So much love…" The tears were welling to her eyes again, and she blinked them back. They straightened warily as she came down the porch steps. She could see the lights of the large, long, wooden structure some distance away. They cast a cozy, warm glow in the darkness. But he refused to agonize over that. Memories of last night danced in her head, of Kent telling her with words, with kisses, with his incredible body, just how much she meant to him. Well, nearly, because she had made one crucial mistake. It was something she intended to fix, today, right this minute if possible, despite the butterflies wreaking havoc in her belly. Jeans, backward baseball hat, glasses, the white lab coat with at least six pencils, the works. After what we shared, especially last night. He thought that we were mocking him. The pick of the new talent is Maureen McCabe. But our progress brings us to the happy culmination. In senior year, we get to sit right on the fifty-yard line near the President and the most distinguished alumni, whom the college honors with this pride of place. I mean, brains are okay for a girl in moderation, but the Radcliffe types are so goddamn intellectual - and competitive - that they sometimes make you forget why the Lord created women. And we fixed her up with our Yale host, Charlie Cushing, a really sweet fellow.
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