Free Second Chances by Eliza Lentzski Page A

waste of time and his money.  Language evolved, yes.  But some themes were eternal.  Love. Loss. Pain. Joy. Victory. Betrayal.
     
     
    Her phone vibrated on the end table beside her.  She picked it up and saw a message from Reagan: “Aren’t professors supposed to be liberal and progressive?”
    Allison typed her reply: “Much to my father’s chagrin.”
    As much as Allison loathed the informality of text culture, she hated talking on the phone even more.  Texting was a kind of paradox – intimate, but distant.  You could launch yourself into the middle of a conversation without civilized formalities, but you never had to see how your words affected the text’s recipient.
    “Your father would love my Physical Anthropology professor.”
    “ Why? What’s up?” Allison responded.  She put her phone back on the table and returned to her book.  She’d learned that Reagan didn’t just send texts – she wrote novels.  She’d never be able to handle Twitter.  It took her more than 140 characters to just say “hello.”
    A few minutes later, her phone rattled against the table’s wooden top.  She smirked knowingly when she saw the length of Reagan’s message.  She might as well have sent an email.
    “It’s like he’s never heard of Jane Goodall before!” the first line steamed. Allison could practically hear Reagan’s indignant huff.  She scanned the rest of the message, which was a verbose rant about her anthropology professor, who apparently was anti-feminist and therefore now Reagan’s arch-nemesis.
    “When do I get to see you again?”
    Allison stared down at the next text.  She frowned.  Reagan had a way of wording things that made her feel uncomfortable.
    Since Reagan’s visit to Providence, the two hadn’t spoken much beyond a few random text messages.  Reagan had first texted to let her know she'd made it back safely to New York and to thank her for her hospitality. She hadn't mentioned what had transpired on the train platform, and for that Allison was grateful.
    "I've got to study for midterms,” Allison wrote back. “I can't get away." It wasn’t a complete lie.  She did have midterms coming up, but they weren’t until after Spring Break in a few weeks.
    Reagan’s response was immediate: "Can we Skype later? I have a question for you, but I'd rather ask it face-to-face.”
    Allison read and re-read the message before frowning. She couldn't imagine what Reagan had to ask her, or why it needed to be face-to-face, but a feeling of foreboding settled in her gut.  Normally she would have said no.  She would have run from the situation and never looked back.  But this was Reagan, and she owed her this.
    “ Ok. When?”
     
    +++++
     
    “Is it coffee or a date?”
    Reagan paused while applying her mascara long enough to glare at her roommate with the help of the room’s full-length mirror.  “Why are you so keen on labeling things?”
    Ashley grinned from her location sprawled on top of her bed. “Because I like to know what’s expected in certain situations.”
    Reagan finished her eye make-up and turned to give her roommate a skeptical look.  “How would I even know the difference?”
    Ashley tapped her fingers to her lips as though deeply considering the question.  “Well, that all depends on if you’re ordering coffee or if you’re going for a more expensive latté or mocha or something.”
    “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “It’s all about the money, darling,” Ashley said with an exaggerated drawl.  “He’s going to expect at least a goodnight kiss if you order a $5 drink and much more if dinner’s involved.”  She gave her friend a peculiar look.  “Don’t you know anything about dating?”
    “I know plenty,” Reagan said stiffly .  “Your made up rules are ridiculous, by the way.”
    Reagan thought about the coffee she’d ordered when she’d visited Allison at Brown.  She was pretty sure it had cost more than $5.  And