Free Blue Notes by Carrie Lofty Page B

were easier with them. They knew how to reassure me in ways that weren’t patronizing, in ways that made me think they were one miracle short of being eligible for sainthood. Who took on a kid like me and found the patience to turn me into a halfway stable college girl? Clair and John Chambers, quiet heroes.
    Before my brain invents new schlocky Hallmark odes, I flip my hair over my shoulders and decide to pop the second pastry in the toaster.
    “Brandon would say this is a fire hazard, you know,” Janissa says. “I only learned a couple days ago. We’re not supposed to have toasters in our rooms.”
    “Do you think he’ll bust us?”
    “That could be fun.” She giggles. “Maybe we should open the doors and let the smell waft down the hallway.”
    I start to laugh. “Don’t lie. You’d set off the emergency sprinklers. Then he wouldn’t have to bust you until after he rescues you.”
    “Me? Sounds like you have a better chance at getting rescued first.” She pillows her chin on her folded hands, lying there on her stomach. “First comes that mystery guy, Jude, and now Brandon? Since when did my quiet musician roomie get boy crazy?”
    “Juju in the water, or whatever. Last night. I swear it. So weird.”
    “Are you planning on leaving anyone in New Orleans for me? Pick one and lemme have the other.”
    “You’re being ridiculous.” I sit cross-legged on the bed, still wearing my fuzzy pink robe, with a plate of Pop-Tarts on my lap to ensure modesty. “But you should come out with me Thursday. Adelaide already texted this morning that she’ll be playing there again. You could come see the circus.”
    “Are you going to invite Brandon?”
    I shake my head. Yamatam’s and Brandon? That idea just doesn’t work. “No.”
    “Is Jude going to be there?”
    “How should I know? Besides, there’s no way. You should’ve seen him with Adelaide. It’s like they spoke a special code language of snark and subtext. They’re totally an item. If not now, then in that way exes can be when they’re not done with each other.”
    After a slight cringe, Janissa sits up and goes about cleaning her glasses. “Yeah, I know. There was this guy last year, Kier, who was like that for me. It took him doing a semester someplace in New York for me to get free. When he came back I realized, wow, I didn’t want to be postbreakup friends with him. We were never friend material.”
    I realize there’s a lot about Janissa I don’t know. “Get free” is a really powerful phrase. I want to ask more, but she already has that closed off, artificial brightness in her eyes, like she never brought up anything at all.
    “Just sex, then,” I say, nodding sagely, and privately agreeing to drop the subject.
    She tosses a pillow at me. My second round of breakfast hits the floor. “I’d dignify that with a response if I didn’t think you’re a virgin,” she says. “Wait, you are a virgin, yeah?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “There’s no so about it. Just glad to know I’m not the only one.” Her grin widens. “But don’t think we have anything in common. I am not a wannabe slut in the making. You long to be corrupted.”
    I lie back on the bed, laughing. “Is that what I should’ve said to Jude? Corrupt me! Corrupt me!”
    “Or Brandon. Does it matter to a hussy like you?”
    “Did you call me a hussy?” I ask, breathless. “Are you from the eighteen hundreds or something?”
    “Doesn’t matter.” She affects a perfectly prim pose. “I shouldn’t be anywhere near you Thursday.”
    “No, you need to save me from my wicked, base impulses. I have these . . . urges. Like . . .” I snatch one of the Pop-Tarts off the industrial carpeting. “Like flagrantly breaking the five-second rule.”
    Janissa makes a face as I take a big bite out of the frosted strawberry pastry. Strawberry is a fruit. That’s healthy enough, right?
    “Okay,” she says. “Now that’s crossing a line. Ew.”
    We burst into laughter and