Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [44]
“There might be some truth to that. My motivations aren’t purely altruistic. There’s a lot about New Orleans I identify with.”
“Like what?”
“Like the idea of rebuilding a place that most people had long written off as morally corrupt and hopeless, despite its gifts.”
“Uh … you know, I actually heard a little about your volunteer work from a friend. Paul Parlipiano. But I didn’t know how reliable the information was so …”
“Paul Parlipiano. Yeah, I remember him. We were on the same house-gutting crew. It was over a year ago, I think.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I had no idea of his name. I knew who he was through you, but I don’t know if I ever met him in person. He recognized me right away, which came as a surprise to me, considering I was elbow-deep in mold, wearing a biohazard suit and a respirator.”
“I’m not surprised. Paul’s, like, a savant with names and faces. There was one time when I was attending the Summer Pre-college Enrichment Curriculum in Artistic Learning, otherwise known as SPECIAL, remember?”
“Not really. Was that the same summer I was attending the Middle-bury In-Patient Adolescent Rehabilitation for Addictions and Associated Treatment Issues?”
“Otherwise known as?”
“MIPARAATI.”
“Mi para ti. Me for you.”
“Mi … para … ti … Me … for … you … You’re right.”
“Sí, señor. No one ever pointed that out before?”
“No. Never. Most experts would frown upon it as a rehabilitative philosophy. You’re supposed to clean up because you want to, not because anyone else wants you to. Mi para mi. But it definitely works as a personal philosophy, the idea of giving yourself over to others.”
[Pause.]
“How did we get on this subject?”
“We were talking about Paul Parlipiano, and I started telling you about the trip I took to the city when I was at SPECIAL.”
“Oh, right.”
“For the record, it wasn’t the same summer. You were in Middlebury the summer before.”
“Where was I during your SPECIAL summer?”
“I have no idea. Which was kind of the whole point of getting out of Pineville for six weeks.”
“Ah, yes. I see.”
“Anyway. I took a trip into the city, and I ended up standing next to Paul Parlipiano at this tiny coffee shop near the Columbia campus. He knew who I was right away, even though I hadn’t seen him in, like, two years. Then again, it’s probably hard to forget someone after she’s puked on your shoes.”
“You puked on Paul Parlipiano’s shoes?”
“I was sixteen years old and drunk. I’ve gotten much better at holding my liquor since then.”
“I hope so. You’ll be happy to hear that he didn’t mention the puking. He was like, ‘Oh, you’re Marcus Flutie, aren’t you? I graduated from Pineville High a few years ahead of you. I’m Jessica’s friend from Columbia.’ He seemed like a good guy. We only hung out briefly. We went to a bar later that night, but he left the city the next day.”
“Wait. What? You went to a bar?”
“Yes.”
“Where people, like, go to drink alcohol?”
“Yes. That’s what people usually do in bars.”
“You hate bars.”
“I hated bars when I was the only person not drinking in them.”
“You drink now?”
“Socially.”
“Socially?”
“And in moderation.”
“You drink now. Socially and in moderation. I can’t believe it. Since when? Oh my God, no. Don’t even say it. I know the answer already. Right around the same time you shaved off The Beard.”
“I won’t say it because you said it for me. But you’re right. And this time I didn’t bring it up.”
“You sort of did. By mentioning going to a bar with Paul Parlipiano, you knew I would ask about the drinking.”
“I didn’t know that for sure. I thought you might ask what we talked about.”
“Okay. I’ll play along. What did you and Paul Parlipiano talk about?”
“Drywall. Socialism. Deregulation as the root of all financial evil.”
“Sounds like Paul.”
“Brad Pitt. Protesting the Beijing Olympics. Bioremediation.”
“Same save-the-world Paul.”
“What heterosexuals can learn through homosexual experimentation.”
“Wha—? You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Marcus! Paul Parlipiano … hit on you?