I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

“You do hunch. You belong at Notre Dame.” He says that last part in
French, so I don’t know what it means, but given that it’s probably
offensive, I don’t ask.
“Do you know how to dream?”
“Sure.”
“She said I need to dream.”
“You seem pretty preoccupied with what this new girl thinks about
you,” C
says like I’m a child with a crush at recess. “I like her. I had breakfast
with her and Sony. She actually reminds me of you in that strange
yet likable way, only less awkward.”
“Less awkward?”
“Well, she probably knows how to dream. And stand up straight. And
read sarcasm.”
“She knows how to read everything,” I say, pouting.
C chuckles. “Are you jealous?”
“I’m suffering.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
“She’s making me suffer.”
“That’s what girls do.”
This girl. Yellow and amorous. She’s a story. A novel I’ve already
read, but in a foreign language..
“She scares me, C,” I say, and it’s starting to taste like a stale truth.