But even the possibility filled me with nervous excitement, which got me out of bed before six. It’s unlike me, wanting to spend time with some stranger. But being a stranger to her lets me be unlike myself.
I took another brief shower and quickly folded the futon back into a couch, then waited while I heard my brother’s phone alarm go off three times. I knew he was repeatedly hitting snooze. Lewis never was a morning person. In fairness, I’m usually not either. After the fourth alarm, I banged on his door and heard a groggy, “I’m up.”
We were on the road half an hour later, Lewis rubbing his eyes and dressed in a rumpled polo, one of those ones with an animal embroidered on the pocket. It was snowing softly when we headed out. Lewis drove carefully, neither of us speaking while we navigated onto I-93 and through Quincy, passing ponds and white rooftops.
Mom calls when we’re nearing the Rhode Island state line. Lewis hits answer on his dashboard display. “Hey, Mom. You’re on speaker,” he says.
Mom’s voice crackles over the car stereo. “Oh, you’re driving? I figured I’d be waking you up. I thought Fitz’s tour was scheduled for ten.” It’s a relief hearing how focused and vivacious her voice is, how herself she sounds.
“Yeah,” Lewis says, shooting me a lightly disdainful look. “Fitz woke me up early. He was eager to get on the road. Dramatic change from trying to ditch the trip and take the bus back home.”
The commentary irks me, and I grit my teeth. It’s not worth calling Lewis out, though. I know he said it to piss me off, and he would only ignore me or continue belittling me if I spoke up. It’s going to be nine more days of this, I think ruefully. Nine long days.
“Well,” Mom says, sounding pleased if startled, “it’s wonderful you’re beginning to take an interest in the trip. Brown would be perfect for you, honey. With your grades and your SAT score, you can really consider the Ivies. I googled the campus, and it’s lovely. It looks like SNHU”—she says this in a way I know she imagines is casual—“except, you know, older.” She laughs.
“I’m sure it’s a nice campus,” I reply neutrally. I don’t have the heart to explain that my feelings on this college tour haven’t changed, except to the extent that the tour puts me in the path of one particular prospective coed.
“I hope you love it. Text me pictures, okay?” Mom charges on. “Love you both.”
“I will,” I promise. “Love you too.”
“Talk to you later, Mom,” Lewis says, and hangs up. Of course he doesn’t bother to tell our mother he loves her. Lewis is too cool for that kind of thing.
The brick buildings and barren trees of Pawtucket pass by outside. I put my forehead to the cold glass of the window and close my eyes, hoping to check out for the rest of the drive. I wish I could pull out my pocket dictionary, but I don’t want to deal with the shit I’d get from Lewis. Instead, I concentrate on cool, nonchalant ways to get a girl’s phone number without offending her intimidatingly muscled boyfriend. Hypothetically, of course.
“You don’t want to go to Brown,” Lewis says speculatively, interrupting my creative process.
I look over, finding him watching the road with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. Sitting stupidly in silence, I realize I’m astonished my brother figured this out. He hardly knows me. Even Mom, who does, was quick to forget I have a plan and I’m not wavering from it.
“I’m just doing what Mom wanted,” I reply carefully. “Visiting the schools, going on the tours, you know.”
“Yeah . . .” Lewis draws out the word, emphasizing his disbelief. “There’s a difference between doing what Mom wants and doing what Mom wants at seven in the morning. Not even you cling that tightly to her every wish.” Once again, I ignore the jab. He’s only trying to get a rise out of me. “You wouldn’t have hauled my ass out of bed bright and early for this itinerary,” he continues, pursing his lips, and with dread I watch an idea enter his eyes. “Do you have your own plans in Providence?”
“No,” I say quickly—too quickly. The instant the word exits my mouth, I know I’ve blundered into a conversational bear trap.
Confirming my worries, Lewis grins wolfishly. “Oh, I get it,” he goads. “I know what’s going on here. You know a girl at Brown? The hot girl from high school who’s a couple years older than you who you still have a thing for? Everyone has their upperclassman crush,” he pontificates. “Nicole Kepler. Whoo.” He bites a knuckle, performing the jock-bro role he’s evidently gotten used to. “Went to Berkeley. Your Nicole Kepler goes to Brown, doesn’t she?”
“There’s no . . . Nicole Kepler,” I fumble to contradict him. “It’s not that.”
“Uh-huh.” Lewis glances over. “There’s a girl. There’s definitely a girl.”
“What’s it to you?” I ask harshly. Lewis isn’t really interested. He’s never been interested in my life. He’s just playing his favorite game of pressing me about girls, putting on the older brother posture and flaunting his own casualness in romantic conquests. It’s Twenty Questions, except with a victim.
“I’m just curious,” he answers. “I’m going to figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Of course there’s not.”
“Whatever,” I reply, fuming.
“Whatever?” Lewis repeats. “Are you feeling all right? Don’t you mean antediluvian vagaracity or something?”
Here goes the dictionary shit. I didn’t even have to pull out the book. “Vagaracity isn’t a word,” I reply flatly.
Lewis ignores the retort, something he’s infuriatingly good at, and nods confidently to himself. “There’s definitely a girl.”
Fitz
I GET TO the Brown information session at ten minutes to ten and out of breath. There’s a punishing hill between the bed-and-breakfast where Lewis and I checked in this morning and the campus. By the second block of close-to-vertical sidewalks, my legs were burning and I felt sweat stains forming under my parka. They’re practically neon lettering over my head proclaiming, Hey, everyone, Fitz is out of shape. It’s a cool look for possibly running into Juniper and Matt.
The Stephen Robert ’62 Campus Center is full of prospective students and hovering parents. Hours-old snow dusts the sculpture in the courtyard and the patio furniture. I walk into the foyer, pretending I’m not checking the hallway for a certain ponytail. In the presentation room, I choose a seat near the back with a view of the rest of the rows.