“This isn’t about me getting wasted,” he replies. “Well, it’s mostly not about me getting wasted. Just try something, Fitz. For once, try something.”
I drop down onto the bed. “No,” I say resolutely.
Lewis sighs and walks to the door. With his hand on the handle, he pauses. “How about this?” he asks, turning back to me. “Come to this party and I promise, if you want, I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”
I blink, my thoughts snagging on a dozen discarded rebuttals. “What?” I get out. “What about Mom?”
“I’ll explain it to Mom. Let’s face it, we both know touring a bunch of schools you’ve decided not to like won’t change your mind about SNHU.”
I’m almost afraid to say it. Afraid this is a trap and Lewis is going to ridicule me or leave me behind without another word. “If I just go to this party,” I say slowly, “then you promise you’ll take me home tomorrow? No tricks?”
Lewis grins. “Get your coat.”
Juniper
I, JUNIPER RAMÍREZ, have officially slept in a college dorm.
There were things I knew I would love on this trip. The grandiose Gothic campuses, the new cities, even the presentations with their wonderfully real projections of the future. The distance from my family. What I didn’t know I’d love was every inch of room A314 in Keeney. The Brown flag hanging in the corner, the crooked posters of The Last Jedi and Radiohead, the three beanbag chairs, the windows with chipped white paint on the frames.
It’s everything I never knew to expect. It’s perfect.
We’re staying with Carter Wright, Matt’s former teammate from the baseball team, who’s a freshman. Carter’s roommate, Theo, inflated their air mattress, and we slept on the floor in between their twin beds. I didn’t care that we were in close quarters. Growing up with five siblings and sharing a room with Marisa my whole life prepared me very well for college.
Instead of the usual tour and information session, Carter gave us his own tour of the campus. We roamed for three hours, which left me plenty of time for every question I’d prepared on the drive down. He took us into places I’m pretty certain they don’t include on the official tour. His favorite dining hall for breakfast, the local coffee shop with the shortest lines, the lounge for when you’re pretending you want to study and really just want to hang out with friends. I held Matt’s hand, and the hours shed from the day effortlessly. It felt possible. It felt real.
Now we’re eating dinner out of Chinese takeout cartons as we sit on the beanbag chairs. The door is propped open, and people pass by on their way to the bathroom or to libraries or to parties, popping their heads in every now and then to talk to Carter or Theo. Theo’s computer is open on his desk, playing intolerable music from the college radio station. Thankfully, Theo keeps the volume nearly inaudible until the voice of the female host replaces the music. He turns the volume way up to hear Tina Wu’s commentary interlude. It’s kind of cute.
When I look to Matt, I find him thumbing through the textbook next to his beanbag. I read the cover. Introduction to Cosmology.
I nudge him. “What’s that?”
“What?” For once, Matt seems like he’s elsewhere. His eyes find mine, refocusing. “Oh, this astronomy book is just cool.”
“Tell me,” I urge him.
“It’s about the expansion of the universe.” He glances back to the book, and I have to say, his evident interest is kind of a turn-on. “It’s just not stuff we’ve learned in school,” he continues. “But the ideas are really, you know, big. Important. It’s unbelievable what’s out there.”
I lean into him. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know. It could be a cool class.” He closes the textbook.
“Definitely,” I say. “Could be a cool major, too.”
He looks timidly hopeful. I’m thrown forward, a year into the future. We’re here—or not here. The place isn’t important, because we’re together. I’m in an architecture program, and he’s in astronomy. I reach my creations toward the stars, while he reaches up and pulls the stars to us.
“What’s the senior trip this year?” Carter’s question interrupts my reverie.
“Lake Placid!” Matt replies enthusiastically. “White-water rafting, bonfire, the whole thing.”
Carter nods. “Okay, dude. Words of wisdom from an experienced college freshman. Don’t waste a moment of that trip. Now, college is the bomb,” he pronounces, holding up a hand like a Greek orator. “I’m just telling you, once high school is gone, it’s gone.”
He’s not wrong. I haven’t contemplated other moments closer in the future—the last time I’ll have lunch with Matt and our friends in the courtyard under the warm sun, the feeling of submitting my final papers and finishing final exams, the hug I know I’m going to give Ms. Delores for two years of English classes. They’ll be bittersweet moments, tearful congratulations, and half-happy goodbyes.
Matt takes my hand. I have a feeling he’s remembering those futures too.
I rest my head on his shoulder. Everything we’ll leave behind when we finish high school will hurt in a way I hadn’t predicted. But the edge of the pain blunts when I remember everything exhilarating to come. I’m not just leaving things behind. I’m leaving them for lunches in the quad, history lectures in wood-paneled halls, and the look on Matt’s face when he comes back from the first class he loves. Maybe it’ll be astronomy.
Fitz
ON THE WAY to my first and likely only college party, I observe the contrasts of campus nightlife like I’m watching one of the National Geographic specials I was really into when I got my wisdom teeth out and had hours of daytime to devote to television.
Girls in puffy coats over their short dresses wobble on high heels, and I honestly have no idea how they’re handling the ice. It’s got to be some secret college-girl skill, because not one of them even stumbles. In the opposite direction walk students probably on their way to the library, wearing sweatpants and huddling books to their chests. Loud music vibrates from dorms near darkened lecture halls.
Lewis leads us to the front patio of one of the dorms where the party has poured outside. People hang out on the porch swing, drinking from nondescript cups, while four guys play cornhole on the lawn. Lewis heads for the open door with what I’m guessing is practiced casual confidence. He probably goes to parties like this every weekend.
Inside, we head directly downstairs. The stairwell is painted with big Greek letters, and the floor is sticky. Bright, discordant murals cover the walls in the basement, which branches into hallways heading in every direction and packed with people. I pass what I assume is the fraternity’s crest and pause in front of a figure I recognize from a picture book. Caps for Sale. The character, a well-dressed salesman, holds his wares on his head, off of which they’re stolen by rowdy monkeys. I don’t remember the ending.