Her cheeks turn bright pink, and I become suddenly very aware of the smooth skin of her neck. The freckles brushing her jaw. Like she’s annoyed by her blush, she doesn’t drop her eyes and instead pins me under her scrutiny. “Okay, so I have a pretty good memory,” she says. Her voice is determined, but I notice a hint of bashfulness in her tone.
“That sounds like an understatement.” I want to ask her more, but not if it’s something she’s embarrassed about.
“Did you follow me to Providence?” She crosses her arms, obviously refusing to be distracted. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to someone so wholly single-minded.
“I didn’t follow you. I swear my itinerary had me at Brown today too,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mention it yesterday because, well, frankly—could your boyfriend be any more intimidating?” Her lips thin into an unamused line. “Besides, I wasn’t even sure you’d be at Brown. I just hoped you would be,” I continue, not wanting her to cut me off or walk away. “I’ll admit, though, just the chance I might get to see you again did increase my interest in the tour.”
She frowns and leans against the wall. Clearly, she’s skeptical, but she’s not leaving, so I’ll consider it a victory. I lean on the other side of the hallway, matching her posture. “That’s ridiculous,” she says. “You don’t even know me. You should be excited about your tour because it’s your future, not because you might run into some random girl.”
“Like I said, there are—”
“—‘things more important than college,’” she says, cutting me off. “Ugh, no.” I stifle a smile at how easily she reproduced my comment from yesterday. “I am definitely not more important than college,” she declares.
I shrug. “Maybe not. But you might be.” Even I’m aware of how much that sounded like a line when I didn’t intend for it to. First inviting her to have our cannoli together, now this? It’s not like Ben and Cooper and I spend our spare time practicing pickup lines. I would call myself friendly, not suave. Yet here I am, undeniably in the possession of game.
I expect her to roll her eyes or grimace, but she doesn’t.
“Okay, first,” she begins, “we just met, and unless you plan to stalk me down the coast, we won’t see each other again. Second, you should really prioritize college over girls. Third, we don’t even get along.” She hardly pauses for breath, each thought proceeding quickly and clearly one after the other. “And fourth, I have a boyfriend.”
“None of those points are real impediments,” I say, grinning. “Except the boyfriend one. Which it’s interesting that you listed last.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t know who this Fitzgerald Holton is. I kind of wish I did, though.
Juniper ignores the boyfriend comment, which is probably for the best. “Do you really not think college is important?” She’s honestly inquisitive, no longer pressing her case.
“It’s not that I don’t think it’s important,” I explain. “I just think it’s not as important as everyone says. Everything we hear this year is, Focus on college. This is the whole point of high school. This is the rest of your life. I just . . . think people need to remember other things are important too.”
Juniper is grimacing now. I guess I’m not surprised. “Since you don’t know me,” she says briskly, “let me tell you, college is the dream I’ve devoted my entire life to for four years. It’s really important to me. I don’t understand anyone who has the opportunity to go but feels it’s not worth their time.”
Her judgment sparks something in me. “It’s not that,” I say harshly, and then the words pour out, fast and free and uncontrollable. “Okay, honestly? When I say people focus too much on college, what I’m really saying is I don’t get to focus on college. I have to be home in New Hampshire for my mom. She’s—she’s going to get early-onset Alzheimer’s.” The admission trips awkwardly over my tongue. I’m not in the habit of telling other people my mom’s prognosis. “If I go to Southern New Hampshire University, I could live at home when she needs help. For me? Yeah—that’s more important than college.”
The instant I finish speaking, it hits me how forcefully the feelings flew out. Which I didn’t intend. The emotions just built up, and once I’d begun letting them out, I couldn’t stop.
I expect Juniper’s face to fall, for her eyes to fill with worry and regret. It’s why I don’t tell people—the inevitable and inevitably fleeting remorse.
Instead, her features harden. “Come on.” She rolls her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “You’re the worst, you know that? Now I can’t even be mad at you.”
I laugh, the sound echoing in the narrow hallway. Her reaction is surprising and utterly liberating. It emboldens me. “I’m certain I can find other ways to make you mad at me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she replies, her mouth twisting ever so slightly in what I hope is a smirk. I reach for a witty reply. But whoever this new game-having Fitzgerald Holton is, he’s left me hanging. Juniper’s studying me, her inquisitiveness ever-present. “How long has your mom known?”
I shove myself off the wall. I don’t fault Juniper for her curiosity, not when I’m the one who brought this up. She’s being kind, expressing real sympathy instead of burying the topic under pleasantries. But even though the only thing I’ve wanted to do for days with Lewis is talk about what’s happening to Mom, and even though this girl is inviting me to do exactly that, I don’t want to. Not right now. Not with Juniper’s eyes on me, with the music pulsing under our feet, with the night waiting outside.
For the first time, I’m not worried about what I’m missing at home. I’m only worried about what I might miss tonight.
“Like you said, we might never see each other again. I don’t want to waste the night dwelling on a disease that can’t be stopped. You’re here to see Brown, right?”
She nods.
I cross the hall to the fire escape. Opening the door, I’m suddenly grateful this frat’s in such an old building the door isn’t alarmed. I turn back to Juniper.
“Then let’s see Brown.”
Juniper
WHILE THE COLD blasts through the open door, I don’t move. I don’t know if it’s really a good idea to follow this boy I hardly know. He seems nice enough, but I’m not dumb. I know what can happen to girls who go off with a guy while college parties unfold downstairs.
But . . . I have my phone. Matt’s downstairs with Carter and would come immediately if I called. Which, of course, I’d do if I were uncomfortable in the least.