“That’s amazing. Congratulations.” Fitz beams. His unrestrained happiness for her hits me hard. It’s funny how when you’re fighting with someone, they split into two people. One is friendly and generous with everyone else, and the other is angry and resentful exclusively for you. “We’re here to tour the campus,” Fitz tells her.
Cara finally shifts her eyes toward me like she’s only now noticed I’m here.
“Oh, sorry,” Fitz hurries to say. “This is Juniper. She’s looking at Swarthmore too.”
Her posture stiffens, and I immediately pick up on a jealous vibe. “Hey, I’m Cara.” She watches me with something short of suspicion, if nothing close to friendliness. “How do you guys know each other?”
“We just happened to meet while on our own college tours. We kind of hit it off right away,” I tell Cara, sending a small smile at Fitz. His expression softens, and I’m swept off my feet by a wave of relief. “What about you guys? I’m guessing you go to school together?”
“Yeah. Since elementary school,” Cara says emphatically. I get the message. “Fitz was my date to the eighth grade dance,” she continues, eyeing him and blushing.
Fitz blushes too, and suddenly it becomes apparent I’m the third wheel in this conversation.
“Cara very graciously put up with my first and final public display of dancing,” he comments, and I get the feeling he’s enjoying the recollection.
Cara laughs. “It wasn’t that bad,” she replies. She elbows him gently. “I remember having a good time.”
“Me too,” Fitz says, and his humor is gone. He looks sad, but I can’t quite interpret why. If he’s still carrying a torch for Cara, he wouldn’t have a reason to be upset, because she’s right here in front of him, unmistakably delighted to see him. It’s something else.
“Well, I should go,” Cara says. “I have to drop my bag in the dorm I’m staying in tonight. One of the freshmen on the team is hosting me. But hey,” she continues, her eyes lighting up, “the girl I’m staying with mentioned there’s this big midnight breakfast tonight to kick off finals. In Sharples Hall. You should come. Both of you,” she clarifies reluctantly. “It sounds totally weird and great.”
I have to admit, I’m intrigued. It’s exactly the kind of real college experience I went on this trip wanting. I doubt Fitz will go for it, though, remembering how much he didn’t want to be at the Brown party.
“That sounds cool,” Fitz says. “I think I will.” I turn to him, not bothering to hide my disbelief. I don’t know if it’s because he’s frustrated with me or because Cara’s there or what. Whatever it is, it’s thoroughly unfamiliar.
“Great,” Cara says. “I’ll see you there.” She gives Fitz a quick hug, then runs over to meet her parents, who are holding her bag near the revolving door.
“You don’t have to come, of course,” Fitz says to me. He sounds generous, but I can’t help wondering if he’s hinting he doesn’t want me there.
“No, I’ll come,” I say, trying not to be hurt. “Hey,” I venture. “Are we okay?”
“Totally.”
It’s exactly the response I wanted, and he says it with enough conviction that I should believe him. But I don’t. We walk toward the revolving door, then into the cold day, and I can’t help feeling unbalanced. Fitz has become an unlikely handhold while the other pieces of my life tilt and tumble. With my grip slipping, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on until I tumble too.
Fitz
ALL DAY, I make the effort to be normal with Juniper. I want to be. Otherwise, our limited time together will be wasted. But while I don’t resent what she said, I’m desperate to convince her I’m not the person she thinks I am. How to do it is the problem.
We’re completely cordial to each other while we tour Swarthmore. I follow her on the route she’s compiled through the campus, complete with facts on important buildings and campus lore. Our fight doesn’t come up, nor her apology. But our connection is off, interrupted, altered in a way I don’t know how to fix.
While we tour the campus, I try to concentrate on the beautiful stony buildings and the wide cropping of trees. American elms, Juniper informs me. Forcing myself to compare this campus to others I’ve visited in the full week now I’ve been on the road, I struggle to think the way I did in New York. To imagine a possible future here.
I can’t. I keep circling back to Juniper’s words, and to the weird excitement of seeing Cara in our hotel. Cara, who I’d danced with, whose drawings I’d admired, who I could’ve fallen for had I not fallen into the habit of hiding from things in deference to my mom’s health. It’s not like I’m interested in Cara now. But she’s a reminder of everything I’ve given up, one of the formerly open doors in my life that I closed because I had to.
The thought preoccupies me while we perambulate Swarthmore. We have lunch off campus, kabobs and pita. Juniper invites me to tour UPenn with her after we eat, and I hear lingering uncertainty in her voice. I do no better, declining with the excuse I want to rest in the hotel before the midnight breakfast. I nap in the room for a couple of hours and then find dinner with Lewis. He brings his laptop with him to the restaurant and works on his exam the whole time.
I don’t head back to the Swarthmore campus until close to eleven thirty. I’m expecting the every-which-way energy I remember from Brown, the chaos of partygoers and red cups littering porches and drunken choruses ringing from the windows. Instead, the campus is subdued. It’s quiet. Not the tranquil quiet of normal weeknights, either. There’s a nervous tension everywhere, like Lewis’s unreachable intensity when I left him working in the hotel room.
I text Juniper to tell her I’m close to Sharples Hall. She doesn’t reply, which I try to keep from bothering me.
Sharples Hall is wide and low, the walls of gray stone with steep sloping rooftops covered in snow. I walk inside, entering one of the Hogwarts-style dining halls I’ve come to recognize from the week’s campus tours, with rows of long wooden tables and huge circular chandeliers in the reddish-wood room. Everyone filing in with me looks exhausted, trudging in with bleary eyes, untidy hair, and three-day beards. But despite their obvious weariness, they seem upbeat, even lively. Students flit from table to table, laughing, consoling their friends in the occasional pre-finals panic. It’s the very definition of camaraderie.
I watch from the entryway, regretting the decision to come. I don’t know anyone here. When I get to college, wherever I go, it’ll be no different. A college acceptance doesn’t come with a cool, close-knit group of friends. I’ll be on my own, lingering uncomfortably on the edges of every event, waiting for the one friend I’ve made to spare me from spending the night shifting on my feet and saying nothing.