It’s confusing.
We walk together up the path to the hotel lobby, our breath visible in the night. If tonight had gone differently, I would be trying to wring this night for every minute together. I would wait with her, walk her to her room, even stay up late with her watching TV or talking until I can’t keep my eyes open. But I turn for the elevators, leaving her at the front desk to check into her room.
“So we’ll meet down here at ten tomorrow and head to the Swarthmore campus?” Juniper asks behind me. She sounds tentative, even nervous.
“Yeah. See you then.” My reply is terse and tepid, and I hate it. I wish I could forget the last hour of my life. Not just the distance widening between Juniper and me, but how I now know she views me. It’s a huge thing to put behind me, to erase from my thoughts.
I continue to the elevators and punch in the floor Lewis texted me. Walking down the hotel hallway, I let myself hope that a night’s sleep will fix us. Tomorrow morning will be a new day. It has to be, because I’m not ready for Juniper and me, for this trip, to be over. I’m not ready to return to the life I had planned.
Lewis opens the door in his sweats when I knock. He gives me a bro nod that I don’t bother to figure out the right response to. I ignore him and walk in, planning to pass out on the bed immediately. Except somehow Lewis has managed to take over both of the queen beds with what I can only guess is every item from his suitcase. I pick the less cluttered one and remove Lewis’s shirt and jeans.
“Sorry about the mess,” Lewis says. I’m distantly grateful when he begins grabbing loose items and tossing them back in his bag. “I thought you might be staying with Juniper.”
“We’re not even dating,” I mutter. I pull my sweats from my suitcase, hoping to escape this conversation quickly.
“Yeah . . .” Lewis draws the word out. “That’s not really the way things work in college. Come on, dude. This is one of the perks of traveling with your chill older brother.”
“I wasn’t aware there were any perks,” I snap.
In the corner of my peripheral vision I catch his expression falter. It’s not a frown, not a flinch—only a nearly imperceptible fading. It’s enough to make me feel guilty, not enough for me to be conciliatory. Especially not when he’s prodded and joked and insinuated every chance he gets.
He continues to consolidate his unpacked clothes, saying nothing. I change quickly, and it’s not long before we hit the lights. Even with the room dark and quiet, I feel the tension pressing out on the walls, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. We’ve had moments, flickers of levity and something like friendship, over the past week. But the pressure beneath them is growing. I don’t know how much longer I can pretend it’s not.
Tomorrow is a new day, I remind myself, the starchy hotel pillow crunching under my head. I roll over once, twice, becoming gradually aware how far I am from sleep. It takes me longer to figure out why, to realize it’s not only the disconnect with my brother or the unpleasant tension with Juniper.
It’s the possibility she’s right. I know I’m not wrong to worry what’ll happen when my mom’s prognosis turns into a diagnosis. What’s wiring my thoughts right now is the question of where real worry ends and where excuses begin. I’ve convinced myself for years I don’t care where I go to college, convinced myself I couldn’t try things because of my mom’s situation. But furthermore, I’ve convinced myself she’s the only reason I wouldn’t have tried those things. I didn’t consider the possibility I would’ve found other excuses if circumstances were different.
It’s disorienting because I honestly don’t know if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time.
Juniper
I WALKED INTO the lobby fifteen minutes early to wait for Fitz and Lewis to emerge from the elevator. Swarthmore’s only tour today was full, so I prepared my own in the hours before I went to sleep last night, hunting up destinations and history on my phone while under the covers in my empty room. But today, I’m hardly thinking of touring Swarthmore, too wrapped up in the regret that preoccupied me while I showered in the tight hotel bathroom and robotically threw on my clothes, my scarf and jacket.
I want to correct the things I said to Fitz. I went too far, criticizing him for using his mom as an excuse. It’s not that I don’t believe what I said—I do—only, in the context of the fight, it sounded like it’s the only thing I think of him. Which trivialized how difficult I understand his situation is, how brave I know he’s being in the face of hard problems. There aren’t many people who would challenge themselves the way he has. He needs to hear those things too.
Five minutes past the hour, the elevator dings open and Fitz steps out. Lewis is right behind, rubbing his eyes. Fitz looks everywhere but at me.
“Good morning, Juniper,” Lewis says wearily when they reach me.
I give him a tight smile, but I’m focused on Fitz. His expression is muted, his eyes distant. It’s not the cold expressionlessness of a statue. It’s closer to the apprehensiveness of a statue that’s just come to life and has no idea who he is.
Lewis seems to notice the off-kilter dynamic between us. “Well,” he says, clearly trying to sound cheerful, “I’m off to find a café. I have a take-home final due by midnight, and I have not studied. Have fun.”
“Good luck.” I tug nervously on my scarf.
Lewis glances at his brother, and I read the concern in his eyes. Instead of saying something, though, he walks toward the door, leaving me alone with Fitz.
The unspoken words between us hum unpleasantly in the hubbub of the hotel lobby. I can’t take it anymore. “Look,” I start, “I was out of line last night, and I’m sorry.” I inhale, preparing to continue when he preempts me.
“It’s fine,” he says.
I study him, unconvinced. “Is it? Because—”
“Fitz?” A voice echoes from across the lobby. I turn to find a girl standing a few feet behind me wearing a Swarthmore sweatshirt. She looks our age. Her hair is wispy and white-blond, light and fine like spun silver. She’s nerdy, if in a cute way.
I’ve hardly processed her saying Fitz’s name when he turns to her, a range of expressions I can’t decipher crossing his face.
“Cara,” he says, closing the gap between them. “Hi. How are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m good,” Cara says enthusiastically. I wonder how much of that enthusiasm comes from seeing Fitz. “I’m here with my parents to talk to the Swarthmore coach. What about you?”
“Wow, really? For soccer, right?” I can’t help comparing Fitz’s genuine interest in Cara with his remove toward me.
Cara nods. “I applied early and got in.” She sounds proud if a bit embarrassed to share the news.
“Then you’re definitely going?” Fitz asks.
She grins. “Yeah. It’s been my dream school forever.” She self-consciously tucks a strand of her blond hair behind her ear.
“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.
I think of texting Cara but ultimately decide not to, knowing I’ll only end up ruminating on everything I’ve given up.
Juniper emerges from a crowd of people on the other end of the room.
Or everything I will give up. I shove the thought from my head, focusing instead on the Juniper in front of me now. She looks beautiful. Her ponytail bounces as she walks, her cheeks pink with the cold, her eyes brilliant with their ever-present curiosity.
She searches the room, not yet finding me. I watch her say something to a girl texting by the window. The girl glances up, and then just like that they’re having a conversation. It’s that easy for her. She approaches people, and they’re instantly friends.
It’s the final push I needed. The last unwelcome indication I’m not part of this world—not part of Juniper’s world. Watching everyone enjoying themselves, close and convivial, I realize I have no reason to be here. I turn to leave and collide with a tall, harried-looking guy.
“Hey, how much time is left?” he asks me. “I forgot my phone in McCabe.”
“Uh.” I falter, looking behind me to see if he’s talking to someone else. There’s no one. The guy watches me expectantly. “How much time until what?”
“Midnight. The scream?” he clarifies, except it’s no clarification to me.
I pull out my phone, though, and check the time. “It’s 11:58. What’s the scream?”
“Freshman?” For some reason, the guy sounds delighted.
“Prospective student, actually,” I reply.
“Dude, awesome.” He drops a heavy hand onto my shoulder and shakes me congenially. “The Primal Scream is when everyone literally screams, letting out the stress and pain of studying for finals. Then we have breakfast. We’ll be up all night studying anyway. Might as well have pancakes, right?” I nod, unable to refute his logic. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asks.
“Fitz,” I tell him.
“Fitz?” he repeats. “Cool name. I’m Dave.”
Behind Dave, a girl clambers up onto one of the dining tables. People quiet, eyes turning to her. “Ten!” she shouts. Voices join her as she counts down. “Nine. Eight. Seven.”
“When she reaches the end, scream as loud as you can about whatever you want. Whatever you have to let out,” Dave says.
“I—” I want to tell Dave I’m not interested in screaming or traditions or breakfasts. Except the words don’t come. Dave waits with me in the entryway, counting down.
“Two. One.”
The room explodes. Everyone raises their heads and screams, shouting shared frustration and fury and maybe even elation into the packed room. It’s the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. It rings deafeningly, and I swear the roof beams shudder. It stuns me for a second, until Dave jostles me with his shoulder, and like the strange energy in the room compels me, I follow everyone.
I scream.
I send everything weighing me down into the din. The fear I’ve held on to about my mom, the huge questions I’m facing in my future, the doubt I can be what Juniper wants. I shred my vocal cords, hearing my voice disappear into the chorus of release.
Next to me, a guy I don’t know steps between Dave and me and throws his arms around our shoulders. The three of us, me and Dave and this complete fucking stranger wail together until we’re out of breath.
When finally the scream dies down, I’m grinning. The entire room feels calmer. A line for food starts to form, and I spot Cara in the midst of a group of girls wearing Swarthmore soccer sweatpants. She’s flushed the way I undoubtedly am. The girl next to her in line has her arm hooked through Cara’s, the two looking like longtime friends.
Cara sees me and waves. I wave back.
“What’d you think?” Dave nudges me, wild-eyed and visibly hyped.
I don’t think before I reply. “Obstreperous.” It’s the first word that jumps into my head, and I regret it immediately. It sounds obnoxious, pretentious.
Time of Our Lives Page 20
