Page 26 of Break Points and Face Offs

“My ma works as a preschool teacher.” I don’t bother trying to sound fancy for him. I imagine he picked up on some obvious identifier of my class the second we met. Catalogued it away for later use. But I’m not ashamed of my background. My parents worked hard to raise me, to show me what really matters.

“Teachers are important,” he says. I think he’s being sincere.

“Yeah, they are.”

“And what does your father do?”

“He’s a firefighter.”

“Wow, you’ve got yourself a veritable house of heroes back in Boston, don’t you?” I can’t tell if he’s being snarky or not.

We’re silent for a moment. The stereo is set to some talk radio station.

“Is that where you did your undergrad degree? Boston?”

Like he hasn’t looked me up already. I know I looked him up. It was pretty easy. He was all over the Princeton website holding tennis trophies and posing in front of a fraternity house in a fucking blazer and tie.

“Yep.”

“BC or BU?”

“Boston College, obviously.”

He laughs. “So that rivalry is real then?”

“About as real as Yale and Harvard.”

Priestley makes a noise that’s a little less than gentlemanly. “Please. Yale and Harvard have nothing on Princeton.”

The pride on his face barely masks the determination just under the surface. Who is he trying to convince?

“But your ma works at Harvard.”

“Harvard can have Harvard Law, but that’s only because Princeton is primarily an undergrad college.”

“That’s true,” I agree.

“So how come didn’t do your undergrad here?”

He’s probably waiting for me to say I didn’t get in or I couldn’t afford it. The latter would have been true if they hadn’t offered me a hockey scholarship—full ride. I shrug.

“I got into Princeton, but my ma got sick. Boston College was my second choice. Both offered me a hockey scholarship and so I took the Boston one so I could be closer to her.”

“Oh.”

It takes him a beat to add, “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult.”

He’s stiff when he says it, like he doesn’t actually know how to sympathize or offer comfort. It’s weird, and kind of sad.

“Thanks. It was. But she’s better now. So, that’s why I’m here.”

“Your grad degree will override your undergrad one anyway,” he adds, reminding me—like I could forget—how much of a snob he is. “All employers will see is Princeton grad school on your resume.”

I roll my eyes. “Boston College is a great school, too.”

“Of course.”

But it’s not Ivy League though, right? Well, neither is MIT or Stanford or UCLA.