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“Someone from Brown.”
“Are you going to go there?”
“I have to get in. Officially. But yeah. I guess I probably will.”
I feel like I’m being suffocated by thick green slime.
“What are you going to do about college?” I ask suddenly. Strange how I haven’t asked him about this before.
“I’m going to take a year off,” he says. “Last night, I was looking at the essay portion of my application to Amherst when it hit me. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be part of the system. That probably shocks you, doesn’t it?”
“No. It’s your life.”
“Yeah, but how are you going to feel about having a deadbeat boyfriend?”
“You’re not a deadbeat. You’re smart. Really smart.”
“I’m a regular genius,” he says. And after another second: “Do we have to go to this party?”
“Yes,” I insist. “Lali has it every year. If we don’t show up, she’ll be really hurt.”
“You’re the boss,” he says. I follow him out of the house, wishing we didn’t have to go to the party, either. Write what you know. That was the best George could come up with? A cliché? Damn him. Damn everything. Why is it all so goddamned hard?
“If it wasn’t difficult, everyone would do it,” Peter says, holding court to a small group of kids who are clustered around the couch. Peter has just been accepted to Harvard, early decision, and everyone is impressed. “Bioengineering is the hope of the future,” he continues as I drift away and find Maggie sitting in the corner with The Mouse.
The Mouse looks like she’s being held hostage. “Honestly, Maggie,” she says, “this is great for Peter. It makes us all look good if someone from Castlebury gets into Harvard.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with us,” Maggie counters.
“I can’t believe Peter got into Harvard,” Lali says, pausing on her way to the kitchen. “Isn’t it great?”
“No,” Maggie says firmly. Everyone is thrilled for Peter—everyone, it seems, but Maggie.
I understand her despair. Maggie is one of the millions of kids out there who have no idea what they want to do with their lives—like Sebastian, I suppose, and Lali. When someone close to you figures it out, it pulls you up short in front of your own wall of indecision.
“Harvard is only an hour and a half away,” I say soothingly, trying to distract Maggie from what’s really bothering her.
“It doesn’t matter how far it is,” she says glumly. “Harvard is not any old college. If you go to Harvard, you become someone who went to Harvard. For the rest of your life, it’s what people say about you: He went to Harvard—”
Maybe it’s because I’ll never go to Harvard and I’m jealous, but I hate all this elitist talk. Who you are shouldn’t be defined by where you go to college. It probably is, though.
“And if Peter is always going to be the guy who went to Harvard,” Maggie continues, “I’m always going to be the girl who didn’t.”
The Mouse and I exchange glances. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get a beer,” The Mouse says.
“What does she care?” Maggie says, looking after her. “She’s going to Yale. She’ll be the girl who went to Yale. Sometimes I think Peter and The Mouse should date. They’d be perfect for each other.” There’s an unexpected bitterness in her voice.
“The Mouse is dating someone,” I say gently. “Remember?”
“Right,” she says. “Some guy who doesn’t live around here.” She waves her arm in dismissal. She’s drunk, I realize.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“It’s cold outside,” she protests.
“It’s good for us.”
On our way out, we pass Sebastian and Lali in the kitchen. Lali has put Sebastian to work, placing mini hot dogs from the oven onto a plate. “We’ll be right back,” I call out.
