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“Not sure, Spence. Maybe from middle school?”
“Seriously?” Bones asked as if it couldn’t possibly be true because I’d attended a private school—we all did—and Lark clearly didn’t belong there, or here for that matter.
“He’s obviously a scholarship kid.” This from Flash. It was something he and others liked to point out every semester. Let’s tease the kid that had to work hard to get here. That never made sense to me. They were essentially making fun of themselves.
Did Lark still dance? Was he here for Roosevelt’s reputable program?
I knew that much, at least. Football wasn’t the only extracurricular option. In fact, I’d argue that the dance program was more successful than the university’s contact sports, even if our games drew larger crowds.
“Or maybe he’s a fan,” A-Train said, tongue in cheek. “All hail Henners, the quarterback God.”
I rolled my eyes, though it was true that students recognized some athletes. But I didn’t revel in it like some of the others did. I only came to Roosevelt because my dad had insisted, despite Mom claiming it was my decision. Yeah, right. I wouldn’t have heard the end of it. But the school’s engineering program was top rated, and as long as I earned my degree, I’d make my parents proud.
After my hospital stay, they’d sent me off to a private high school where I played football and was scouted by several colleges, finally settling on this one. I loved football, was good at it, but I didn’t think it was sustainable long-term. And not for a kid who’d recovered from cancer. Not that I wasn’t in top shape, but because deep down my fears about relapse practically ruled my thoughts every time I got sick with something as common as a cold.
I was officially in remission going on seven years now, and my parents still acted like my time in and out of the hospital wasn’t a huge turning point in my life. They rarely discussed it—except to donate to cancer organizations every year.
But now that Lark was here and knew my secret, I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Catch you later, guys.” I followed one of the pathways to the engineering building, which seemed the quickest route on the sprawling campus. I stepped inside my first class, which was technical writing, and greeted a couple of familiar kids from the program. I was good at my core subjects, especially calculus, and had even volunteered for peer tutoring in a freshman class called Pre-calculus Review. It earned me a credit and would likely be a breeze this semester.
Thankfully, this stuff came easily to me. I could barely concentrate all through class, which was just as well because we’d only gotten through the syllabus so far. Everyone looked just as bored, so hopefully that wasn’t a preview of the rest of the semester. Doubtful, though. I drifted into the space of my own thoughts again.
Had Lark earned a scholarship like Flash suggested? Not that Lark’s parents couldn’t afford it, necessarily, but I remembered our conversations about medical bills, public schools, and his mom’s job in retail, if my memory served me right. None of that mattered, not really. But it certainly did to other people. Like my parents.
Lark being somewhere on the same campus right then was surreal. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d thought about him over the years and had even kept his letter in a drawer at home.What would he make of that, I wondered.
I’d hoped against hope that he went into remission, and now I had my answer.
Lark Levitt had survived and then some.
3
LARK
I was still completely distractedthat I’d seen Henry Albrecht. Despite that, my first period English class seemed promising—I was always good at expressing myself on paper and through music. I was also required to take general education classes such as science and math, which was unfortunate since I was less proficient in those subjects. But I definitely looked forward to my afternoon History of Dance course, as well as tap and ballet tomorrow.
I even made a new friend, though probablyacquaintancewould be a better word. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I wasn’t the best at retaining many friends outside of Pete, mostly because I’d been made fun of so much I had learned to close myself off. But any amount of social interaction might help me get through the semester if Henry planned to ignore me the whole time.
There was still the possibility that he just didn’t recognize me. For now, I’d go with that.
“Hi,”my now new friend had said as soon as I sat down beside him. I recognized him from audition day and possibly orientation too.“I’m Emil. I see you got in.”
If I remembered correctly, he came out of his audition smiling, knowing he’d rocked it. The only rocking I’d done was in my bed at night, imagining myself blowing it.“You too.”
My hands had shaken opening the acceptance letter last year, and then I shouted so loudly I’d woken Star from a nap. But Mom and I had celebrated that night with store-bought cake, eating it right from the container. Pete was there too, and we’d hung out until late into the night, talking and dreaming.
“What do you think so far?” Emil asked.
I snickered. “I don’t know. I just got here. But I suppose it holds promise. Anything would be better than high school.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, and suddenly I liked him even more. “I’m from Hoboken. There weren’t many guys in dance class either.”
“I hear you. Nobody really got it—got me.”
“So maybe this will be different,” he replied dreamily.
“Here’s hoping.”
