of that trip. Now, college is the bomb,” he pronounces, holding up a hand like a Greek orator. “I’m just telling you, once high school is gone, it’s gone.”
He’s not wrong. I haven’t contemplated other moments closer in the future—the last time I’ll have lunch with Matt and our friends in the courtyard under the warm sun, the feeling of submitting my final papers and finishing final exams, the hug I know I’m going to give Ms. Delores for two years of English classes. They’ll be bittersweet moments, tearful congratulations, and half-happy goodbyes.
Matt takes my hand. I have a feeling he’s remembering those futures too.
I rest my head on his shoulder. Everything we’ll leave behind when we finish high school will hurt in a way I hadn’t predicted. But the edge of the pain blunts when I remember everything exhilarating to come. I’m not just leaving things behind. I’m leaving them for lunches in the quad, history lectures in wood-paneled halls, and the look on Matt’s face when he comes back from the first class he loves. Maybe it’ll be astronomy.
Fitz
ON THE WAY to my first and likely only college party, I observe the contrasts of campus nightlife like I’m watching one of the National Geographic specials I was really into when I got my wisdom teeth out and had hours of daytime to devote to television.
Girls in puffy coats over their short dresses wobble on high heels, and I honestly have no idea how they’re handling the ice. It’s got to be some secret college-girl skill, because not one of them even stumbles. In the opposite direction walk students probably on their way to the library, wearing sweatpants and huddling books to their chests. Loud music vibrates from dorms near darkened lecture halls.
Lewis leads us to the front patio of one of the dorms where the party has poured outside. People hang out on the porch swing, drinking from nondescript cups, while four guys play cornhole on the lawn. Lewis heads for the open door with what I’m guessing is practiced casual confidence. He probably goes to parties like this every weekend.
Inside, we head directly downstairs. The stairwell is painted with big Greek letters, and the floor is sticky. Bright, discordant murals cover the walls in the basement, which branches into hallways heading in every direction and packed with people. I pass what I assume is the fraternity’s crest and pause in front of a figure I recognize from a picture book. Caps for Sale. The character, a well-dressed salesman, holds his wares on his head, off of which they’re stolen by rowdy monkeys. I don’t remember the ending.
In front of one wall decorated with Jigglypuff from Pokémon, Lewis heads left. I follow him into what I gather is the fraternity’s taproom. It’s chaotically decorated, with white Christmas lights strung haphazardly from the ceiling and trash or people’s drinks covering every inch of the wooden countertop. I don’t know how people tell which is which.
The room is hopelessly crowded. Girls dance in the center to excruciatingly loud music. The guys hang out in the wooden booths built into the walls, drinks in hand, watching everything and nothing. Lewis heads for the counter of endless cups while I remain near the door.
I feel profoundly out of place.
Lewis returns holding his drink. We head back into the hallway, which is good because with the music and the lights and the jostling bodies and the pungent smell of beer, I’d started to feel a bit dizzy. I breathe deeply in the hall, reminding myself I just have to do this for one night. Then I get to go home, get to put this trip behind me and focus on what’s important.
“I’m going to play a round.” Lewis nudges me, nodding in the direction of the Ping-Pong table we passed on the way in. It occupies a ridiculous amount of the hallway, and teams of two play beer pong. There’s yelling and drinking every time one of the Ping-Pong balls drops into a plastic cup.
I nod wordlessly.
“I could teach you if you want,” Lewis offers.
“I’m good,” I reply. “I think I’ll walk around.” I turn in the opposite direction with utterly no