“Fine. Go ahead. I’ll go to Justin’s on my own.” Matt’s tone is utterly unlike him. Cold. Spiteful.
He turns for the door, and my temper ignites. “Seriously? You’re mad at me because I don’t want to go to a dumb party right now?”
“No. Why would I be mad about that?” he returns.
I know he’s being sarcastic, but I ignore him. First Marisa and Tía, and now this? I’m done holding my tongue. “We can hang out with Justin tomorrow after the Columbia tour. If we have time,” I add. “I want to make sure we see the city, too.”
Matt throws his arms up. “Sure. Whatever fits into your schedule, Juniper.”
The hardness of his voice wakes me up completely. This is bigger than Justin’s party, and I don’t know why.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
Matt sighs, and the sound is a gust of cold wind on my neck, sending chills tingling down my arms. “It means everything is about your dreams, your schedules. These are all your colleges we’re visiting.”
I stand, indignant. “That’s not true,” I protest.
“Fine. The majority are,” he fires back. “You think I have a shot of getting in to Brown or Columbia or Georgetown?”
“You could try—”
“You don’t understand,” he says, a new desperation awakening in his voice under the anger. He tears off his scarf and flings his coat on the dresser. “I don’t want to try. I don’t want to go to those schools. I want to go to a school with good parties and good sports. I want to tailgate with my friends before football games. I want to meet people in my classes who care about the things I care about. I want to have enough free time to visit you. But you don’t respect what other people want unless it lines up with your priorities.”
“I never said you couldn’t go to a school like that,” I argue, my face heating. It’s unbelievable. I tried countless times to get him to open up about what kind of future he wants, to describe to me his hopes and his horizons. “I asked you if you wanted to come on this trip, and you told me you did. If you had a problem with the itinerary, if you wanted to add schools, you should’ve said something. You should’ve told me what you wanted out of college. But you didn’t. You didn’t give me the chance to respect your priorities.”
Matt’s eyes narrow. “Right,” he says, clipping the word. “It’s all my fault.”
“Fault?” I repeat. I can feel the argument spinning out of control, car wheels skidding on black ice. “I don’t even understand what the problem is. You’ve known since the day we started dating that my dream was one of these schools. Remember? We talked about it on our second date when we walked to the bookstore after dinner and I found that college guide—”
“Don’t do that,” he cuts me off. “Don’t use your memory against me like ammunition. I can’t compete.”
“It’s not ammunition. It’s who I am,” I reply, stung. I take a breath, hoping to slow my racing heart. Matt’s chest is heaving too, and I want nothing more than to find our way back to an hour ago. “Look,” I say finally. “I just meant I’ve never made my aspirations a secret. I would hope that you, my boyfriend, would know how important college is to me.” My vision blurs, and a tear slips down my cheek. I wipe my eyes hurriedly, not entirely knowing why I’m crying. I drop my gaze to the floor.
It’s a long moment before Matt replies. When he does, his voice is different.
“You’re right,” he says softly. “You didn’t mislead me about anything. I’ve known all along what you wanted. I just—” His voice breaks, and I look up to find he’s crying. He thumbs away his tears, but they keep coming.
It’s heartbreaking, jarring and wrong, watching Matt cry. Tall, broad-shouldered Matt. Compassionate Matt. Life-of-the-party Matt. His shoulders quake, and the thought crashes through me, consuming everything, there is nothing that hurts worse than this. Than the person you love falling to pieces in front