and Prisha time together today, I was immediately on board. It’s not like Prisha is moving to San Francisco tomorrow. They’ll have the rest of the school year together. But I know, and Fitz knows, no time is worth wasting.
We’ve driven for two hours on I-95, and it’s nearly noon. The gas station is crowded, three of the pumps occupied. I pull into the only open pump. Lewis, behind us, parks in one of the parking spaces. He gets out of the car and walks briskly toward the convenience store. I’ve never seen him move so fast, with this uncontainable energy, like he’s reaching for something with every step and gesture. He passes me on his way.
Pivoting, he walks backward toward the gas station while facing me. “What do you want to eat?” he asks without stopping.
“It’s fine.” I unscrew my gas tank and reach for the nozzle. “I’ll get it myself when I finish.”
“Nope,” Lewis replies. “It’s on me. A thank-you for last night.” He winks. It’s a total frat move, except I know Lewis well enough to no longer see the distant, disaffected bro in him. He’s being genuine.
I shrug. “Whatever looks freshest.”
He throws me a thumbs-up. “Solid.”
I watch him walk up to the store, where he catches up with Fitz. Lewis claps his brother hard on the shoulder. Startled, Fitz rounds on him—then looks glad to find Lewis. He shoves him off, laughing, and they walk in together.
Grinning, I return the nozzle to the pump. I recognize that laugh. It’s the laugh of Callie and Anabel pelting each other with snowballs in the front yard, the laugh of Marisa and me busting up while fighting when one of us drops a spectacular insult. I look toward Boston, and it hits me how I’m looking forward to those insults, those snowball fights.
Wanting to text my parents, I reach into the back seat for my phone, which is in my purse. The sleeve of my parka brushes the shoebox on the floor, knocking the lid off. I know the contents of the box like I know my memories, and instantly I identify what’s different.
I pull out a folded piece of paper. Its edge is jagged, like it’s been torn from a book.
Unfolding the page, I realize it’s from a dictionary. Fitz’s dictionary. My eyes jump from word to word, from impecunious to inchoate, before they light on an underlined entry. Indelible (adj.): impossible to erase or forget.
I refold the paper carefully, understanding Fitz completely. Our time together is the definition of unforgettable. If this were one of those dictionaries with illustrations for certain words, I know what picture would come with this entry. A bitterly cold night, a rooftop, a boy and a girl, and a reach of endless stars.
I look up as Fitz and Lewis walk out of the convenience store, and I make a vow. I’m going to enjoy every moment of our final night together.
Juniper
WE PARK IN a narrow treed alley that runs along one of Princeton’s Eating Clubs. Remembering the clubs from my online research, I explain to Fitz they’re really just coed fraternities that also function as fancy dining halls. Lewis parks nearby, and we follow him to Prospect Avenue.
We wait in front of the Cap and Gown Club house. It’s more of mansion, with three stories of dark brick and elegant detailing. I discern a French chateau influence in the stonework and structure. In the yard, tall trees stretch their limbs toward the gray sky of the afternoon, their bare branches trimmed with frost.
Two girls walk onto the front steps, one Indian and the other redheaded. Prisha and her friend, I’m guessing. When Lewis sees Prisha, he literally runs to her. He sweeps her into an embrace while she laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet.
“Come on,” I say to Fitz. “Let’s give them their privacy.”
He takes my hand, and we head toward campus. “Do you have a tour prepared for this school?” Fitz asks, steadying me when I slip on the icy sidewalk.
“I thought we could just walk together.” We pass through an archway in a building with an