one of his roommates walks through the front door, and Lewis glances in his direction. The two exchange wordless nods. When Lewis turns back to me with his insouciant grin, I can tell he’s oblivious to how I’m feeling.
“Don’t worry, Fitz,” he says easily, “college will change everything.”
He doesn’t know that’s exactly what I don’t want—for everything to change. I don’t want to be two hours from home. I don’t want to lose the chance to check in with Mom every day, or to have to wait for a bus or a train or a flight in an emergency. I’ve worked hard to keep everything unchanging. It’s not easy, and it’s not something I’m intent on throwing away once I’m out of high school.
“Come on,” Lewis says, still oblivious. “I know a pizza place you’re going to like.”
Juniper
TRAFFIC ON I-90 was unbearable. I feel a leg cramp coming on as Matt and I reach the overpasses into the city. We’ve been on the road for nearly two hours, not counting the hour and a half we stopped for dinner at a highway diner in Allston.
Matt, of course, couldn’t look less bothered by the delay, though that might be because the diner had pumpkin-spice pancakes on the dinner menu. His appetite is aspirational, honestly. He’s nodding to the classic rock he chose on the radio, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
I watch the city come into view. I’ve only driven into Boston once or twice, but the route is written into my head regardless.
We drove through here when I was seven, when we left New York for Springfield. Abuela was having heart problems, and Tía needed help running the restaurant. We were only supposed to be in Springfield for a year, until my parents could find permanent help. But things changed. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since I spoke to Abuela or held her hand—the grief never fades.
My phone vibrating pulls me from the memories. “Would you check those?” I ask Matt, nodding to the phone.
He plucks the phone from the cup holder. “It’s your family,” he says, reading.
I groan. “If it’s Tía coming up with some ridiculous excuse for why I need to come home, tell her we have the tamales and this trip is happening.”
“It’s not just Sofi,” Matt replies. “It’s pretty much everyone. Marisa wants to know if you’ll drive her to some New Year’s party when you get back, Callie’s wondering where her extra phone charger is, Walker wants to use your computer—I would recommend no—and, yeah, Sofi’s just texted, ‘Don’t forget your family needs you and you need your family.’”
I grit my teeth. I’ve only been gone a couple of hours and they’re wanting a hundred different things from me. It’s like I have a job description written on my birth certificate. I get it—with my good grades, my uniquely sharp memory, my oldest-sibling status, I’m easy to depend on. Not like Marisa, who’s careless enough to literally lose her backpack for two whole days. Even Tía, while determined, is getting too old to do everything. If only my siblings could handle themselves sometimes, even every now and then.
Instead, it’s me. Every time. “Put my phone on silent,” I say. He does and returns my phone to the cup holder. My family is going to have to get used to the distance.
We drive into the city center, turning left onto Arlington and circumnavigating Boston Common. Last time I was here, the endless expanse of grass was filled with dogs catching Frisbees and kids feeding crackers to the ducks. Now, in the nighttime, it’s empty except for groups of teenagers sitting on the park benches or wandering the paths.
I pull up in front of the valet for the Liberty Hotel. Matt peers out my window, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“This isn’t our hotel,” he says.
“Isn’t it?” I reply coyly. I get out of the car and give my keys to the valet. Matt follows, pulling our itinerary from his pocket and unfolding the printout.
“Our parents got us rooms at the DoubleTree, Juniper.”