Catherine (19 page)

Though I hadn’t mentioned any of this to Hence yet, as I inhaled his scent on my pillow,
a new and thrilling idea occurred to me: Maybe he could apply to Harvard, too? Or,
failing that, some other nearby school—Emerson, or Berklee College of Music. Maybe
I could even talk Dad into helping out with his tuition. That last part would be tricky;
I wouldn’t want my father to suspect that Hence and I were a couple—at least not while
we were still living under his roof. Even so, I felt pretty certain I could pull it
off without arousing Dad’s suspicion. The best way to get Dad to do anything was to
plant an idea in his head and let it grow there for a while, until he thought it was
his own. Some night after dinner, when Dad was in a good mood, I would ask him whether
he thought Hence would ever go to college. That would get him started on his own Harvard
memories, and on how these days everyone needs a college education—a speech I’d heard
a thousand times before. And I would mention how smart Hence was, and how he had next
to nothing—no money, no family, and no chance at going to college.

The tricky part would be convincing Dad that I was casually interested in Hence’s
well-being, that he had become a cause, like
some little kid in Zambia or Appalachia who needed money for shoes or dental care.
The last thing I wanted to do was let on how much Hence’s future mattered to
me
.

As certain as I was that Hence would be psyched about my plan to get him into college,
something kept me from mentioning it to him, until the day I couldn’t help myself.
We were headed home from rehearsal. The subway car was crowded, but we’d managed to
score the last two seats, and even though a few passengers had groused about Hence’s
amp and guitar case being in the way, he was in a great mood. Practice had gone well,
and he was building a rapport with Andy, Stan, and Ruben. A gig at the Big Bang—Hence’s
first as lead singer—had been scheduled for the following month. As clubs go, the
Big Bang wasn’t quite as big a deal as The Underground, but almost.

Hence was as talkative as I’d ever seen him. “I like how serious the guys are,” he
was saying. “Riptide isn’t a hobby to them—it’s their lives. Besides, they’re good
guys. That will be key when we go on tour together. Once the album’s done, we may
even get to do an international tour. The U.S.
and
Western Europe.”

“You’ll love Europe,” I said, a little absently. “It’s magical—all the villages and
castles.” Somewhere around the edges of my consciousness, an unpleasant new thought
was creeping in, one I hadn’t let myself entertain until now.

“I’ll love seeing it with you,” he responded. “Between gigs, you can take me around
to places you’ve been.”

But by then the unpleasant thought had formed and taken hold. “When would this be,
this tour of Europe?”

“It would probably start next summer. Does it matter? I’ll have to quit The Underground,
but your dad will understand.”

“Um.” I barely knew where to start. It wasn’t like I hadn’t mentioned my college plans
to Hence. More than once, I’d gone on and on about the trip to Cambridge my family
took when I was ten, about how much I’d loved it there—the redbrick buildings and
the cool, leafy courtyards. It was true that I hadn’t said much about the applications
I was starting to fill out. I hadn’t mentioned the plans I’d been working on for Hence’s
education, and how I was going to convince Dad to help out with tuition. “How long
would the tour be?” Maybe it would just be a summer thing. That would be fine.

Hence laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, Catherine. It’s all hypothetical right now. Our
manager is still working out the details.”

“Hypothetical.” That sounded better. I rested my hand on Hence’s knee. It wasn’t his
fault he couldn’t read my mind. I made my voice as light as I possibly could. “You
know, I’ve been thinking, these last few weeks. About what comes after graduation.”
I bit the bullet. “Have you ever thought about college?”

Hence snorted, and the woman across the aisle looked up from her
Daily News
to give him a disapproving look. “What would I need college for?”

“Everyone needs college. To get in the door anywhere, you need a bachelor’s degree.”
It was my father’s speech, coming through my lips. “Even creative people. Especially
creative people.”

“Get in what door?” Hence said. “I’ve already got a job. Riptide’s
the only door I need to get into….” His expression changed. “We passed our stop. Now
we’re going to have to walk ten blocks.”

“Big deal.”

“You’re not the one hauling an amp.” This was the first time Hence had ever gotten
angry at me, and I didn’t like the edge to his voice. At the next stop, we carried
his stuff out onto the platform, and our conversation stalled while we climbed up
into daylight.

“Musicians go to college,” I told him once we’d reached the top of the stairs. “Lots
of bands meet at college.”

“I’ve already got a band,” he said. “What are you saying?”

“
I’m
going to Harvard.” I said it straight out, just like that. “If they accept me. I’ve
been planning it for years.”

“Harvard.” Hence’s frown deepened. “It doesn’t get any snootier than that, does it?”

“Snooty?” We were blocking the sidewalk. Annoyed commuters were dodging us, some of
them swearing, but I couldn’t have cared less. “I’ve wanted this all my life. I’ve
worked hard for it, too.”

“So what am I supposed to do? While you’re up there in… wherever it is.”

“Cambridge, Massachusetts. Everybody knows that.”

Hence raised a single eyebrow at me. “Everybody? Maybe in
your
world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The words came out louder than I’d intended. This
wasn’t at all how I had imagined this conversation going. Asking him to move with
me to Cambridge should have been a romantic gesture. Instead, we were yelling at each
other, putting on a show for smirking passersby.

“Not everyone lives in
your
world. Believe it or not, not everyone wants to.” With a sour look on his face, Hence
picked up his amp and plunged into the crowd. I struggled to keep up, not wanting
him to have the last word.

“If you don’t want to live in
my
world, why did you even come here?” I waved my arms. “In
this
world, Harvard is the best school—the most prestigious.”

“
Prestigious
?” Now he was mocking me, and I didn’t like it one bit. I let go of his guitar case.
Actually, I threw it down to the pavement. “Carry your own damn guitar.” I stomped
off through the crowd.

“Hey!” I heard him shout behind me, but I was running, bumping into people, leaving
a trail of pissed-off pedestrians in my wake. I didn’t stop till I reached The Underground.
I let myself in, locked the door behind me, and tore up the stairs, too angry to wait
for the elevator. Up in my room, I flung myself facedown on the bed. Hadn’t I tried
my best to help Hence, to support him, to
be
with him, even when it meant distancing myself from my own brother? And had he ever
so much as asked me what
my
plans were, what
I
wanted out of life? Did he expect me to trail along behind him from show to show,
watching adoringly while he had all the fun?

“Selfish jerk,” I growled into my pillow. Would I have to choose between Hence and
my future? That hardly seemed fair.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

It was Hence, his hair damp with sweat. He didn’t look as angry as he had before.

“What are you doing up here? What if Q hears you?” I took a step out into the hallway.

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Hence said grimly. “I only care about you.”

After that, I couldn’t be angry with him anymore, though I still sort of wanted to
be. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep from reaching out to brush the damp
bangs from his eyes.

“The thing is, I can’t go to Harvard with you,” Hence continued, but at least he didn’t
sound scornful when he said it.

“It wouldn’t have to be Harvard. There are tons of colleges up in Boston—all different
kinds. You’re the smartest and most creative person I know. You’d get in somewhere,
and maybe I could talk Dad into helping with tuition, and—”

“Catherine.” He scuffed one lime-green Chuck Taylor against the other. “When I left
home, I dropped out of high school. I didn’t even finish my junior year.”

“Oh.” Now it was my turn to look down at my own sneakers, ashamed. “I didn’t realize….”

“That’s okay,” he said. “But you see why college is a problem.”

“You can get your GED. I’d help you. You’d breeze right through it.”

“But there’s no point,” Hence said. “I came to New York to break into the music business.
And now I’m in a band… a really good band, with a future.”

“There are bands in Boston.”

“Riptide is here.” His voice was starting to take on that unpleasant tone again. He
inhaled sharply, and for a moment I thought he was going to break up with me. Instead,
he gave me a pleading look. “Isn’t New York City the capital of the world? Aren’t
there colleges here?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Aren’t some of them as good as Harvard?” He tipped my face gently up toward his,
and I felt myself thaw.

“Columbia, maybe. Or Fordham.” After all, Harvard without Hence didn’t sound like
the glorious college experience I’d been imagining.

“If you went to one of those, we could live together here, get an apartment of our
own, once I get home from my tour. Maybe you could come with me for the summer part
of it? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” I told him. “I’d like that.” Wasn’t Hence more important to me than anything
else?

After that, I urged him to get downstairs before Q could catch us together and complicate
our lives further. I sat on my bed for a long time, revising my plans. So what if
I’d lived in New York City all my life? I’d already traveled to plenty of other places.
Hence was right—New York was at least as cool and exciting as anyplace else. And it
was easier to imagine a life without Harvard than a life without Hence. So I made
up my mind: I would apply to Columbia, NYU, and Fordham—all good schools.

Still, I couldn’t help wanting to apply to Harvard, too—just to see if I would get
in. What would it hurt? Maybe it would be enough to know they wanted me. I could go
somewhere else, secure in the knowledge that I had been accepted into my first-choice
school. And, besides, who was I kidding? A million people must apply to Harvard every
year. They probably wouldn’t accept me, anyway.

A few nights later, at three in the morning, the ringing of the phone beside my bed
woke me. Over the pounding of my heart I could barely make out what the voice on the
other end was saying—something about an emergency room at Lenox Hill Hospital. “Are
you related to James Eversole?”

“He’s my father.”

“Can you get here? Right away?”

I moved in what felt like slow motion, out the door and down the stairs. Q’s bedroom
door was locked, so I pounded on it, screaming his name. When he opened it, I flew
into his arms. “Dad’s had a heart attack.” I sobbed the words into his rumpled T-shirt.

We took a cab to the hospital. Q urged the cabdriver to run each of the million red
lights we hit, but he refused. In the
painfully bright light of the waiting room, the nurse wouldn’t let us in to see Dad,
saying he was in surgery. “I don’t care,” I kept insisting. “He would want us there.
I could hold his hand so he would know I was with him.”

But she kept shaking her head. “Wait right over there.” She pointed to a bank of empty
chairs. “I promise, I’ll come get you the second you can see him.”

What could we do but comply? The wait seemed to take hours. I rested my head on Q’s
shoulder, all our differences forgotten, and I could feel him clenching his fists,
then releasing. Clenching, releasing.

Then the doctor came out—a black-haired woman in a white coat—and she was moving her
mouth, trying to tell us something, and I was screaming so I wouldn’t have to hear
her.

We didn’t even get to say good-bye.