Fire With Fire (17 page)

The next night, Alex and I are hanging out in the den of my
family’s Boston apartment, the TV flashing a show that neither
of us is really watching. I think it’s because we’re so beat. Thank
God we go home tomorrow. Even if I have to go straight to school.

Alex is in the middle of the couch, his legs folded underneath
him, in a pair of his track pants and an Academic Decathlon
T-shirt from last spring, when we lost the championship by
two stupid questions. I’m draped sideways on my dad’s favorite
leather armchair in leggings and a baggy sweater, under one of
the snuggly cashmere throws my mom is obsessed with. She’s
bought at least ten of them, all in cream.

We’re flipping through the glossy university brochures that
we got on our tours today, laughing at the obviously staged
photos. We went to Tufts in the morning; then we split up so
Alex could go suit shopping and I could go to Wellesley, the
girls’ school.

“Oh, come on,” Alex says, and presses his lips together to
stifle a laugh. “Lil, tell me what’s wrong with his picture.” He
turns the brochure around and points at a page-size photo of a
student in a lab coat and goggles, proudly holding up an empty
glass beaker.

I crack up when I figure it out. “Oh my gosh. They couldn’t
even put anything
inside
the beaker? Don’t they have a prop
guy or an art director?”

Alex starts laughing so hard he can’t breathe. “It’s like, dude,
I don’t know what you’re smiling about. You’re going to fail
your experiment unless you put something in that beaker.” He
shakes his head and then puts the brochure down on the coffee
table with the others. “Pass me a cookie?”

I toss him a new sleeve of Chips Ahoy!, since mine has only
five left inside. The brochure in my lap shows pictures of students in their dorm rooms. There’s one where four girls are
smiling up from a pair of bunk beds inside a room that looks
about as big as a prison cell. “I don’t know how I’m going to
live in a dorm. My bathroom is bigger than that room we saw
today.” I take the last sip of milk in my glass and kick off my
blanket. “You want something to drink?”

Alex nods. “Water, please. You’ll probably join a sorority,
don’t you think?”
I shrug. “Maybe. It depends on where I end up, I guess. What
about you? Do you think you’ll pledge a fraternity?”
“Ah, I don’t know. I think a lot of those guys are meatheads.” Alex watches me get up. “Maybe you could live here.
This apartment is sick, Lil.”
“Shhhh,” I say, and nudge my chin toward the hallway
where the bedrooms are. My mom’s in the master bedroom;
Mrs. Lind’s sleeping in the guest room. “Mom’s already freaking out about me leaving, and my dad would love to keep me
under lock and key here with him.”
Alex reaches for the remote and puts on sports. “I doubt
anything will wake our moms up tonight.”
He’s probably right. They popped open a bottle of red wine
once we got back at the apartment. I swear, they’ve probably
consumed more alcohol in the last two days than the freshmen
we saw in the dorms. Their wine glasses are on the table, still
relatively full, with two different colors of lipstick on the rims. I
stick them in the dishwasher, empty what’s left from the bottle,
and put that in the recycling bin. Hopefully, my dad won’t be
mad at my mom for opening it. Every word on the label is in
French. He keeps all his best wine and champagne here. They
both need it.
On the way over to Tufts this morning, I could tell my
mom was getting annoyed at Mrs. Lind. Mrs. Lind was running the GPS on her phone, trying to navigate us out of traffic,
even though my mom knows Boston like the back of her hand
and obviously had the best way to get across town. Mom had
wanted to get us there early, so we could park at one end of the
campus and walk to the admissions hall, but Mrs. Lind kept
saying that the spots Mom tried to park in were too small for
our SUV. We were almost late, so Mom used the valet parking
at a nearby restaurant and tipped the guy big since we weren’t
actually eating there.
It takes me a few tries to remember which kitchen cabinets
have the glasses. I pour us both waters. I haven’t been to the
apartment in over a year, but Dad’s here all the time, working at
the hospital. We have a cleaning lady, and a person whose job it
is to keep the house stocked with food and stuff, so he doesn’t
have to worry about anything. God forbid he’d actually have to
go to the store and buy a carton of milk.
When I get back to the den, Alex is up, staring out the windows at the city below. I put our glasses down and stand next to
him. It’s snowing again.
“It’s pretty out there,” I say, leaning forward so my forehead
is against the glass. We’re on the thirtieth floor of a huge highrise, and you can see everything. It’s still another weeks until
Thanksgiving, but lots of people have holiday lights already
strung up on their roofs or their balconies. The trees down in
the park are all bare and spindly, and the sky is super inky black
with flecks of white. The people walking around look like tiny
ants.
Alex turns to me with a big grin on his face “You want to go
for a walk or something? I’m not tired.”
“Now?” It’s after midnight, and I’m basically in my sleeping clothes. “But we’ve got school tomorrow.” Plus, my feet
kind of hurt from all the walking we did today. I’ve got two
blisters coming, one on each pinkie toe. I didn’t want to wear
heels, but Mom insisted because I was going to an interview.
And when we were strolling around Wellesley’s campus,
she leaned in and whispered, “Never, ever, ever, Lillia,” and
pointed to a group of girls who were walking to class in PJ
bottoms and slippers. I rolled my eyes, because yeah, right,
like I would ever.
“Come on, Lil. Let’s have an adventure without any chaperones.” He groans. “This was supposed to be a trip about
our futures, but I haven’t felt more like a little kid in a long
time.”
I laugh. I know what he means. Both our moms were completely on top of us today. They asked, like, double the questions Alex and I did on the college tour. Mom picked every
restaurant we went to, not that I minded. I love the homemade gnocchi at Sorrento’s. I sometimes ask Daddy to bring it
home for me when he takes the hospital’s private plane, but it
never tastes the same when it’s not fresh fresh fresh. And Mrs.
Lind kept fussing with Alex’s hair or his tie.
I’m about to admit to Alex that I’ve never actually walked
around Boston alone, and definitely not at night. But he looks
so excited, and I’m not that tired either, especially not after all
those sweets. So I say, “Okay.”
I tiptoe into my room, trade my leggings for a pair of jeans.
I put some Band-Aids on my pinkie toes and slip on a pair of
boots. Before I walk out the door, I grab my phone and I see
that I have a text from Reeve. It says,
So did you and Lind go to
the opera or are you having a spa day?
I laugh out loud at the
thought of Alex and me getting mani-pedis in matching robes. I
text back,
Spa day. Duh!
When I come out, Alex has cleaned up our mess in the den.
He’s changing in the corner, where he’s put his duffel bag full
of clothes. He’s wearing jeans too, and he’s putting on a pair of
sneakers, but he doesn’t have a shirt on yet. His back is cut; I
can see every muscle in his shoulders and arms. I pop around
the corner and pretend like I don’t see him, and give him a few
seconds of privacy.
We’re so quiet as we sneak down the hall and open the front
door. Alex shushes me as I unlock the dead bolt and slowly
pull the door open. Once we’re in the elevator, I let out a deep
breath. We walk past the doorman together and out onto the
street. Alex gives me a high five.
Boston is even prettier at night. It’s an old city, with a lot of
charming details, like gas streetlights and wooden signs.
“I like this city,” Alex says. “So much to see and do. I’ll probably die of boredom in Michigan. “
“Do you think that’s where you’ll end up going?”
Alex shrugs. “My dad’s donated a bunch of money. And his
best fraternity brother is on the board of directors. I think it’s
inevitable.”
I rub his arm. “You’ll make the best of it,” I tell him. Because
that’s the kind of guy Alex is.
Our apartment is somewhat close to Harvard Square, so
that’s where we walk to. At first I’m a little scared, because there
aren’t a ton of people out, and the street we take has a bunch
of dark alleys. I keep close to Alex, my arm threaded through
his. But the closer we get to the school, the more kids we see
out on the streets. I guess it doesn’t matter that they have class
tomorrow or that it’s snowing out. We follow a flow of them to
a street where there are a lot of bars.
He takes my hand so we won’t lose each other in the crowd.
“They should put this on the tour,” Alex says with a laugh.
I start to say something back when a pack of drunk frat guys
stumbles out the double doors. A wave of nausea and abject fear
crashes over me, and I freeze up. For a second I think I see him.
Mike. But then he turns around and it’s not him after all.
“Are you okay?” Alex asks me and gives my hand a tender
squeeze. I can barely hear him through the sound of my own
heart beating in my ears.
What if I did run into Mike? Would he remember me? Would
he apologize for . . . what happened? Or does he think it was
nothing? That’s probably it. He probably doesn’t even remember me.
My chest feels so tight it’s hard to breathe. Amherst is a few
hours away from Boston. That’s what I say to calm myself
down. But they could be here. It’s not a crazy idea; it’s totally
possible. I bet lots of college kids come to Boston on the weekends to party. Every weekend, even.
Maybe I don’t want to come to school in Boston. Maybe I’ll
apply to a school on the West Coast—UC Berkeley maybe, or
UCLA. I’ll run as far as I have to to never see his face again.
I think I finally get what Mary has been going through all
these years. Why she ran, and why she came back. She wants
closure. It’s not something I’ll ever get, but I’m going to help
her get hers.
“Are you okay?” Alex asks me again.
I nod. “Let’s keep walking, okay?”
My pace is decidedly quicker, but Alex keeps up with me
fine.

When I get back to my room, I check my phone and there’s
another text from Reeve. It says, What are you up to for real?
Bored out of your mind? I text back, We just got back from a
walk in the snow! So beautiful here! There. Let him chew on
that.

On Friday, Alex and I are supposedly working
on practice resumes, which is stupid because it’s not like college
apps even ask you for a resume. But Ms. Chirazo keeps saying
“in the real world” you need them, so we might as well get some
practice in.

But I start to freak, because when it comes down to listing
all my extracurriculars, my resume is looking pretty thin. Pretty
much just my name and GPA. Oh yeah, and my summer job at
the marina. I quick put that down too. I sneak a peek at Alex’s, and
he’s got all kinds of shit on there—interning at his dad’s company,
volunteering at an animal shelter in Boston, some choir.

I lay my head down on my notebook and close my eyes. I
still haven’t revised my essay to include stuff with my mom.
I know Ms. Chirazo is pissed about that. She didn’t even act
excited when I mentioned that I think I did well at my SAT
retest a few weeks ago. Hopefully I’ll crack 1900, by the grace
of freaking God. That will put me a few points over what you
need to get into Oberlin. But this, this resume shit, it’s a problem I’ll have to work on.

When Ms. Chirazo leaves the room to take a phone call, I
lean into Alex and say, “Hey, how was Boston? Did you check
out Berklee?”

Alex looks up from his paper. “Nah, I didn’t get a chance.
Our schedule was packed.”
“Alex, you dummy! Why didn’t you at least stop by?”
“I didn’t see the point.”
“What? Why not?”
Alex leans back in his chair and taps the table with his pencil.
“If I were going to apply to a music program, I’d do USC. Los
Angeles is, like, the center of the music biz. And the emphasis
there is more on contemporary songwriting, not classical, which
is what I’m interested in.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, there’s
no point, because I’m not applying to any music programs.”
“But you love music.”
“Sure. But, like my mom was saying, it’s not like you’re guaranteed a record deal or anything like that if you graduate from
a music program. If I do a business program, I’ll be set. And I
could still take a music class as an elective.”
I give him the side eye. “Business? Since when do you care
about business?”
“I have to think long-term, Kat. And with my dad’s contacts,
I could—”
“But you want to write music.” I shake my head. “And
sure, nothing is guaranteed, but that’s what makes it awesome,
you know? The fact that it isn’t!” I glance around the room.
Everyone’s looking at me. Probably because I’m getting loud.
I lower my voice and say, “You’ve got to go balls to the wall
because you love music. Fuck everything and everyone because
you’re going to give it a shot regardless.”
Alex wants this. I can tell, because he doesn’t say anything
to me right away. He stares off into space for a second, working it over in his head. Then he frowns and says, “You know,
even if I got in, I doubt my parents would pay for it. They
don’t exactly envision a life for me as a starving artist. My
dad’s always talked about me working for his company when
I graduate college.”
“Alex, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you’re
fucking rich. You’re going to have money no matter what. You
already have a safety net! Your parents aren’t going to let you
starve in the street. Apply to USC. What can it hurt? Maybe
you won’t get in. I don’t know. Maybe you suck. I’ve never
heard your stuff.” I elbow him and he laughs.
“Because it’s hard! I’m shy!” He drops his head in his hands.
“And . . . what if I’m not any good?”
I groan. “Stop being such a little bitch and give it a shot. What
do you have to lose? So they reject you. So what. Then you pick
yourself back up and you go to business school like your daddy
wants. But you’ll never know unless you try.”
“I guess.”
I think about mentioning how I’ve heard Oberlin has a kickass conservatory, but I swallow it down. My life is complicated
enough. I put my hand on his back. “Go for it. Balls to the wall.
California or bust!”
He scratches his head. “Maybe I’ll look at Berklee. At least if
I went to school in Boston, I’d have Lillia there.”
I feel a pinprick in my chest. “Dude, you said USC is the
program for you. Don’t shoot for second best because of a girl.”
Alex looks startled. “What? That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Oh no?”
“No! Geez, lower your voice, Kat. I like Boston. And we
just . . . we had a nice time hanging out. That’s it. It’d be nice to
have a friend there.”
“A friend,” I repeat. “That’s what you guys are. Like you
and me.”
He cocks his head to the side and looks right at me. “I’ve
never hooked up with Lillia.”
I lean back in my chair, pleased. “Send in the USC application, Alex. You need to start going after what you want.”
Ms. Chirazo comes back in and shoots me a warning look
like she knows I’ve been goofing off. Of course she’s only looking at me and not Alex, because she thinks Alex is a freaking
redheaded angel.
CHAP
TER THIR
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Y