We wave to Gretchen’s mom in the kitchen, go out the front door and walk down to the grassy strip on the corner of the block. Someone tied a plastic swing set to a tree root there with a bike lock years ago. The swings are too small for us, but we climb on anyway, dragging our feet on the ground and leaning back so our hair doesn’t get tangled in the plastic chains.
“What’s going on?” I hate the antsy feeling in my stomach. The idea that Gretchen’s been keeping a secret from me. On our first date, we said we’d always be honest with each other. Since then we’ve always told each other our secrets. I have, at least.
“I was trying to tell you today,” Gretchen says. “Actually, I’ve been trying for a while. It keeps not being the right time.”
“I think it’s the right time now,” I say.
Gretchen’s wide blue eyes are locked on mine. “I’m scared you’ll be upset.”
“I’m upset already. Just tell me.”
Gretchen’s chin quivers. I hate seeing that. I take Gretchen’s hand and that seems to help. Gretchen smiles, a small smile.
“So you know how I applied to a bunch of different schools,” Gretchen says. “Tufts would’ve been my first choice if I’d gotten in.”
“Yeah, I know. Their admissions office is made up of complete idiots. Your application essay was amazing.”
“Thanks.” Gretchen takes a long breath. “My second choice was NYU, but they wait-listed me.”
“NYU?” I shake my head. “No, you only applied to Boston schools. That was our whole plan. We love Boston.”
“You love Boston, sweetie.” Gretchen’s voice is soft. “You love Harvard. It’s always been your dream.”
Oh.
I love Harvard. Gretchen loves New York.
New York was where Gretchen lived before the Daniels family moved down here. They had a brownstone in Brooklyn. It sounds like paradise whenever Gretchen talks about it.
“You got in off the wait list,” I say.
Gretchen nods and rubs my palm gently. I have to struggle not to pull my hand away. “I found out last week.”
I close my eyes. “Last week?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
Gretchen isn’t coming with me.
We can’t just hop on the subway and see each other whenever we want to.
Gretchen’s leaving me. This is only the first step.
“Oh my gosh, no, don’t cry, T!” Gretchen squeezes my hand tight. I blink fast against the tears, trying to focus on the orange light of the sunset that’s pouring in through the trees. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner! Look, it’s only for a semester, just to try it out. I can always transfer back to BU after that. I talked to them on the phone, and they said that would be really easy. I only thought—you know, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe we could just sort of see what it’s like. New York and Boston are superclose. We can take the train and be there in, like, seconds.”
I pull my hand out of Gretchen’s grip and turn to stare at the cheap red plastic leg of the swing set. It’s covered in grime from yesterday’s rain. I didn’t notice that before we sat down.
I can’t believe Gretchen didn’t even tell me. Applications were due in January. That means Gretchen has been keeping this secret for eight months, maybe longer.
Did I do something wrong?
I must’ve done something wrong, or else Gretchen would’ve stuck to the plan, right?
Gretchen doesn’t really want to be with me. There’s no other explanation for this.
“Toni.” Gretchen’s hand is on my shoulder, gentle. I want to wrench away, but instead I lean into the touch. I always lean into Gretchen’s touch. “We’ll still see each other. It’ll be all right. We can do this.”
I turn and stare into those blue eyes. I’m looking for anger, but I don’t see it there. I see guilt and something else. Hope, maybe. Hope that I’ll go along with this new plan.
Well, it’s not as if I have a choice.
Gretchen’s plans are already made. So are mine. No wonder Gretchen laughed off my question about fitting all that luggage on the plane. They wouldn’t fly to New York. They’d drive. It’s only a few hours north of here.
Wait. Chris. Chris said something before about us doing the long-distance thing. Chris knew about this before I did. So did Audrey.
How many others knew about my girlfriend’s not-so-secret plan before me?
It’s getting hard to breathe. I lurch to my feet, the swing set creaking as my weight leaves it. Behind me I hear Gretchen suck in a breath, but I don’t turn around.
I’m not used to feeling like this around Gretchen. I love Gretchen. Anger is reserved exclusively for my mother.
I close my eyes. I can’t let Gretchen see what I’m feeling.
We never fight. We aren’t like that. Anger and love don’t go together.
“Fine,” I say. “Fine. It’s fine.”
Gretchen’s fingers are light on my arm. “Are you sure?”
“Can we take the train and see each other every weekend?” I ask. “Because I thought I was going to see you every weekend.”
“Yes, sure, totally, every weekend.” Gretchen lays a soft hand on my cheek. I turn, and our eyes meet. I hate seeing Gretchen look so sad. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I sniff. I’m such a wuss, crying out here on the street.