Harry shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. No way did he own clothes warm enough for this place. There was more snow on the ground than he’d ever seen in North Carolina. He had to swallow the urge to scream, “Look at the snow, y’all!”
Max had no interest in the campus, but he was still on the hunt for babes, which seemed utterly pointless since everyone was muffled in so many layers it was hard to tell who was male and who was female. Plus they had to be back in Boston at five o’clock. Mom’s friends were taking them out for dinner.
Beautiful setting; didn’t feel like him. Felt a bit daunting, if Harry was being truthful. Mom always talked about listening to her gut. He’d never really done that before—never really had to, since his life had been bound in Bubble Wrap. Yup, seventeen years of predictable, safe living, if you eliminated the rage attacks. No major decisions to make, ever. Now he had to find his own instincts.
What did he feel? Harry concentrated. Freezing. He imagined Dad’s voice: “It’s a bit nippy.” Okay, different track. Could he see himself here?
No. He felt out of place. Maybe that was his answer; maybe that was his instinct.
The student leading the tour was pretty—not hot, not Sammie cute. A bit preppy. She stopped, and her eyes lingered on Max for a second too long. And just like that, Harry’s decision was made. He was not interested in a place that could judge his best friend by the way he dressed. Yes, Max was a punk, but he was also a math genius. As smart as anyone on this campus.
The pretty girl swept her arm to the left and said something about the Science Center being shaped like an old Polaroid camera from the side. She caught Harry’s eye, and he gave a restrained smile. He’d never cared what people thought of him—take me or leave me was his attitude—but pleases and thank-yous mattered. Both his parents had taught him that.
Maybe they should just break off from the tour, catch the shuttle back to Boston, feel their fingers and toes. Man, would he ever get warm again?
“She’s hot,” Max muttered.
Harry rolled his eyes. “She keeps looking at you as if you’re a Martian.”
“I know. How fucking cool is that?”
The boys giggled; the girl glared. Max yawned.
The girl started spouting facts and figures and dates. Then she said, “Let’s walk.”
“Yes, let’s,” Max replied loudly.
Harry giggled into his hand. Pretty girl was probably memorizing their faces, adding their names to some huge admissions blacklist. The admissions equivalent of Twitter jail?
“Dude,” Harry whispered, “she’s giving us the evil eye.”
“You don’t really want to come here, do you? Because I am not visiting if you apply and get in. Let’s bag it.” Max glanced toward one of the red-brick buildings, one of the freshman dorms. Music pulsed through an open window on the second floor. Two girls with long dark hair were leaning over the window ledge, laughing. People were moving in the room behind them. Quite a few people. Friday afternoon party?
A pudgy campus cop with gray, slicked-back hair leaned against a tree, eyes up, watching the same scene. Waiting for someone to screw up. Waiting to find fault, just as Dad always did.
“I can’t, man,” Harry said.
“I know. But you owe me big for this.”
“If you want to go grab a soda, I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“No way, Jose. I’m going to stay and suffer, and then I’m going to make you feel so guilty that you’ll have to perform with us on Saturday. You know, to thank me.”
As they crossed the yard, the sounds of partying intensified. A group of students spilled out of the dorm onto the sidewalk. One of them clutched a red plastic cup. He glanced at the cop, dumped the contents on the ground, lobbed the empty cup into a trash can.
“Dude. Let’s go party.” Max pulled out his fake ID. “Maybe they’re selling beer.”