“Max,” Harry whispered, “we can’t head back into the city reeking of alcohol. Besides, I can’t drink. I took another Klonopin this morning.”
Max routinely chose to forget Harry didn’t drink; everyone else assumed Harry drank because he hung out with Max. Amazing how people saw what they wanted to see without taking the time to look.
“Come on, dude. We’re here to see student life in all its glory. I bet you’ll learn more from talking to a bunch of students than we will from Miss Perfect Tour Guide. She’s probably a senator’s daughter.”
“How do you know she’s not a bus driver’s daughter and just really, really smart? Like astrophysicist brilliant.”
Max shook his head. “Wearing those huge glittery studs in her ears?”
“They could be fake.”
“You’re not turning into one of those nonjudgmental people, are you? Wait! I forgot. You already are one!” Max slapped his forehead. “Stop thinking nice thoughts. She smells of money.” Max raised his hand. “Excuse me, miss.”
The entire group stopped walking, and Harry hunkered down into his winter jacket.
“You look sooo familiar to me. Is your dad someone, like, mega famous?” Max never used the word like for the same reason he used perfect grammar in texts. He was role playing, acting the dumb punk.
“I prefer not to talk about it.” Her tone was cautious.
“Let me guess. Senator—”
“Weinsteen. Yes.”
Max gave Harry a look. “I rest my case. Go talk to the party animals, dude. I’ll be back.”
Harry rubbed his arms. He wasn’t shy—he’d never been shy—but suddenly he felt awkward, and he just wanted to be home. With Sammie. And Mom and Dad. And Eudora. And Katherine. If someone played “Carolina in My Mind,” he would cry.
“Max?” Harry turned around. “Max,” he said in a stage whisper.
Max had vanished.
“Is there a problem?” Senator Weinsteen’s daughter said. All eyes focused on Harry, and he began to tic. Her smooth forehead wrinkled.
“I’m sorry. I have Tourette syndrome.” Harry’s fingers strummed the air. “And I don’t want to disrupt the tour. I think it’s best if I excuse myself.”
She nodded, her face blank. Was she concerned or relieved? Or had she, like him, spent a lifetime masking facial expressions? Had to be tough being a politician’s daughter. She probably had less control over her life than he had over his tics. And wasn’t that the point, the whole reason that he and Max had taken this trip?
Yes, he was interested in small, liberal arts colleges, but not Brandeis. (Well, he might be after visiting yesterday.) Harry had come to Boston for one reason and one reason only: to visit Harvard and make a point to Dad. To prove that he was capable of being an adult—that he could listen to both sides, take his father’s opinions seriously, but still forge ahead on a path of his choosing.
Yes, I will consider your feelings, but this is my future, and I will make the ultimate decision.
He had seen Harvard, and he didn’t like it. This was not the school for him. All he had to do was grab Max—tear him away—and leave. He couldn’t see Max anywhere in the yard, but he didn’t need to. Max would have followed the music.
Harry turned back across Harvard Yard and headed toward the freshman dorm that throbbed with life. The old campus cop was still there, acting the sentinel. But he pushed off the tree and watched Harry walk past. Something tightened in Harry’s gut, told him it was time to leave. More instinct?
What was Sammie doing? Longing hit like a bullet through his heart. He wanted to be home so bad. Maybe they’d go out to Southpoint Mall again this weekend, hang out at Hot Topic, and catch another movie. Harry stopped, pulled out his phone, sent a text.
miss you
He added lots of smiley faces.