“Hey, Kent, has anyone ever told you that you look like—”
He interrupts me, his tone terse. “Like Farmer Ted, the kid in the oxford from Sixteen Candles? Um, yeah, a million times. And no, I’m not going to scream JAAAAAKE for you, so don’t ask.”
I was going to say the nerdy kid in The Breakfast Club, but same diff. But I feel like Kent could use a win today, so I say, “Actually, no. You look like a younger version of the guy who plays Owen Hunt on Grey’s Anatomy. Kevin McKidd?”
Kent visibly straightens up in his seat and the corners of his mouth twitch up into the grin he’s trying to suppress. “Oh. Yeah, I like him. He’s kind of a badass. He was great in Trainspotting.”
I say, “Never seen it. What’s it about?”
“A bunch of guys on heroin.”
“Oh. Then it’s apropos for today.”
Now Kent gives me the side-eye. “You have a twisted sense of humor, Mallory.”
I wasn’t trying to be funny.
I slow to fifteen miles an hour and we cruise up and down the quiet streets of North Shore. Everyone’s already decorated for the holidays and it’s like a winter wonderland up here, with all the giant lights and the urns full of decorative pine branches. The moment it snows, the whole town will be transformed into a Currier & Ives greeting card. I can’t wrap my mind around how anything bad can happen in a place so besotted with beauty and perfection, yet here we are.
“So...how’s Noell?” I ask, crawling along, eyes peeled for Simone. My anxiety level is ratcheting up higher and higher the longer it takes us to find her. This whole situation is as fucked-up as a soup sandwich. How did we even get here? How did Liam go so off the rails? He should be going through, like, fraternity rush, not withdrawals.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kent says, looking at me as though I’ve just sprouted a supplemental head.
I explain, “I’m a nervous talker. I need frivolous conversation right now. I need banal stories about how high school should be, you know, with sock hops and soda fountains.”
“Sock hops? Did you drive so fast we broke the space-time continuum and it’s suddenly the 1950s? Have we gone back to the future?”
“Fine, sock hops are a bad example.” I clutch the wheel. “I just need to escape reality for a minute. In an alternate universe, you and I? We’re in a movie montage, decorating the gym for the Christmas formal. We’re caroling dressed like people in a Dickens novel. Or we’re having a flour fight while we ice sugar cookies. Maybe there’s frosting on my nose. That’s where we should be. We’re not supposed to be tracking down a girl who’s been abused by her smacked-out boyfriend. Who may or may not be so triggered by the event, who may be so upset, so fragile that she reflects on her good friend’s suicide and suddenly sees it as a viable option. So I need you to distract me because I am freaking right the fuck out.”
“Oh, if you’re gonna put it like that, then Noell’s the best. She’s awesome. We’re totally in luff.” He folds his hands over his heart and sighs, his face wreathed in smiles.
I glance toward him. “Aw, happy endings give me life.”
“No,” he says, scowling and dropping his hands to his lap. “I was being facetious. I didn’t get a happy ending. She dumped me when I needed her most after Stephen. You didn’t notice she was never at a Gatekeepers meeting? Said she couldn’t handle it. Said it was ‘too real,’ whatever that means. She’s banging Weston now.”
I cluck my tongue. “Typical. She’s perpetually trading up.”
Kent mumbles, “Love life advice from Mallory. And I thought today couldn’t get any better.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, just pouring the tea,” I explain. “Noell falls out of love as quick and easy as she falls into it. Sorry you didn’t know that. I feel like the relationships you don’t have to work to establish aren’t worth having. Plus, I always say the secret to love is less about who you meet, and more about when you meet.”
Kent’s expression is stony. “Please share more of your clichéd wisdom, it’s really boosting my self-esteem.”
“My point is, you can do better. Set your sights on someone less attainable. Ultimately, you’ll be more satisfied.”
He snorts audibly, but offers no explanation.
We drive on in silence, heads on a swivel, cruising up and down the streets we think Simone may have taken.
“You mind if I turn on the radio?” Kent asks. “I can hear myself think and I need that to stop.”
“Knock yourself out. Wait, do you know how to work the controls? Lemme show you.”
I reach for the radio, but he waves my hand away.
“Um, Mallory, I just got early decision to Princeton. For Physics? I can explain derivations within String Theory. Pretty sure I can figure out your stereo.” He smirks.
I inadvertently kick the brakes and we both lurch forward. “Whoa, hold up, you already heard from Princeton? You’re in?”
“Yeah, but it’s my safety school.”
Princeton is his safety? FML.
I say, “I thought Princeton only lets you apply for early decision if you’re sure you want to go there.”
“The Ivies are all different, but with Princeton, you’re allowed to apply anywhere with nonbinding admission. I’d planned on MIT, but now without Stephen... Eh, I don’t know, I’m not into it anymore. I mean, Princeton was good enough for Richard Feynman, right?”
“Did he go to North Shore?”
Kent snorts. “That’d be a no. He won the Nobel Prize for his work in subatomic particles. Yeah, he did his undergrad at MIT, but a lot of Nobel Prize winners were Tigers first. You know, their mascot? There’s Stephen Weinberg, John Bardeen, Arthur Compton, Clinton Davisson... I’m sure I’m forgetting some. Anyway, you’re hoping for Princeton? Majoring in? I’m assuming physics is off the table, what with your nonexistent knowledge about Feynman.”
“Definitely. I’m looking at finance or economics.”
“Cool. What would you do with that degree?”
“Investment banking.”
“Huh.”
“What huh? What do you mean by huh?” I demand.
“I dunno. Feels like you’d be better working with people, like as a psychologist or therapist or something.”
Hearing the truth spoken from such an unexpected source gives me pause. While it’s not at all the same, this reminds me of the time Braden, Theo, and I were at the mall. I told them I’d seen a dress in a magazine and I wanted to try it on. I didn’t say where I was going; I’d just planned to text them when I was done. But when I came out of the fitting room, Braden was sitting right there waiting for me. I was all, ‘How’d you know where I’d be?’ He pointed to the mannequin in the window and said, ‘That dress has lemons on it. You love anything with a lemon print. Knew this was the place.’
I steal a glance at Kent. Have I been missing something here?
Kent begins to fiddle with the dashboard, first activating the seat heaters and then the hazard lights.
“Earn yourself a scholarship to Princeton, didya?” I ask, stifling a laugh. “You know, I’m happy to help you, the sound system’s more complex than it appears.”