I raced through campus, not sure where I was going until I stood in front of Blackwell Tower. I slipped inside and climbed the stairs, tears coming as I moved, circle after winding circle, higher and higher.
Of course I wasn’t an art major. I needed a serious degree, one that could lift you up in the world, open doors. At Duquette it was easy to see what power looked like: students with internships at their fathers’ hedge funds that seamlessly transfigured into jobs; deans who came to academia from private equity firms after donating huge chunks of money; endowed professors who took a break from teaching to advise the president on trade deals. Power looked like Maseratis parked in the season-ticket-holder spots at football games and familiar names on the baseball stadium. It looked like Dr. John Garvey, celebrity economist.
I’d finally gotten into one of Dr. Garvey’s classes this semester, and it was hard not to be mesmerized by his lectures. He had a dry, cutting voice, wore three-piece suits, and name-checked Defense secretaries. He berated any student who dared walk in late, expected us to have read all his books on economic theory.
He’d reminded me of somebody I couldn’t quite put my finger on, someone familiar, and it wasn’t until last week’s class that I’d finally realized, with a kick of shame, who it was. Dr. Garvey reminded me of the man I imagined my father was before he’d become my father—a Harvard econ major with dreams of working in DC, dreams of changing the world. The should-have-been, would-have-been dad.
It was strangely fitting, then, that Dr. Garvey was my best shot at realizing my father’s ambitions. If I played my cards right in his class, worked above and beyond to secure his powerful endorsement, I’d have a strong chance of winning the Duquette Post-Graduate Fellowship next year. The fellowship would open doors to Harvard grad school and give me the money to make it a reality.
Not everything in this world has to be about money, Heather had said.
Heather: my staunchest defender, ever since the day she’d stood up for me to Courtney. But Heather was also the girl who got a BMW just for being born—not for getting high grades, or winning any award, or doing anything remotely special. Heather didn’t need to worry about practical majors. She got everything she wanted, got to fit in effortlessly with the Chi Os and the Phi Delts, all the rich kids who mattered.
Meanwhile,Ihad to hide where I came from, my family’s lack of money, my father’s…situation.Ihad to dig myself into a debt-ridden grave just to have one inch of what Heather had, or Courtney, or so many other kids on campus.
Especially Mint. Like Heather, my boyfriend got everything he wanted at the drop of a hat. As much as I loved him, our lives were as different as night and day.
I finally reached the top of Blackwell Tower and burst into the hidden storage room, a secret space known only to upperclassmen. I didn’t bother stifling my sobs.
“Jess? What are you doing here?”
Shit.I whirled, frantically wiping my eyes. Save for the stacks of old furniture and cardboard boxes, the room had looked empty through my tears. But there he was, leaning against the wall in the corner, one hand in his pocket.
“Coop.” I tried to make my voice light. “Figures. Why do you always seem to find me at my lowest?”
“Actually,” Coop said, “you’re the one who finds me.”
“Sorry. I’ll go. I thought I’d be alone.”
He dropped something on the floor and ground it out with his foot. He walked closer, both hands in his pockets, eyeing me cautiously. His hair was so mussed he looked a touch feral.
“Should I get Mint? I think he’s with his parents at a steak house, but I can find him.”
I tried to smile. “No. But thanks.” Mint was the last person in the world I could tell about my debt. And the thought of his parents catching wind made me sick to my stomach.
“Okay. I cede the room, then.” Coop tucked his hair behind his ears and walked to the door.
“Wait.”
He stopped. I swallowed, looking out the large windows at Duquette’s campus, in the process of being swallowed by dusk. “Will you stay, actually?”
Coop turned, and we locked eyes. I tried to read his face, but he kept it carefully blank.
“Sure,” he said finally. He made his way back, standing awkwardly beside me. “Are you going to make me guess why you’re crying?”
I dropped to the floor, drawing my knees to my chin. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.” He sat, too, keeping a careful distance between us. But it didn’t matter; I could still feel him, a humming energy across the empty space.
I clutched my bill tighter on instinct, and the movement caught his eye. Before I could stop him, he lunged and snatched it.
“Coop—no!”
He unfolded the paper from the envelope and scanned it. My heart plummeted. This was it. The moment my veneer was shattered, when my ugly truth came out. First, Coop, then surely everyone would know.
He whistled, eyeing me. “Damn, Jess. That’s a lot of money. You better pay it fast.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed.
