I shifted in my seat, awkward and uneasy. I’d expected to talk about the letters and our grandparents, not me. “No one.”
The chipper waitress appeared and set a steaming mug in front of Noah. “Here’s your coffee!”
He thanked her, then turned to me as she departed. “Try again.”
“I’m serious. There’s not much to say.”
“So you think it’snormalfor people to spend the summer on a remote island in order to find out more about their family’s past? And to escape your ex.”
“He doesn’t have anything to do with it,” I shot back, and, surprised, realized I hadn’t thought about Matt at all in the last week. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
He tilted his chair to balance on two legs and slung his arm over the back, regarding me steadily. “I’m pretty sure we’re each other’s business now.”
I could feel my cheeks turning red, with anger or something else. “What do you want me to say? I’m not getting anything else out of this except family history.” I tried to sound glib, one of my favoriteforms of defensiveness. “Unless, if I’m lucky, a really good college app essay.”
His chair’s front legs landed solidly on the ground and he stared at me, appalled. “You’re prying into my family for acollege essay?”
“No! God! I’m just saying I’m not going to get anything else out of this.”
“Your essay doesn’t even really matter. It’s your grades and your well-roundedness.”
That stung, mostly since I was afraid he was right. While my grades were fine, they were nothing to write home about, and did joining minimal-effort clubs count as being well-rounded? It seemed unlikely. I needed a perfect essay to convince colleges to give me a scholarship.
So I stung right back. “Oh? And here I thought it was how much money your family had donated.”
He straightened. “I didn’t get into college because of my family.”
“I didn’t say you did.” I shrugged, overly nonchalant. “Though Ididread an article about how several prominent schools often accept donors’ children.”
“My family donates to schools theyattended. Alumni donations.”
“Right.” I widened my eyes innocently. “And I take it you’re not going to any of those schools?”
“You’re a real...” He pressed his lips together, then shook his head.
Bitch? Pill? Piece of work? Probably. I sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. You stress me out.”
“Istressyouout?”
“Yes! I didn’t think there’d be so much—antagonism—with me looking into O’ma’s past. And I didn’t mean to be rude about the college thing—I’m, I don’t know, stressed about school, too, and gettingin, and having money. You’re right. Maybe my essay won’t even matter.” I offered an awkward, apologetic smile.
He didn’t look at me.
Welp. So much for our truce.I looked down.
“I’m going to Harvard,” he said after a stretched pause. I peered up from my drink to see him looking steadfastly away from me, two dark swathes of color high on his cheeks. “My family does donate.”
Ah. I’d pressed a hot button.
“But I had really good grades.” He finally looked at me again. “I was valedictorian.”
Of course he was.
“You’re starting in the fall?” I said, as an olive branch. “What are you studying?”
“Econ.”
“Cool. Do you want to go into... the economy?”
