“You can’t get into locked buildings with these,” she says, “but the main building is open. You’re welcome to come to orientation even as a part-time student, so anything you can’t seetoday you can request to see that weekend before classes start the following week.”
It all feels so soon. I’ll be nineteen by then, and I feel a small thrill at knowing I’ve made it further into adulthood. It’s the little achievements that matter.
“Let’s go see where you’ll be going to class and stuff,” I say to Luke once we’re back in the hall. “Maybe check out the library for a good study spot?” I wink.
“Sure.” He takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.
“And for the day, can we just pretend that my heart transplant is scheduled and happening and there’s nothing to be anxious about in the next few months other than eight a.m. classes and staying in touch while you’re here and I’m in Boston?”
Luke’s lips quirk up. “I can do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I lean up and kiss him on the cheek and then pull him down the hall.
We wander for a while, poking our heads into large, empty lecture halls dark with wooden paneling, and long, bright computer labs. The library doesn’t have many secret corners, sadly, but it has some cozy study rooms along one side and a beautiful view of the quad.
“The business finance professors are this way.” Luke points down a sad-looking hallway and starts down it. “I wonder if the guy I interviewed with is here. He’s from Northport too.” Luke seems excited, and I try to feel the same. But it sounds soboring compared to who he actually is, even though I know what he ends up doing for work won’t define him or change him.
The offices are all closed and quiet.
“They’re probably getting the last few student-free days of summer vacation in. My dad’s always grumbling about kids showing up at his office before classes even start at Emerson,” I say. As we pass the next hallway, I notice a splash of colorful art hanging on the wall. “What’s this way?”
Luke shrugs, and we go to check out what turns out to be the art wing. Student artwork decorates the hall. Most of the studios are closed, but we find one propped open by a paint can. I raise my eyebrows at Luke and pull the door open. The room has a high ceiling and long, clear windows against the far wall that let in beautiful light. There are four sections, one in each corner, that look like they belong to artists of different mediums. A sculptor, two potters, and what must be a screen printer, whose desk is littered with small tins of paint, carved wooden print blocks, and a stack of silk screens.
We wander toward the window and look out. The early clouds have cleared off, and the sky is blue and brilliant.
“Can I help you?” a voice says from the doorway, and we both jump.
“S-sorry,” Luke stammers, “the door was open.”
“He’s starting here in a few weeks,” I add. “I wanted him to check out the studios.”
“Ah, okay. Welcome,” the young woman says as she makes her way to what must be her corner, the desk with all the printmaking supplies.
“These are great,” Luke says, gesturing to the drying rack next to her station. “Are you combining screen printing with linocuts?”
The woman nods and launches into a description of her project. She lights up as she talks, and I can’t help but picture Luke and her making prints together, getting dinner after class, dancing at parties, maybe even dating. The idea of it hurts, but I’m not going to kid myself. Even though we agreed to pretend today, that’s a more likely future for him. Maybe notthisgirl, but someone like her.
As we say goodbye and head back into the hall, I can’t help but get excited for him again.
“I can’t wait to visit you here,” I say, taking his hand again and sticking to our pretending-everything-is-fine plan. “I could sit in on your business classes and then come model for your art homework.”
Luke gives me a half-hearted smile.
“Wait, is it uncool to have your pre-college girlfriend come visit? I don’t want to cramp your style.” It’s a joke, but it’s also got some truth in it. “Abbi broke up with her boyfriend before Thanksgiving freshman year. She said it was too much.”
“No.” Luke stops, turning to me. He takes my hands. “I mean, yes, you should come visit. You’re not too much. I don’t want anyone but you.”
I don’t bother to say that he might feel that now, but hopefully won’t always, because he actually sounds upset.
“Okay.” I slip out of his grip and wrap my arms around him. “Then you’re stuck with me.”
“Happily,” he whispers into my hair.
“You’ll have to take me to try the terrible cafeteria lunches and talk about philosophy or psychology or whatever other classes you’re taking.” I laugh, pulling away from him and heading toward the door. We step back into the August heat.
